Monday, April 14, 2008

Lifes Little Mysteries, Part Two: The Crotch Rocket Mafia

Today's mystery concerns the transportation sector. There are any number of transit mysteries: Why is it that no matter what time the number 42 bus picks me up in the morning, I still manage to walk in my office door three minutes late? Why are Jetta drivers the Douchebags of the Road? Did the guys who started Frontier, SkyBus, and the other nascent airlines forced to declare bankruptcy in the past few weeks really think starting a new U.S. airline was a moment of entrepreneurial brilliance, or was it a practical joke that just went too far?

Of course, the greatest transit mystery is that it's 20-aught-eight and no one has figured out the whole teleportation thing. Faced with three hours of driving on I-95 on a Saturday afternoon, nothing sounds more appealing that snapping my fingers and being home. Teleportation is long, long overdue: it's convenient, efficient, sustainable for Mother Earth, and most importantly, it's safe, since it will save us from the Crotch Rocket Mafia.

Last summer, I wrote about one of the most terrifying experiences in my life, namely, being surrounded by a band of lawless crotch rocketeers on I-95. I'd thought it was an isolated incident, but it's happened to me three times in the past month. Perched on ridiculous little Japanese motorbikes and clad in day-glo (p)leather, these gangs of nihilist assholes weave through packed lanes of cars and bully drivers, alternating between 30 and 100 mph just to mess with people's minds. It's not just the reckless, self-absorbed driving of the pricey sportscar/Jetta ilk; the Crotch Rocket Mafia is deliberately trying to intimidate everyone on the road. One of their favorite party tricks is to surround a car and force them to take an exit. I shudder to think what happens to the hapless driver once they're forced off the interstate; kidnapping and human obstacle courses come readily to mind.

I have so many questions about the Crotch Rocket Mafia. How come I never see one of them pulled over? What are the accident and arrest rates for those kinds of bikes? Is this unique to one stretch of I-95, or does this happen in other parts of the country? What would be a good google search to find out more about this specific kind of motorcycle gang? Where do they come from? And most importantly, why?

Motorcycles are ridiculously dangerous vehicles, especially since most drivers have no idea to look for them or how to deal with them, upping the potential for disaster. They're also some grade-A, bona fide F-U-N. I understand the temptation to gun a motorcycle for all it's worth. But do these particular motorbike meatheads realize the full extent to which they're jeopardizing their lives - much more so than other motorcyclists? Sure, there's the whole business about causing life-threatening accidents and killing themselves and innocent people, but they're also making themselves a nifty little target, giving weary travelers a vehicle, so to speak, for their frustration.

Between the semis speeding through the left lanes, exhausted vacationers who think of lane lines as merely a suggestion (not to mention that in many areas, the last batch of lane lines has barely been scraped off, giving the illusion of two sets of lines for one lane), the deplorable condition of the road (not in Delaware, though, see what paying tolls gets ya?), and the lack of any viable motoring alternative, driving on I-95 is a thankless experience. There are a lot of drivers out there whose road rage builds with each trip down that highway; it won't be long until someone decides to strike back, and those little sport bikes are the perfect target.

The Object harbors a fantasy of jerking the car a few inches and clipping them when they barge into his lane, just to gleefully watch the whole lot topple over like dominoes. I wouldn't want to die for such a stupid reason, or worse- sit through the ensuing traffic jam, but I wouldn't mind hearing about it on the news. Teleportation seems a much more obvious answer. If getting home in the time it takes to taze someone delights me, then it downright thrills me that teleportation would deprive the Crotch Rocket Mafia their little toys. In the meantime, plunking down $80 bucks for a hassle-free trip on the train doesn't seem like an unreasonable stopgap alternative.

Nor does retrofitting the car with lasers.


Anonymous GQ said...

I resent the Jetta comments. Just because I don't drive like the rest of the A-holes here in NJ, does NOT mean I'm the bad driver. I love my Jetta.

2:45 PM  

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