A Perfect Storm of Orange Soda and Minivans

I was out riding a few manual pads in downtown Jersey City that I like to frequent at night. I did what I wanted to do and started pedaling home after about an hour and a half. It’s mid March and it’s only about 40 degrees out, still kinda cold and I was sweaty. The no-brainer was to head home.

Heading up the hill on Newark Ave., I pass a group of approximately 8-10 thugged out kids walking up the hill. Immediately, the “Yo gimme your bike” “Faggot bitch ass” and still more “Gimme that bike” are hurled at me, which I choose to ignore and continue riding up the hill. Let’s face it, I could’ve returned some insults, but do I need to risk loosing my bike or getting in a fight with a lot more people than I can handle? No. Besides, ignoring ignorant people always kinda negates whatever they’re trying to do. So yeah, I ignored the insults, didn’t give them my bike and kept riding.

I did hear, “Hope you like soda biker,” or something like that. And then I spotted it in the air. A 20-ounce bottle of orange soda, being hurled from the group of thugs in my direction. It sailed over my head and landed perfectly on the roof of a minivan full of a different group of thugs driving up the hill. They stopped dead on the side of the road, jumped out of the van and ran straight past me toward the first group of thugs that threw the soda bottle meant for me. I didn’t stop to enjoy the ensuing brawl, but I sure enjoyed knowing that my perfect timing started it.

I tend to think that everything in this world is connected in some way or another. I could’ve stayed out riding even two more minutes and non of the above would’ve happened. The first group of thugs would’ve already been up the hill on Newark Ave. when I started riding home, and the same goes for the second group of thugs in the minivan. Maybe something different would’ve happened, maybe not. I can’t really say since I’m already at home. But for some unforeseen reason, three ingredients of this world collided into what became a 30-second perfect storm on the slight incline up Newark Ave. that eventually leads into The Heights.

I climbed the next hill off of Newark Ave. that leads back to my house and looked back over a twisted mass of bridges, roadways and sidewalk chaos, which at this point, was a full-fledged brawl between the two groups of thugs fighting over a tossed soda bottle initially meant for me. I was glad I got out of there, but still baffled at how my simple, non-aggressive act of riding my bike home had inadvertently caused a large fight between two groups of people. And it made me think that maybe everything isn’t connected, and that maybe this world is just a random mess of unrelated-ness waiting to collide and explode into fits of moral ambiguity.

But wow, was it ever a funny, funny mess.

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