Schadenfreude: road rage and instant karma

I think I chuckled steadily the last two miles of my bike ride home today. I saw something so funny, so beautifully scripted, that I could never have dreamed it up myself in a million years.

The I-90 bike path has a couple of pedestrian crossings: red lights in the middle of the block, with no cross street, just the bike path. The cycle is pretty long, so it's standard procedure for cyclists and pedestrians, even little old ladies, to look both ways and cross against the red. I should note here that simply looking both ways is not sufficient to keep from getting hit by cars. You also have to pay attention to what you see and behave accordingly.

When I got to the light, there was a pretty steady stream of cars. It was clear I was going to have to wait for the light to turn, no biggie. From the bike path behind me emerged a vile creature, a being made entirely of sinew, carbon-fiber, spandex and ego. Waiting for the light was not in the repertoire of this 2 wheeled thing from beyond. He looked both ways, saw the slightest gap between two cars, and sprinted through it. The oncoming driver slammed on his brakes and released a astoundingly civil little "toot" from his horn. This wasn't honking in vain. This wasn't a five-second burst on the horn with the volume turned up to eleven. This was the kind of horn blast that conveys no anger, just a reminder, "Hey! I exist."

Now this is where it gets funny...
The spandex-monster, who was by now on the bike path across the street, stood up in his pedals, craned his neck around, gave the driver the bird, failed to see the left bend in the path in front of him, ran off the trail into the grass, into a bush, and fell over in his clips.

...
I'm gonna let that mental image soak in for a second.
...

Now I'd like to point out that there were three bikers other than me patiently waiting for the light to change. Two were forty-something ladies out for a pleasure ride, and the third was an older gentleman who looks like he might've stormed Omaha beach, and is still in shape to do it again next Tuesday if he had to. All four of us laughed our heads off. "Señor macho" was still picking himself up off the ground when the older guy and I passed him (on the path, I might add), chuckling loudly. Hopefully he learned something today.

What can we learn from this scene? The data suggests that 80% of bikers enjoy watching irredeemable jerks get theirs. The other 20% of bikers might also enjoy watching irredeemable jerks get theirs, but he was too busy getting his to participate. Other than that, we can't draw any conclusions about bikers. Here's why.

Bikers are people. At any given time, all people are playing one of three roles: jerk, idiot, and decent human being. Everyone plays all of these roles at various times. Good people try to keep it skewed towards the third, but nobody's successful all the time. The Seattle PI has been running a lot of articles about Seattle's "Master Plan" for bikes. Inevitably, the PI's discussion boards are filled with angry drivers and bikers, hurling tirades about how awful the other group is.

Why must we phrase the discussion in terms of "bikers" and "drivers?" Why can't we phrase it in terms of jerks, idiots, and decent human beings?