It's no joke that I really like to ring it, particularly on the Brooklyn Bridge. There's no more passing on your left for me. There's no more sorry, biker coming through. The bell is all that one needs dinging in order to make someone simulate a heart attack and move out of the way. Bell sadism: when you remind people they need to be somewhere else; see whip; see fascism meets eroticism on a bike seat. Who needs to feel heavy and breathy while going up bridges and hills? I know the bell makes people feel twenty years younger because they will worry that they're late to class or it's time to take out the pie or put the panties on. Just two dings, like two squirts of whipped cream, two squirts of anything really, and some woman will grab the handle of her handbag and briskly walk to safety. Ding ding and they are gone in two shakes of a lamb's tail. I like lambs. Don't worry, I'm not limited to people. I ding at cars too, especially the parked kind in which someone is about to exit and thwack me with the door. Too bad it's thundering and lightning outside right now.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Who Knew About That Ding
They say cops are stopping bikers and ticketing those of us who do not have a rear reflector and a bell. Did you know that if you ride a bike in a major metropolitan area, you have to have a bell? Do you think there's a difference between a police officer and a cop? I agree and dutifully equipped my bike with a new bell.