Steroid-crazed cyclists—with their maniacal veering in and out of traffic, up and down sidewalks, and into lanes clearly designated "Pedestrians Only"—threaten joggers in Chicago, picnickers in San Francisco, sunbathers in Los Angeles and even retired nuns lollygagging along the banks of the Schuylkill in Philadelphia. They turn a casual midday Manhattan stroll into a terrifying gauntlet; they turn a postprandial constitutional along Boston's Charles River into pure hell. You have to go back to the time of Genghis Khan to find mounted marauders more bloodthirsty, more treacherous and more pitiless than American bicyclists.
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