May 08 '06 - 1284 W, 3 I - Vote Good + 11 :: Bad - 10 Malcolm BMX: Dupont Circle Adventure
Published May 8, 2006 by C.I.C.L.E.
Monthly Feature :: Contributed by Brady Russell
Rabbitboy was late. He typically didn't like screwing with D.C.'s
traffic circles, but this afternoon he felt like he had to. He felt
like he had been behind all day and - though he was terrible with math
- he was trying to add up how much money he'd pull down today and the
numbers made him glum. Of course, he wasn't sure of the number because
everytime he carried a two in his brain he had to dodge an old lady.
Rabbitboy was a bike courier. He was cutting through Dupont Circle.
D.C. has these circles traffic must negotiate roundabout. Most of these
circles are little parks with statues in the middle. Most people hate
them. Dupont Circle, one of the more popular circles, park-wise, is one
of the more confusing circles, car-wise. At times it has two four lanes
of traffic, which are in places divided and when cars get on the wrong
half of that divide they begin to behave poorly toward a cyclist
passing between them.
Rabbitboy had just picked up a package for a guy at the Hilton up high
on Connecticut Avenue. The guy wanted it taken back to his downtown
office pronto. So Rabbitboy meant to take it down Connecticut Avenue,
around Dupont and boom! At the guys office in 5. Okay – maybe 10 or 15.
While it would not mean all that much more money in the bank if he did
it closer to 5, he'd feel a lot better about himself. He was feeling
like a shitty courier these days. He could shave off 90 seconds, he
guessed, if he went straight through Dupont Park rather than going
around the circle.
Hopping the lane dividers and getting into the Dupont Circle Park had
been easy because there was a light at the north end and he hit it when
it was red to opposing traffic. The second set of lanes wasn't red, but
he hit a big enough gap to pop the divider and go into the park before
any cars hit him. Then he cut through the park pretty fast but there
were not too many people around.
Around the statue, halfway through the park, he had passed the first
crossing sidewalk and only needed to cross the second outer sidewalk
before he crossed four more lanes of traffic and one more divider. He
was watching the cars come around the circle, eyeing a gap in them up
ahead and breaking a little so he could time it right... If he were to
make it, he would not be able to come to a full stop.
The problem was there were three fat black women coming from his left
along the sidewalk. They were walking real slow because they were
talking real loud; Rabbitboy just wasn't looking for people on the
sidewalk, that's all.
When he reached the sidewalk, though, he had everything timed about
right. Slower, slower and HOLD IT! Three big women suddenly appeared in
his peripheral vision. Rather than stop, Rabbitboy kicked his bike
harder so he'd zing past them. Only, it was a second too early. He made
the gap in the first two lanes of traffic, but then he didn't really
look at the second two lanes. He just popped up onto the divider and
went for his crossing and maybe he would have come close to making it
but a taxi hit him square on the frame. It barely missed hitting his
leg. The front half of his bike was clear of the car, but Rabbitboy and
his Schwinn took a lot of car. They took a headlight with them.
Rabbitboy had gotten free of the bike and was rolling over the roof of
the car when the Lincoln behind the Yellow Cab rearended it. Rabbitboy
rolled off the passenger side of the cab. He went all the way down and
found he could get up. Easy. Surprising.
Drivers got out of the cars, as did the fare. They were all yelling at
Rabbitboy. Rabbitboy didn't respond. He thought to himself:
<<Man, we're blocking up all these folks and these two don't
think nothing of getting out to yell at me.>>
Rabbitboy heard the Lincoln driver coming around the car saying he was
going to call the cops but then he heard a window smash. He looked
toward the crashing sound and saw a white guy with long, long dreads
sitting on a bike with the thickest wheels he had ever seen, holding a
Kryptonite lock where the window had been. "You'll shut the hell up,
Muffler. Both of you." The man said. Rabbitboy saw another biker guy
behind the one with the dreads on this really funky bike with a huge
bucket on the front of it. It had a bike in it. Not a very good one,
but it was a bike. Rabbitboy looked down at his bike. He didn't have
time to examine it, but, oh yeah, the frame was bent to hell.
"Switch bikes with him, Samson." The man with the U-lock said to the
man with the weird bike. The other guy, Samson, was a tall lanky black
man. He had on the gaudiest sunglasses Rabbitboy could remember seeing,
and he was a bike courier.
The tall black man came over to Rabbitboy and took out the replacement
bike. He leaned it against the cabbie's car and started putting
Rabbitboy's bike into his basket. This really angered the cabbie, who
began to protest loudly. Samson took no notice, but the other guy with
long blonde dreads got off his bike and walked over to the cabbie,
putting his U-lock back on the hook on his courier bag. He hit the
cabbie in the stomach. Samson began to ride away. Then the dread guy
hit the driver of the Lincoln in the stomach as well and the cabbie's
fare cowered back in the taxi.
"None of you Mufflers talk about this to the cops or anyone. I know
where you live." He took an inventory gun off his belt and scanned both
cars, the plates included. Weird. He got back on his bike and rolled
over to Rabbitboy, shook his hand and gave him a card.
"Call this number in a few days. We'll have your bike fixed."
Rabbitboy nodded. "So it’s true? You're back?"
"I'm back. Better go." And the white guy with the blonde dreads and the gigantic bike tires rolled off.
Rabbitboy looked down at the car, but he already knew the name he’d see:
Malcolm B.M.X.
More Malcolm BMX:
Malcolm BMX: Pedaling Revolution
Brady Russell works in politics. He has been a national
organizer, a local organizer, a campus organizer and is currently the
Pennsylvania Lobbyist for ACORN. He started writing in elementary
school and never stopped. In fact, he remembers his second grade
teacher scolding his class for not trying any of the writing exercises
she had put out for them, which she finished by saying, "except for
Brady and he's done all of them."
Sometime in high school he decided he would not pursue studies in writing and just try to do it himself. Brady had a few opinion pieces published in some small magazines around the country, but so far he's largely been writing in a closet and keeping his work there.
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