I was riding up E 14th St in Oakland, when a Susuki Samurai or some
such vehicle came up along side me and proceeded to make a right turn.

"Hey!" I yelled swerving off onto the other street.

Oblivious to my scream, the two girls replied, "Heeeeeey-ee," a
nondescript reply as if awakened from a slumber. I yelled for them to
watch where they were going and continued on my way.

"And they want equal rights, " came the words of a grizzled beared man
in a blue pickup. On the back it had a confederate flag bumper sticker,
the words Old Fart on another, and a VA sticker in the rear window of
the camper shell. A yellow, mut leaned its head out the window, tongue
wagging in the wind.

I said nothing to the man. I accepted his words as a statement of
solidarity. He had seen what had happened, the lack of remorse by the
two women, and was reaching out to a brother. ‘Hey man, I’m there for
you."

I still shook my head, though. It could have just as easily been a
couple of whites that might have cut me off. In fact, it’s happened
more often than I want to remember. In fact, once it was a cop. Cut me
off in an intersection. I yelled, "Hey!" which always seems to work.
It’s not as offensive as "Hey, fuck you!" but still pucent enough to
drive home the point. Would that it were a horn. They’re so
inoffensive, insomuch as people don’t take them as personal insults of
their family or some such thing. They don’t feel obliged to get out of
their car and chase after you with a tire iron (chapter 7).

The cop guns the engine of his Crown Victoria cruiser and very firmly and clearly yells, "Hey, fuck you!"

I remember the blue Ford pickup man’s soft words as well meaning but ignorant. I shook my head and pedaled on.

ZZZZhuuuuummmmm, came the tires, "EEEeeeeeeee. Heeeeeeeyy-eee, we’re
sorry" Vrrrroooomm. There was the Suzuki, dodging and skipping catching
up to me. An attractive buxum black woman leaned out the window.
"Heeeeeyyy-eee, we’re sorry. We didn’t mean to cut you off."

"That’s all right, " I yelled back in disbelief.

They skidded off, and stopped at a red light next to the blue Ford. I
pulled up and leaned on the door frame. "That’s the first time anyone’s
every apologized to me for cutting me off. Thanks, " I said smiling.

"We’re sorry. We didn’t mean it." She giggled and smiled.

And there was the man in the Blue Ford pickup. He had his dog, and his
bumper stickers, and his beard. I wish I could have said something to
make him feel more like a brother.