SEP 2, 2008 – 12:00AM

It’s not that uncommon to be the target of some sort of oral abuse when I’m out on my bike.

I don’t know what it is about a grown man on two wheels that makes him such a welcome target for big mouths on four, but it’s common enough I come to expect it and consider it at least a weekly part of my regular commutes.

And, for the most part, I shrug it off.

When you’ve heard the unimaginative “Get out of the $%*&ing street” or the ubiquitous “Way to go, Lance,” as many times as I have, you tend to tune the morons out.

But my ride to work Saturday evening was a Bizarro World trip down the bike-commute auditory canal.

Maybe it was the fact Kansas University was opening its football season at home. That results in more folks on the road and more folks from out of town, changing the typical traffic flow.

And there’s a festive atmosphere, so maybe that makes people more likely to abuse cyclists.

Whatever the cause, Saturday’s ride was odd in that I was accosted twice in a five-minute span.

And the nature of the shouts were noteworthy, as well.

First, a prepubescent boy leaned out the back window of a passing car not far from my home and hollered, “MMMMMMMMMNMM MMM MMMMMNNNNNNNNN MMMMM-GINA!!!!!!!!”

Then, a few miles down the road, a woman of indeterminate age screamed, “HRMPH HMPMPHMPH HRPHRPMH MOTORCYCLE!!!!!!!!!!”

I’ve stopped being perplexed to be the target of taunts, but both of those tirades were perplexing in their sheer weirdness.

Both vocalizers were hindered by bad enunciation.

And at first I had no clue what message the loudmouths were trying to get across.

But as I pedaled on, I think I deciphered the cryptic messages.

The first I initially assumed was likening me to a certain piece of female anatomy, one that has its own monologues.

But I eventually dismissed that because I don’t think many prepubescent boys would consider all the synonyms for that particular body part and pick that particularly proper term when there are so many others that are oh-so-much-more colorful.

Especially when yelling out a car window and going for the startle factor, as this kid was, don’t pussyfoot around: Let fly with your best banned-from-TV classic.

So I eventually came to assume Bobby Blabbermouth was, in fact, worried about my health and cautioning my about the dangers of angina.

He actually had my best interests at heart.

Which brings us to the second venting.

I couldn’t fathom anyone confusing my plodding progress with that of a speedy motorized two-wheeler’s, so I was stumped.

Then it dawned on me: The Old Yeller in question recognized me from an earlier blog about the secret motorcyclist wave and was giving me a positive shout-out in acknowledgment.

Now that I’ve uncovered the meaning behind both bellows, I’m glad I didn’t respond unkindly.

It just goes to show not every car-bound bike-berater is filling the air with negative vibes.