The other day, I stumbled upon a ‘zine called Urban Velo.

The magazine — available in a for-real pulp version, but also free to download at urbanvelo.org — is billed as a “reflection of the cycling culture in current day cities.”

I’m not sure what a current day city is, but I know the bulk of the content doesn’t apply to me.

For the most part, it’s a magazine about, by and for big-city cyclists. Though there’s something in it for Joe Commuter, it seems geared toward the fixed-gear cool kids and their traffic-dodging, wrong-way-riding, skid-stopping hipster ways. Think New York City bike messenger — and all its wanna-be ilk.

But one feature caught my eye.

One issue had an article entitled, “Ten types of pedestrians we love to hate,” and I have to say, I found it more than moderately amusing.

I didn’t necessarily agree with all the entries.

For instance, one was a rant against pedestrians who had the gall to wait for traffic to stop at a light before stepping out into the crosswalk without thinking a speeding cyclist might be lane-splitting his way between the stopped cars. The nerve! Apparently said ped shouldn’t cross against the light or with it, for that matter, and must perpetually be trapped on the curb.

But I did get a chuckle out of some of the other entries, and thought I’d add a few of my own.

Don’t get me wrong: I don’t hate pedestrians. For the most part, on my bike I rarely encounter walkers. They walk on the sidewalk, I ride on the street, and rarely do our paths cross.

But sometimes they do, and when they do, it can be a recipe for disaster.

Like:

The Oblivious Pedestrian. Usually, this walking hazard is either tuned in to headphones, distracted by a cell phone or consumed by conversation with another oblivious pedestrian. They step off curbs, meander down the centerline and generally don’t realize what dangers they court … to themselves and others.

The Physics-Challenged. True story: The other day, I was riding downtown, headed home, when a man and a child stepped off the curb right in front of me. I had the light. I had seen the man look both ways before urging the boy forward. I had to swerve between the youngster and the curb and narrowly avoided both. I can only assume pops walked because he saw me and figured, “It’s only a bike.” I can assume that, because as I rode by and resisted the urge to lay some grown-up words on the lad’s young ears, the man said, “It’s only a bike.” Only a bike or not, the combined 200 or so pounds of man and bike (OK, a little under 200) at 20 mph is going to raise more than a welt upon impact, big man, and you better believe if it comes down to it, I’m not plowing into the kid.

Harry High-Five. This perambulatory well wisher generally only stumbles out of bars at closing time the night of big Kansas University basketball victories. I’ll be riding along when he lurches in my path, hootin’ and hollerin’ about the big victory and insisting on slapping palms as I ride past. I generally pass. Misjudge his beefy mitts and I’m going down, hard.

Sir Spooksalot. I almost never ride on sidewalks. There is one exception: a short stretch close to downtown that, I swear, is designated as a bike route. Occasionally there — and far more frequently on the multi-use trail along Clinton Parkway; I’ll rant about that evil in a future blog — I’ll roll up behind someone walking along. I’ll slow to a crawl, clear my throat, say, “Pardon me,” and most of the time the ped will move to the side, allowing me to pass. Sir Spooksalot, though, has this whole fight-or-flight thing wrong. Startled out of his or her reverie, this strolling menace will instead jump toward the source of the noise — in this case, my voice. Talk about a good way to get maimed. Here’s hoping he doesn’t hear a car horn or tornado siren or, heck, trumpeting elephant anytime soon.