No form of frustration, no kind of rage, can compare to the feelings of a Manhattanite stuck in traffic. He taps his feet, pounds his fist against the windowpane, vows to move to Colorado, and wishes he could jump out of his conveyance with a ray gun, cutting a deadly path through the surrounding metal wilderness of trucks, buses and cars. Ray guns, so far, are out; but there is an escape machine that a small, hardy band of New Yorkers are using to beat the traffic nightmare: the bicycle.
Manhattan bike riders...
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