COLUMN: "Here's One For the Road"

From Andra Fogel and Darren Fogel's "He Got the Bigger Room," Fall '92 Cab drivers are routinely criticized. Granted, they do manage to get you from point A to point B, but taking a cab is rarely seen as a safe way to get to your destination. While waving to a cab to come pick you up, it is not unusual to see three cabs fearlessly traversing multiple lanes of traffic in 1.4 seconds flat, in order to win over the $4.75 worth of your business. After seeing this happen, one curiously ponders the uplifting thought that cab drivers actually drive for a living. Taking this into consideration, it is quite amazing that most cab drivers still do not know the basic rules of their profession. Perhaps we are the mistaken ones, and cab drivers have actually devised their own rules of proper driving etiquette. In our world, stopping at red lights is a must for a safe trip. Anyone will tell you that it is a smart way to avoid accidents. While they may not drive safely, cab drivers are very adept at finding the longest possible route to get you to your final destination. In addition, cab drivers serve as excellent databases for any miscellaneous information you may need to know, such as who won the Eagles game, what tomorrow's weather is, and who the feature dancer at Wizard's is that evening. Another group of travellers sure to attract attention is city bicyclists. Although their days on Locust Walk are supposedly numbered, they still tear down the center of campus with reckless abandon. Whatever you do, watch out! On the whole, bicyclists are the gutsiest of the bunch. They are the ones with the big cahoonas, and they think they own the world because they have souped up, 21-gear, dual action, twin component, radar detector-equipped, bikes with action-sprocketed, double-gauged, hug-the road tires. Roaring roadsters are intelligent enough to cross the street with Penn shuttle buses approaching head on. Furthermore, your average cyclist will motor down a cobblestone path, scrape your heel with a mammoth front tire, knock your single-strapped bookbag off your shoulder and then spray up some foul-smelling leftover rainwater, from the puddles found on every other inch of Penn's campus, directly in your face. How pleasant. But while the city cyclists we just talked about are real trouble, there exists one breed of cyclists that you just do not want to be around, ever. These are the cyclists that fly by while you predict, "That guy is going to get totally messed up." They appear completely out of control. It's the person that -- although already racing 95 mph in the opposite direction down a traffic-filled one way street -- says "I'm travelling way too slow," and decides to pedal even harder. What is truly remarkable is that they don't get hurt. It's as if every evening these bicycle red barons pray to some divine guru cycle god and repeatedly chant, "Don't let me get mangled, save me from mutilation, keep me from the emergency room for just one more day." Unfortunately for the happy-go-lucky pedestrian, this cycling guru replies, "Yes Deathwish, yes Bonecrusher, yes Skull Lord I will grant you further insanity. You may continue to ride as as if hell is freezing over. Be there, my peddling friend, to ride and support your fellow crusaders from the depths of the underworld. Ride on?" Motorcyclists are almost as bad as the bicycle demons. Just as motorcycles became fashionable again, the trend found Penn's campus. They have truly begun to stake their claim in the University area. Unlike bicyclists, motorcyclists not only carry with them 750 horsepower of mass metal machine, but also egos the size of Franklin Field. Here, we are talking about both the motorcycle and the person behind the wheels -- more specifically, the upwardly mobile, yuppie sucker from New York City who will only ride a "Harley." Yes, these are the radical contrarians who -- when Calvin Klein put his supermodel wife on a polished dream machine -- said, "That is for me." And, off with Daddy's cash, they went to the local BMX roadway center to find the ultimate turbo powered roadster "with character." Since they are financially poised to lay down the dollars for something they know nothing about, these people are a salesman's dream. Of course, after the purchase, such people are easily detectable. Their multi-zippered leather jackets are brand-spanking new. Their hair is slicked back, fashionably styled by Vidal Sassoon. And they wear this faint smirk on their face that clearly reads, "My parents do not know about my bike." Furthermore, once the rugged set decides to turn up the heat and rev their new engines, one has to laugh and ask, "Dude, are you riding that bike, or just caressing it?" Individuals on these bikes look completely lost. Before actually riding, they sheepishly hop on their bikes and fumble for the ignition. Listen for a minute as they begin to grind the engine, and then ask if you want a ride. "Forget it!" is the correct response. They'll tell you they can ride, but you know better. And a few weeks later, you are certain to hear that your motorcycling, trend-beating, "I-am-Evil-Knievel's-cousin" acquaintance was just admitted to the Hospital at the University of Pennsylvania. Darren Fogel and Andra Fogel are siblings from Rydal, Pennsylvania. She is a College freshman; he is a senior Entrepreneurial Management major. "He Got the Bigger Room" appears alternate Wednesdays.