I've been on very good behavior for over a week after letting someone have it in such an angry way that I had to sit myself down later for a talking.
After work, the Contraption Captain and I bicycle towards each other and when we meet (usually in Palo Alto) he turns around and we often pull over for a minute or two. When he comes up beside me we signal and then pull into a parking space to avoid blocking bicycle or car traffic. We get off our bicycles and are hugging when I am briefly and unpleasantly startled to see that there is a white car wedging itself in behind us. I say "wedging" because we are in a single parking spot and the car has it's ass in the road and it's nose in the piece of the parking place that we are not using.
The person in the white car rolls down their window and yells "Can you move forward?"
Forward is the driveway to a parking garage. I don't want to be in the driveway for the parking garage. I want to be in the parking space, where I am already parked, and I want to be left alone. Also, I'm mad. Really mad. I say in a very unfriendly voice "No. I can't." To me the matter has been settled and I begin the important business of handing my laptop bag over to the Contraption Captain. He has panniers and I do not and I am happy to give my back a break.
The person in the white car tries again "How about you move forward about three feet?"
So here I am in a parking space that happens to be a loading/unloading zone where people can park for twenty minutes. We have our bicycles in the spot. We have hugged. We are loading and unloading. The entire operation is going to take about three minutes and yet before thirty seconds is up someone wants me to move? I take a deep breath and bellow "Jesus Christ!! What is your problem??? WAIT YOUR FUCKING TURN! What part of "NO" don't you understand you dumb broad?"
I'm really really angry. Usually when I'm angry it is because someone has done something that makes me think I am about to die. That wasn't it this time, this was new. I was angry because no matter how tiny a piece of real estate I command as a bicyclist, there always seems to be someone who is telling me that it is way way too much and I should give it all back to their very deserving 4-door sedan.
The cars honk and shout if the bicyclists ride side by side and try and talk to each other. The skinny little bicycle lanes of Toronto take up too much room and need to be torn out. When I try and make my way across the road, signalling that I want to take a left someone may shout at me that I am in the way. When I am pedaling to a red light a Dodge Charger roars by in the passing lane and then slams to a stop in front of me upset that I slowed them down however briefly. If bicyclists stand out too much we are behaving dangerously but if we blend in too much we get run over. And finally, if we move our bicycles into a parking space, away from the busy road and away from the crowded sidewalk there is still going to be someone standing behind us insisting that we should move forward.
Once I understood why I was mad it mostly went away. I'm still bicycling, still enjoying the beautiful evening air. I have a new helmet and some new lights and a new rear-view mirror. I know that many regard my tiny piece of real estate to be way too huge but I am not giving it up.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Thursday, November 1, 2012
Part 2. There is probably some truth to that "it's not if, it's when" stuff
First off I had no intention of leaving a cliffhanger. Two things happened: one was that I was so totally demoralized I couldn't really write. The other is that I re-read my previous post and all the typoes made me wonder if a nine year old had taken possession of my hands. I hope not because a nine year old running my hands would have serious repercussions for my work performance.
It's true about how bad news travels fast and that's how one day you find yourself getting a message from one co-worker that there has been an accident and another co-worker, who happens to be an avid motorcyclist, has been hurt.
I get this bad news and I'm really really upset. I've known this co-worker since before moving to California and he's a good guy with a family and now I am sitting there worrying that he is out on the road or at an ER maimed or paralyzed or worse and despite my having a supremely bad attitude about anything motorized I actually can't stand to see anyone suffer an injury greater than a little humiliation at the hands of an angry middle-aged bicyclist.
But I am more than just upset that someone has been hurt and to get why you have to understand that this co-worker takes motorcycle safety to the nth degree. He wears state of the art protective gear. He trains on a track with a coach. He's been riding for something like twenty years without incident. He really really loves to ride his motorcycle and at the same time he comes across as rock solid clear on the dangers of it and so he hedges his bets as best he can with good practices and good gear and training. What he does to protect himself, those are his walls.
I have my walls against death and dismemberment as well. My bicycle walls against the world are careful practices, good lights, a safe-ish route, a helmet, a reflective jacket, a loud voice, an understanding of car behavior (maybe) and an absence of headphones.
Back to my co-worker. We find out that his head and back are okay. We find out that his hand and foot are quite injured. One toe will be amputated. Several fingers will be wired back into place. He's at the ER, surgery will follow.
My response to this is relief (he's not dead) and then a creepy progression towards minimizing. One toe? Well, there are still nine others, right? One toe doesn't sound all that grievous. I manage to hold on to this very comforting position up until I am treated to a picture of his foot sans big toe and needing a skin graft. Hint: it looks like it hurts. A lot.
It's been weeks now and I haven't been able to write about this and as an aside he has not been able to return to work much either. I wanted to write about how my co-worker loves to ride his motorcycle, as I love to bicycle, and he tried to keep back the wall of larger vehicles but ultimately one got through. He was hit by a car in an intersection; he was going straight, they turned into him. It's a classic bicycle accident, the hook, I can't help but notice.
So I am thinking about what I want to say, about bicycling and tricking ourselves into thinking we'll be ok and cars and I am in a bicycle lane and I see a squirrel dart into the street and I just have time to yell when the next car hits it and I see it's body half crushed and as I bicycle by it's shuddering in this sickening death twitch. I stop my bicycle and then continue on and although I hate being this way I cry because I feel so awful about this squirrel and I think about the blank expression on the driver's face as she rolled over an animal and went on without hesitation. The Contraption Captain is always very nice when I unhinge in this manner so at the next traffic light I cry and he pats my back and I slowly stop seeing that awful moment of impact.
A shiny Mercedes pulls up. A window rolls down. Really. Because when I'm upset there is nothing I enjoy more than a driver telling me that I'm doing it wrong. An over-coiffed man informs me in what he thinks is a nice way that he's a doctor and perhaps he can help because obviously I am on a bicycle and having a nervous breakdown and he has his MD and is in a shiny car.
I collect myself and say in a reasonable voice that I saw a squirrel get run over and I'm upset. The MD says in what he thinks is a helpful way that when the squirrel gets hit it cannot process what has happened to it, the vastness of the trauma.
I don't know what to say to this. The Contraption Captain uses the word "fuck" which is totally unlike him. I don't say that it is my understanding that when massive trauma gets inflicted on a human shock gives them some protection from what is happening. It doesn't provide me any comfort at all that if I get squished into the grill of a Toyota Tundra I won't fully be able to appreciate the extent of my injuries.
So here's the deal. When they came for the squirrels no one said anything because hey, squirrels, who cares, right? When they came for the opossums and the raccoons no one said anything then either because who cares. Then they came for our cats and our dogs and we were kindof bummed out. And they've come for our children and they say "we didn't see him|her" and we go along with that for some misbegotten reason. They have come for the motorcyclists. They've come for the bicyclists, they have definitely come for the bicyclists and they say that we ran that light or we were not wearing a helmet or we had it coming or we "took our chances."
They are the cars on the road and at this point, they've come for everyone. For each other even. I don't have a plan here other than if they come for me and you find out? Don't paint a bicycle white. Don't send flowers. Rise up. Take back your roads. Slash tires and set fires. Tear down signs and stop traffic. Blockade highways. Because some day, some where, we must end the way they come for us and kill us and continue on up the road.
It's true about how bad news travels fast and that's how one day you find yourself getting a message from one co-worker that there has been an accident and another co-worker, who happens to be an avid motorcyclist, has been hurt.
I get this bad news and I'm really really upset. I've known this co-worker since before moving to California and he's a good guy with a family and now I am sitting there worrying that he is out on the road or at an ER maimed or paralyzed or worse and despite my having a supremely bad attitude about anything motorized I actually can't stand to see anyone suffer an injury greater than a little humiliation at the hands of an angry middle-aged bicyclist.
But I am more than just upset that someone has been hurt and to get why you have to understand that this co-worker takes motorcycle safety to the nth degree. He wears state of the art protective gear. He trains on a track with a coach. He's been riding for something like twenty years without incident. He really really loves to ride his motorcycle and at the same time he comes across as rock solid clear on the dangers of it and so he hedges his bets as best he can with good practices and good gear and training. What he does to protect himself, those are his walls.
I have my walls against death and dismemberment as well. My bicycle walls against the world are careful practices, good lights, a safe-ish route, a helmet, a reflective jacket, a loud voice, an understanding of car behavior (maybe) and an absence of headphones.
Back to my co-worker. We find out that his head and back are okay. We find out that his hand and foot are quite injured. One toe will be amputated. Several fingers will be wired back into place. He's at the ER, surgery will follow.
My response to this is relief (he's not dead) and then a creepy progression towards minimizing. One toe? Well, there are still nine others, right? One toe doesn't sound all that grievous. I manage to hold on to this very comforting position up until I am treated to a picture of his foot sans big toe and needing a skin graft. Hint: it looks like it hurts. A lot.
It's been weeks now and I haven't been able to write about this and as an aside he has not been able to return to work much either. I wanted to write about how my co-worker loves to ride his motorcycle, as I love to bicycle, and he tried to keep back the wall of larger vehicles but ultimately one got through. He was hit by a car in an intersection; he was going straight, they turned into him. It's a classic bicycle accident, the hook, I can't help but notice.
So I am thinking about what I want to say, about bicycling and tricking ourselves into thinking we'll be ok and cars and I am in a bicycle lane and I see a squirrel dart into the street and I just have time to yell when the next car hits it and I see it's body half crushed and as I bicycle by it's shuddering in this sickening death twitch. I stop my bicycle and then continue on and although I hate being this way I cry because I feel so awful about this squirrel and I think about the blank expression on the driver's face as she rolled over an animal and went on without hesitation. The Contraption Captain is always very nice when I unhinge in this manner so at the next traffic light I cry and he pats my back and I slowly stop seeing that awful moment of impact.
A shiny Mercedes pulls up. A window rolls down. Really. Because when I'm upset there is nothing I enjoy more than a driver telling me that I'm doing it wrong. An over-coiffed man informs me in what he thinks is a nice way that he's a doctor and perhaps he can help because obviously I am on a bicycle and having a nervous breakdown and he has his MD and is in a shiny car.
I collect myself and say in a reasonable voice that I saw a squirrel get run over and I'm upset. The MD says in what he thinks is a helpful way that when the squirrel gets hit it cannot process what has happened to it, the vastness of the trauma.
I don't know what to say to this. The Contraption Captain uses the word "fuck" which is totally unlike him. I don't say that it is my understanding that when massive trauma gets inflicted on a human shock gives them some protection from what is happening. It doesn't provide me any comfort at all that if I get squished into the grill of a Toyota Tundra I won't fully be able to appreciate the extent of my injuries.
So here's the deal. When they came for the squirrels no one said anything because hey, squirrels, who cares, right? When they came for the opossums and the raccoons no one said anything then either because who cares. Then they came for our cats and our dogs and we were kindof bummed out. And they've come for our children and they say "we didn't see him|her" and we go along with that for some misbegotten reason. They have come for the motorcyclists. They've come for the bicyclists, they have definitely come for the bicyclists and they say that we ran that light or we were not wearing a helmet or we had it coming or we "took our chances."
They are the cars on the road and at this point, they've come for everyone. For each other even. I don't have a plan here other than if they come for me and you find out? Don't paint a bicycle white. Don't send flowers. Rise up. Take back your roads. Slash tires and set fires. Tear down signs and stop traffic. Blockade highways. Because some day, some where, we must end the way they come for us and kill us and continue on up the road.
Monday, October 22, 2012
The Walls Around Us: a tragedy in two parts
Part 1.
I was bicycling home by myself. I was on the long straight piece where I can see up the road ahead and, in my rear view mirror, the road behind. I have a bike lane. The cars travel fast here but I don't feel unsafe as they have their two or three lanes and I have my skinny little ghetto filled with flat animals and broken glass.
Anyone who bicycles in traffic develops a strong sense of when something is wrong (sociopath at 2 o'clock, evasive maneuvers, cap'n!) and I am no exception which is how I came to be simultaneously pedaling and trying to figure out what was happening behind me about a half mile back.
It was...a motorcycle. In the bicycle lane. Travelling at speed. It was not a motorcycle darting in and out of the bicycle lane with a warm disregard for anyone's safety, it was a full on "this is the best way to go" motorcycle heading up the bicycle lane scattering bicyclists of all kinds to either side. The pretties staggered onto the sidewalk, heaving their teal cruisers after themselves. The roadies forced themselves into traffic. The elderly Mary Poppin bicyclists stopped and huddled by the curb. The hipsters stopped and waited for the storm to pass.
Meanwhile the motorcycle accelerated past all the cars on it's left and up the bicycle lane and now it was my turn to make a decision. I ended up with a sick rabbit thing where I kept pedaling but huddled against the curb, my skinny tires bouncing along the gravel and assorted road junk until the motorcyclist blew by and I got myself back on the steady.
Then of course we are all at a red light together as that's the way this game always goes. Some asshole nearly kills a bunch of people and we all meet at the next red light. I notice that the motorcyclist has Colorado license plates. I memorize the number because I'm good at stupid pet tricks that involve remembering strings of letters and numbers.
Me: Hey. You.
Motorcyclist: [turns towards me]
Me: Go back to Colorado.
The motorcyclist takes off when the light turns green, moving in front of the other cars until he encounters traffic and then going to his fallback position of travelling in the bicycle lane. I think about how much I dislike motorcycles. I think about how loud they are. I think about how it scares me when they force their way past and I think about how being hit by a motorcyclist would be a lot like being hit by a car. I think about how I hate it when people equate bicycles and motorcycles as if they were basically the same animal - they're not.
After awhile I think also about how it is always the worst of a tribe that draw attention. The average motorcyclist doesn't come onto a person's radar like the guy who rides his ugly pig of a machine up the bicycle lane. The only memorable bicyclist is the one who goes through a red light while a bevy of fat SUVs watch in frustration. I finish by thinking that vehicles that speed are scary and that if cars pretty much always speed that goes about quadruple for motorcycles.
At least a week goes by during which I am sure that there is no common ground for me between bicycles and motorcycles. Then I get a message about an accident and I am forced to see things differently.
I was bicycling home by myself. I was on the long straight piece where I can see up the road ahead and, in my rear view mirror, the road behind. I have a bike lane. The cars travel fast here but I don't feel unsafe as they have their two or three lanes and I have my skinny little ghetto filled with flat animals and broken glass.
Anyone who bicycles in traffic develops a strong sense of when something is wrong (sociopath at 2 o'clock, evasive maneuvers, cap'n!) and I am no exception which is how I came to be simultaneously pedaling and trying to figure out what was happening behind me about a half mile back.
It was...a motorcycle. In the bicycle lane. Travelling at speed. It was not a motorcycle darting in and out of the bicycle lane with a warm disregard for anyone's safety, it was a full on "this is the best way to go" motorcycle heading up the bicycle lane scattering bicyclists of all kinds to either side. The pretties staggered onto the sidewalk, heaving their teal cruisers after themselves. The roadies forced themselves into traffic. The elderly Mary Poppin bicyclists stopped and huddled by the curb. The hipsters stopped and waited for the storm to pass.
Meanwhile the motorcycle accelerated past all the cars on it's left and up the bicycle lane and now it was my turn to make a decision. I ended up with a sick rabbit thing where I kept pedaling but huddled against the curb, my skinny tires bouncing along the gravel and assorted road junk until the motorcyclist blew by and I got myself back on the steady.
Then of course we are all at a red light together as that's the way this game always goes. Some asshole nearly kills a bunch of people and we all meet at the next red light. I notice that the motorcyclist has Colorado license plates. I memorize the number because I'm good at stupid pet tricks that involve remembering strings of letters and numbers.
Me: Hey. You.
Motorcyclist: [turns towards me]
Me: Go back to Colorado.
The motorcyclist takes off when the light turns green, moving in front of the other cars until he encounters traffic and then going to his fallback position of travelling in the bicycle lane. I think about how much I dislike motorcycles. I think about how loud they are. I think about how it scares me when they force their way past and I think about how being hit by a motorcyclist would be a lot like being hit by a car. I think about how I hate it when people equate bicycles and motorcycles as if they were basically the same animal - they're not.
After awhile I think also about how it is always the worst of a tribe that draw attention. The average motorcyclist doesn't come onto a person's radar like the guy who rides his ugly pig of a machine up the bicycle lane. The only memorable bicyclist is the one who goes through a red light while a bevy of fat SUVs watch in frustration. I finish by thinking that vehicles that speed are scary and that if cars pretty much always speed that goes about quadruple for motorcycles.
At least a week goes by during which I am sure that there is no common ground for me between bicycles and motorcycles. Then I get a message about an accident and I am forced to see things differently.
Friday, October 12, 2012
One day "I didn't see you" will not be an acceptable legal defense.
My youngest (eight years) rides her bicycle to school every day. This has the usual effect of making me very happy and very terrified at the same time.
Happy: so proud! look at my darling daughter! she loves to bicycle!
Terrified: so afraid! what happens if an SUV comes to close and hurts her!
Through a mixture of my love of bicycling (I really love riding my bicycle) and various strategic defensive practices I summon enthusiasm for the endeavour and try and minimize danger. The non-bicyclist responds here with "why do it at all? don't you have a car?" Well, we do "it" for a lot of reasons. We bicycle because if you don't exercise your kids they develop odd nervous behaviours. We do it because bicycling is a lot more fun than sitting in the backseat of a car and our kids enjoy riding. We do it because we think it's more right to bicycle a short distance than drive a short distance. We do it because we think that overall the route is pretty safe. We do it because we want our kids to learn safe bicycling habits while they are still young enough to respect our opinions. We do it because we think we can minimize the risk.
How do we (attempt to) minimize risk?
1. We all wear helmets. Lately I have been really hating on my helmet so this is a big deal. I hate the way my helmet blocks some of the sky. I hate the way it sometimes makes my head itchy. I wear it anyways. Some studies show that cars give more room to women with long hair who do not wear helmets but I can't take the risk that I get hit without a helmet and then have to deal with headlines saying "drunk driver hits bicyclist who did not wear a helmet so we know she had it coming, right? RIGHT?" I want the headline to read "drunk driver hits bicyclist who was wearing a helmet and no one understands why she was injured anyways."
2. We ride with the Contraption Captain in front, Rapunzel in the middle, and me in the back. I stay just to the left of Rapunzel and watch approaching cars carefully. Fun Fact about being a parent. You aren't just willing to throw your bike and your body in between your child and a dangerous car, you are GRATEFUL for the chance to be crushed so that your kid can live to adulthood and your only worry is that your death may cause her emotional trauma.
3. We are relatively slow. Even when we have a green light we approach pretty slowly because of the risk that some asshat wanting to take a right at that light will say "hey, I let that big red bicycle go but two more bicyclists is way the hell too many to wait for. The blonde kid on the 8-gear is going to have to be toast." Note to that guy? If you ever touch a hair on her head I will find you and tear your kneecaps out without benefit of anaesthesia. No, really. I will.
4. We are very law abiding. This means that yes we stop at stop signs and slow down when we see a yellow light. Just like those law abiding cars do. Hahaha! Just kidding. The car has not been made that slows down for a yellow light when it is hurling itself towards an extreme mani-pedicure.
5. ...and I ride somewhat unpredictably.
This last one is kindof new for me. I've always ridden the "be predictable" horse really hard. I apply it to crosswalks where I call out bicyclists who ride on the sidewalk and then bounce down into the crosswalk at speed as being a problem. Google "bicycle predictable" and you get the following front page hits:
Seattle Bicycle Club - Responsible Cyclists Are Predictable
Be Predictable - Being predictable means doing what drivers expect you to do, and not surprising them.
Nice Ride MN - Safety Be predictable. Drivers and walkers need to be able to anticipate your movements.
Haha and just for contrast you also get this one:
twin city sidewalks: Another Predictable Bicycle Tragedy
So yes. Talk to bicyclists and they will tell you to be predictable, to do what drivers expect you to do and for crissakes don't surprise the cars or they may turn on you like an angry drunk and crush you into the curb.
So here's the thing. I'll be bicycling in the bike lane behind Rapunzel. I'll notice a car approaching way too fast. I notice that the car has a wheel in the bike lane and as I watch it swerves in a little closer. I respond by feigning a small epileptic seizure, I make my bicycle shudder from the left to the right. I do not leave the bicycle lane but I come up the the line, twitch spasmodically, and then stagger in the direction of the curb. And while riding my bicycle as if I had centipedes in my helmet (ewww!) I watch the cars in my mirror and guess what: They get the hell out of the way. They veer back out of the bicycle lane and turn towards the center of the road. How come? Unpredictable bicyclists are weird and scary and it's best to give them extra room because who knows that kind of random bullshit they might get up to. Unpredictable bicyclists are like the homeless drunk guy who is wandering around in the park unzipping his fly --- you give him some room unless you relish being peed on.
So all I am saying is, sure, I guess, be predictable. Don't throw yourself under the wheels of an approaching bus. But don't be too predictable either. Every time there is a fresh car to bicycle accident or car to motorcycle or car to pedestrian accident I hear the same old tired refrain. "I didn't see them." And then everyone nods understandingly. "A tragedy. The car did not see the bicyclist. Very sad but understandable really." They do not see because they do not look, so be open to the idea that there will be times when you do not want to be predictable, when you must make them look. Try this experiment: when you see a car that is too close in your mirror (you have a mirror, right?) lean towards them, twitch towards them.... and watch what happens, does the car move away?
Happy: so proud! look at my darling daughter! she loves to bicycle!
Terrified: so afraid! what happens if an SUV comes to close and hurts her!
Through a mixture of my love of bicycling (I really love riding my bicycle) and various strategic defensive practices I summon enthusiasm for the endeavour and try and minimize danger. The non-bicyclist responds here with "why do it at all? don't you have a car?" Well, we do "it" for a lot of reasons. We bicycle because if you don't exercise your kids they develop odd nervous behaviours. We do it because bicycling is a lot more fun than sitting in the backseat of a car and our kids enjoy riding. We do it because we think it's more right to bicycle a short distance than drive a short distance. We do it because we think that overall the route is pretty safe. We do it because we want our kids to learn safe bicycling habits while they are still young enough to respect our opinions. We do it because we think we can minimize the risk.
How do we (attempt to) minimize risk?
1. We all wear helmets. Lately I have been really hating on my helmet so this is a big deal. I hate the way my helmet blocks some of the sky. I hate the way it sometimes makes my head itchy. I wear it anyways. Some studies show that cars give more room to women with long hair who do not wear helmets but I can't take the risk that I get hit without a helmet and then have to deal with headlines saying "drunk driver hits bicyclist who did not wear a helmet so we know she had it coming, right? RIGHT?" I want the headline to read "drunk driver hits bicyclist who was wearing a helmet and no one understands why she was injured anyways."
2. We ride with the Contraption Captain in front, Rapunzel in the middle, and me in the back. I stay just to the left of Rapunzel and watch approaching cars carefully. Fun Fact about being a parent. You aren't just willing to throw your bike and your body in between your child and a dangerous car, you are GRATEFUL for the chance to be crushed so that your kid can live to adulthood and your only worry is that your death may cause her emotional trauma.
3. We are relatively slow. Even when we have a green light we approach pretty slowly because of the risk that some asshat wanting to take a right at that light will say "hey, I let that big red bicycle go but two more bicyclists is way the hell too many to wait for. The blonde kid on the 8-gear is going to have to be toast." Note to that guy? If you ever touch a hair on her head I will find you and tear your kneecaps out without benefit of anaesthesia. No, really. I will.
4. We are very law abiding. This means that yes we stop at stop signs and slow down when we see a yellow light. Just like those law abiding cars do. Hahaha! Just kidding. The car has not been made that slows down for a yellow light when it is hurling itself towards an extreme mani-pedicure.
5. ...and I ride somewhat unpredictably.
This last one is kindof new for me. I've always ridden the "be predictable" horse really hard. I apply it to crosswalks where I call out bicyclists who ride on the sidewalk and then bounce down into the crosswalk at speed as being a problem. Google "bicycle predictable" and you get the following front page hits:
Seattle Bicycle Club - Responsible Cyclists Are Predictable
Be Predictable - Being predictable means doing what drivers expect you to do, and not surprising them.
Nice Ride MN - Safety Be predictable. Drivers and walkers need to be able to anticipate your movements.
Haha and just for contrast you also get this one:
twin city sidewalks: Another Predictable Bicycle Tragedy
So yes. Talk to bicyclists and they will tell you to be predictable, to do what drivers expect you to do and for crissakes don't surprise the cars or they may turn on you like an angry drunk and crush you into the curb.
So here's the thing. I'll be bicycling in the bike lane behind Rapunzel. I'll notice a car approaching way too fast. I notice that the car has a wheel in the bike lane and as I watch it swerves in a little closer. I respond by feigning a small epileptic seizure, I make my bicycle shudder from the left to the right. I do not leave the bicycle lane but I come up the the line, twitch spasmodically, and then stagger in the direction of the curb. And while riding my bicycle as if I had centipedes in my helmet (ewww!) I watch the cars in my mirror and guess what: They get the hell out of the way. They veer back out of the bicycle lane and turn towards the center of the road. How come? Unpredictable bicyclists are weird and scary and it's best to give them extra room because who knows that kind of random bullshit they might get up to. Unpredictable bicyclists are like the homeless drunk guy who is wandering around in the park unzipping his fly --- you give him some room unless you relish being peed on.
So all I am saying is, sure, I guess, be predictable. Don't throw yourself under the wheels of an approaching bus. But don't be too predictable either. Every time there is a fresh car to bicycle accident or car to motorcycle or car to pedestrian accident I hear the same old tired refrain. "I didn't see them." And then everyone nods understandingly. "A tragedy. The car did not see the bicyclist. Very sad but understandable really." They do not see because they do not look, so be open to the idea that there will be times when you do not want to be predictable, when you must make them look. Try this experiment: when you see a car that is too close in your mirror (you have a mirror, right?) lean towards them, twitch towards them.... and watch what happens, does the car move away?
Thursday, October 11, 2012
off the wagon and rolling downhill very fast
The seasons are exerting their delicate change here in the bay area which means that some mornings are overcast and occasionally my hands get cold if I do not wear gloves. Soon the time change will come and plunge my commute home into darkness. I think I'll hand out more lights this year cause it's better to light a candle etc. etc.
I am currently exiting a particularly egregious phase of personal aggression against cars, something I liken to an alcholic having a drink and then going on a binge of pissed-offed-ness. I know I should be calm and mannerly and I know that if I antagonize the wrong car it might go nuts and tear my leg off but I can't seem to always get a lid on the instinct to let dangerous drivers know that I am unhappy with them.
So here, for your amusement, my latest instances of going berserk. Terrible language is ahead (I love bad language and can curse like a sailor) so if you're the easily offended type best be heading over to one of the blogs about how to bicycle and look pretty at the same time.
I'm on my way to work, thinking about a particular problem I am trying to solve and watching the road and the cars. I am in a bicycle lane. Ahead is a red light. I need to make a left turn at that light and so I must cross two lanes and settle myself into the left turn only lane. I stick out my arm and signal my desire to go left. I look in my mirror and over my shoulder and a car yields to me and I move over one lane. I signal more and look more and move over the next lane, at which point an angry minivan stomps on the gas and speeds by me on my right gesturing rudely at me out their open window. The driver's face says "bicyclists are so dangerous, it's shocking how they act all surprised when cars hit and kill them." I see the man's arm waving around and I stab in his general direction with my middle-finger because as far as I am concerned he can fuck his bad attiude with a rusted coat hanger if he thinks I don't deserve to make a safe and lawful left hand turn as I commute to work.
Now we are of course all sitting at the red light that he wanted to get to first.
I'm mad.
I take a deep breath and use my powerful lungs to bellow "I WAS TURNING LEFT, YOU FLACCID DICKED ASSHOLE."
The parked cars around me all inhale sharply and I realize that the majority of people commuting to work are men. Their faces convey anxiety. "Who is this woman and how does she know my dick is limp?" One gentleman in a yellow convertible has gotten extra of my voice and looks particularly worried.
I sigh and attempt to clarify, this time shouting "I AM TALKING TO THE HONDA ODYSSEY IN THE RIGHT LANE, NOT THE YELLOW SPORTS CAR." Everyone turns and stares in the direction of the Honda Odyssey. I watch, smugly, as he quickly rolls up his window. Corvette guy spots the Odyssey and then points at it and starts laughing.
Ok that was bad but also incredibly fun for me. It totally turned around the feeling of having some disapproving guy with thinning hair chastising me as he revved the engine and passed me way the fuck too close.
All is quiet for a few days until I am not so much cut off as forced off the road (towards oncoming traffic for those p by an SUV driver speeding towards yet another red light. I arrive at the red light a few moment later and stare gloomily into her rear view mirror. She did not so much cut me off as never see me at all. She's busy with her cell phone. I frown. I study the back of her shiny Merceded SUV. It has one of those family groups on the back: Daddy in a tie. Mommy in an apron. Cute girl with big bow. Cute boy in shorts. Dog with tongue hanging out. "Fuck you and fuck your family" I think to myself. "Talking on your fucking cell phone when you should be watching out for other people ont he road." I peer closer at the car. The family people are not stickers.
They are magnets.
I brighten. I lean forward and abruptly pick the Mommy sticker off the back of the SUV and tuck it in my backpack. The light turns and I pedal away. Two intersections on I put the Mommy magnet onto the back of a blue Porsche Boxster driven by a doughy man who is busy texting his accountant. I smile fondly at my handiwork as he guns the engine and drives away. So yeah, from one Mommy to another? Fuck you and your thoughtless driving.
And since we are on the subject, a nod to my active fantasy life...
One day, if all goes well, I will be waiting behind one of those cars with "truck nuts" hanging off the back. And I will lean forward with my wire cutters and snip-snip. And then I'll take a picture. And then I'll toss those balls into the recycling.
I am currently exiting a particularly egregious phase of personal aggression against cars, something I liken to an alcholic having a drink and then going on a binge of pissed-offed-ness. I know I should be calm and mannerly and I know that if I antagonize the wrong car it might go nuts and tear my leg off but I can't seem to always get a lid on the instinct to let dangerous drivers know that I am unhappy with them.
So here, for your amusement, my latest instances of going berserk. Terrible language is ahead (I love bad language and can curse like a sailor) so if you're the easily offended type best be heading over to one of the blogs about how to bicycle and look pretty at the same time.
I'm on my way to work, thinking about a particular problem I am trying to solve and watching the road and the cars. I am in a bicycle lane. Ahead is a red light. I need to make a left turn at that light and so I must cross two lanes and settle myself into the left turn only lane. I stick out my arm and signal my desire to go left. I look in my mirror and over my shoulder and a car yields to me and I move over one lane. I signal more and look more and move over the next lane, at which point an angry minivan stomps on the gas and speeds by me on my right gesturing rudely at me out their open window. The driver's face says "bicyclists are so dangerous, it's shocking how they act all surprised when cars hit and kill them." I see the man's arm waving around and I stab in his general direction with my middle-finger because as far as I am concerned he can fuck his bad attiude with a rusted coat hanger if he thinks I don't deserve to make a safe and lawful left hand turn as I commute to work.
Now we are of course all sitting at the red light that he wanted to get to first.
I'm mad.
I take a deep breath and use my powerful lungs to bellow "I WAS TURNING LEFT, YOU FLACCID DICKED ASSHOLE."
The parked cars around me all inhale sharply and I realize that the majority of people commuting to work are men. Their faces convey anxiety. "Who is this woman and how does she know my dick is limp?" One gentleman in a yellow convertible has gotten extra of my voice and looks particularly worried.
I sigh and attempt to clarify, this time shouting "I AM TALKING TO THE HONDA ODYSSEY IN THE RIGHT LANE, NOT THE YELLOW SPORTS CAR." Everyone turns and stares in the direction of the Honda Odyssey. I watch, smugly, as he quickly rolls up his window. Corvette guy spots the Odyssey and then points at it and starts laughing.
Ok that was bad but also incredibly fun for me. It totally turned around the feeling of having some disapproving guy with thinning hair chastising me as he revved the engine and passed me way the fuck too close.
All is quiet for a few days until I am not so much cut off as forced off the road (towards oncoming traffic for those p by an SUV driver speeding towards yet another red light. I arrive at the red light a few moment later and stare gloomily into her rear view mirror. She did not so much cut me off as never see me at all. She's busy with her cell phone. I frown. I study the back of her shiny Merceded SUV. It has one of those family groups on the back: Daddy in a tie. Mommy in an apron. Cute girl with big bow. Cute boy in shorts. Dog with tongue hanging out. "Fuck you and fuck your family" I think to myself. "Talking on your fucking cell phone when you should be watching out for other people ont he road." I peer closer at the car. The family people are not stickers.
They are magnets.
I brighten. I lean forward and abruptly pick the Mommy sticker off the back of the SUV and tuck it in my backpack. The light turns and I pedal away. Two intersections on I put the Mommy magnet onto the back of a blue Porsche Boxster driven by a doughy man who is busy texting his accountant. I smile fondly at my handiwork as he guns the engine and drives away. So yeah, from one Mommy to another? Fuck you and your thoughtless driving.
And since we are on the subject, a nod to my active fantasy life...
One day, if all goes well, I will be waiting behind one of those cars with "truck nuts" hanging off the back. And I will lean forward with my wire cutters and snip-snip. And then I'll take a picture. And then I'll toss those balls into the recycling.
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
you don't have to live this way
If you were following the 24 hour news cycle about two years back you might have seen a small story about a neighbourhood in San Bruno, California. It blew up. The fire was so bad that everyone assumed a plane had crashed. Paint melted off cars. The wind-shields on the firetrucks cracked from the heat. Six people died. In the end no plane was found and people put together enough pieces to understand that there had been a gas pipe explosion.
Fast forward to the present and PG&E has been on it's best behaviour seeing as even in the US, exploding a town can be considered bad for business. Numerous repair projects and refurbish projects have come off back burners and are stopping traffic all over the bay area --- including up the road from where I live and along the section of Middlefield that I take to get to work. When they need to replace those big pipes there's nothing for it but to halt traffic and rip up the road. What does this mean for bicycles? Not a lot really. We skate along in our mostly empty skinny little lane and squeak around the cars on those occasions that our little bit of real estate gets torn up.
Two weeks or so back I saw the worst traffic ever, bar none, on Sand Hill Road. It was backed up from the 280 all the way to El Camino. Possibly further. It wasn't just slow but for much of the time the cars were not moving, a parking lot. Contraption Captain and I are hurrying home and we wonder what the deal is, so much traffic. Odd. Then we spot a broken down car being pushed. That must be the problem, we think. But no. It turns out that this car just lost it's mind in an agony of slowness. It's being pushed by two humans who are in an agony of back-pain but traffic is so slow that the dead car is not changing the profile around itself.
So what is it? PG&E working on their repairs. It was quite a snarl. It was such a snarl that I saw two helicopters hovering around ostensibly there to airlift the despairing Lamborghinis and Maseratis to safety. Porsches and Ferraris can go screw of course, those guys are a dime a dozen. Cars everywhere were sobbing quietly as they wondered where the open empty roads of their relevant car commercials were, who had sold them this bill of goods. They had thought themselves alone in the world! And yet here they were on roads that were positively infested with other cars.
I lol'd. It was so much traffic that at a certain point it just became amusing. My commute was (of course) the same as it ever was with two mild course corrections.
Course Correction 1: Cars in parking lot traffic will wedge a wheel into the bicycle lane even if the right turn they are making is four miles further up the road. This is annoying.
Course Correction 2: Cars stuck in this kind of traffic get really upset. They go through all the stages of grief. Denial "This isn't happening to me!" followed by Rage "This shouldn't be happening to me!" followed by Acceptance "Kill me now." And then, when the traffic finally clears, they reach a point that grief victims try and avoid: Retaliation as in "Those fucking bicycles are for it now. Zooming past me when I was stuck like that..."
So, be careful out there my friends. And if you are in a car stuck in traffic? Those bicyclists aren't mocking you, they're showing you the exit.
a now a song snippet for you, with apologies to Gotye:
Now and then I think of all the time I spent in gridlock
Always believing that a car was the only choice
But I don't want to live that way
Stuck in traffic every goddamned day
Now I leave, my car at home
I ride my bicycle, lost ten pounds plus I'm free to roam
Fast forward to the present and PG&E has been on it's best behaviour seeing as even in the US, exploding a town can be considered bad for business. Numerous repair projects and refurbish projects have come off back burners and are stopping traffic all over the bay area --- including up the road from where I live and along the section of Middlefield that I take to get to work. When they need to replace those big pipes there's nothing for it but to halt traffic and rip up the road. What does this mean for bicycles? Not a lot really. We skate along in our mostly empty skinny little lane and squeak around the cars on those occasions that our little bit of real estate gets torn up.
Two weeks or so back I saw the worst traffic ever, bar none, on Sand Hill Road. It was backed up from the 280 all the way to El Camino. Possibly further. It wasn't just slow but for much of the time the cars were not moving, a parking lot. Contraption Captain and I are hurrying home and we wonder what the deal is, so much traffic. Odd. Then we spot a broken down car being pushed. That must be the problem, we think. But no. It turns out that this car just lost it's mind in an agony of slowness. It's being pushed by two humans who are in an agony of back-pain but traffic is so slow that the dead car is not changing the profile around itself.
So what is it? PG&E working on their repairs. It was quite a snarl. It was such a snarl that I saw two helicopters hovering around ostensibly there to airlift the despairing Lamborghinis and Maseratis to safety. Porsches and Ferraris can go screw of course, those guys are a dime a dozen. Cars everywhere were sobbing quietly as they wondered where the open empty roads of their relevant car commercials were, who had sold them this bill of goods. They had thought themselves alone in the world! And yet here they were on roads that were positively infested with other cars.
I lol'd. It was so much traffic that at a certain point it just became amusing. My commute was (of course) the same as it ever was with two mild course corrections.
Course Correction 1: Cars in parking lot traffic will wedge a wheel into the bicycle lane even if the right turn they are making is four miles further up the road. This is annoying.
Course Correction 2: Cars stuck in this kind of traffic get really upset. They go through all the stages of grief. Denial "This isn't happening to me!" followed by Rage "This shouldn't be happening to me!" followed by Acceptance "Kill me now." And then, when the traffic finally clears, they reach a point that grief victims try and avoid: Retaliation as in "Those fucking bicycles are for it now. Zooming past me when I was stuck like that..."
So, be careful out there my friends. And if you are in a car stuck in traffic? Those bicyclists aren't mocking you, they're showing you the exit.
a now a song snippet for you, with apologies to Gotye:
Now and then I think of all the time I spent in gridlock
Always believing that a car was the only choice
But I don't want to live that way
Stuck in traffic every goddamned day
Now I leave, my car at home
I ride my bicycle, lost ten pounds plus I'm free to roam
Saturday, September 8, 2012
didn't we almost have it all?
My week at work was absolutely horrible (send me an NDA if you want the disgusting and also boring details) but the bicycling was actually quite nice. It makes me notice, or re-notice, a few things. One is that most days no one comes close to killing me, that despite a media representation of bicycling being a mode of transportation best suited to people yearning for a (sometimes fast and sometimes slow but always painful) death... mostly it is pretty calm and uneventful. I pedal, I signal, I turn, I get back into the bicycle lane, I pedal some more, I stop, I continue I meet up with my husband I bicycle home lather rinse repeat.
The other item I notice is that there is a steady backdrop to my bicycling life that like almost anything you see every day is hard to notice. This backdrop is formed by my route. It is the changing houses, the 'for sale' signs that come and go, the work that is started and completed, the lights and decorations that get put up and then put away and it is shaped by the people I see and sometimes ride with. An almost never discussed (that I notice) quality of bicycling over the same route twice a day five days a week is that you get to know the people. Here are some of mine:
One of the pleasures of a big company (this week I'm thinking it is possibly the only pleasure of a big company but like I said, rough week) is having co-workers in other countries who like to bicycle. This is how I came to have staying with me, a few months back, a Dubliner who is a steady bicycle commuter when at home and "has never cared for cars all that much."
He picked up a temporary bicycle when he got to the US and pedaled home with me (nine miles or so) that night despite his having spent the entire day in what must have been tiring transatlantic travel. This is also how I know that UK area bicyclists shoal to the left --- not that surprising when you work through which side of the road they drive on but quite a surprise in the US where we shoal to the right.
The next day, after a nice breakfast, my Dubliner friend and the Contraption Captain and Rapunzel and I all set out on bicycle for our respective destinations, which involved pedaling Rapunzel to school first and then the rest of us to our respective offices. We rode pleasantly along and Dubliner said thoughtfully "Just like on the telly, really." When I asked him what he meant he explained that on television, American children are always portrayed bicycling or walking to school.
O RLY.
In the US, it is a minority of children who walk or bicycle to school. In some places it verges on illegal for a kid to bicycle to school. Unless of course they have a police escort and even then they may be sent home.
But European television is not entirely current (last time I visited) with American television which is why (last time I checked) the Europeans I talk to are also surprised that I am not blonde and that the family does not have a drawer full of guns in case we need to shoot someone.
But once it was true. Not the guns, but the bicycling. Once our kids walked and bicycled to school. We didn't even need special lanes for them. Schools were closer and cars were fewer. If at that time we had gone the Dutch route and started building bicycling infrastructure instead of the American route, add tons more cars and faster roads we might today really have it all. Instead we're fighting to take hold of just a few feet.
One more thought if you're still around. I'm subbed to a mailing list of area road bicyclists. Some part of the talk is area rides and another part is bicycle maintenance but a not insignificant piece is surviving the road so a person can live to ride another day. In such a discussion someone referred to the "bike lane" and then referred to times they find they must ride in the "car lane." A second person corrected them saying that there was no "car lane" there were public roads. Before cars there were public roads and people walked on them and biked on them and rode their horses or drove a coach and four or whatever. It was a road. You used it to get from point A to point B. And now? We have car lanes.
We almost had it all but then we threw it all away.
The other item I notice is that there is a steady backdrop to my bicycling life that like almost anything you see every day is hard to notice. This backdrop is formed by my route. It is the changing houses, the 'for sale' signs that come and go, the work that is started and completed, the lights and decorations that get put up and then put away and it is shaped by the people I see and sometimes ride with. An almost never discussed (that I notice) quality of bicycling over the same route twice a day five days a week is that you get to know the people. Here are some of mine:
- The network/software engineering guy whose company (you have not heard of it) was just acquired by vmware so his route has changed and we see each other only in passing. He is now fabulously wealthy. I noticed that he has not bought a new bicycle yet. Wonder if he will get around to that?
- Cheerful Guy who looks a little like Richard Gere, in fact Palo Alto being Palo Alto he might actually *be* Richard Gere. We have been waving fondly and calling "good morning!" to each other for some five years now. During that time we have never been bicycling in the same direction. We have seen each other carry kids on riders, trail-a-longs, and in wagons. In a weird very minor way, our kids have grown up together, they are all on their own bicycles now. Cheerful Guy is always happy, always smiling, in stark contrast to my often sullen self. I look forward to our high speed minuscule exchange of pleasantries.
- Sullen woman. Twice a day every day I see Sullen Woman. She rides a vintage something or another that I am pretty sure she bought when it was new. She never wears a helmet because helmets are for pussies, or maybe helmets are for the little people, donno. We do not acknowledge each other's existence but I'd definitely stop and trash the car that disturbed one thread of her Talbot's clothing.
- Guy who lives on Bryant and has a greyhound that he walks every day. At some point he had seen me ride my bicycle past his house often enough that he noticed me and now we wave to each other every day. His smile says "I never worry about bicyclists running over my dogs." My smile says, "It's cool that people still walk places."
- Big broad-assed woman (actually there are two of these) who wears too tight lycra shorts. Rides a road bicycle. Doesn't stop at the 4-way stops. Finally met up with her on a long straight away with no traffic lights and she trounced me anyways. Damnit.
One of the pleasures of a big company (this week I'm thinking it is possibly the only pleasure of a big company but like I said, rough week) is having co-workers in other countries who like to bicycle. This is how I came to have staying with me, a few months back, a Dubliner who is a steady bicycle commuter when at home and "has never cared for cars all that much."
He picked up a temporary bicycle when he got to the US and pedaled home with me (nine miles or so) that night despite his having spent the entire day in what must have been tiring transatlantic travel. This is also how I know that UK area bicyclists shoal to the left --- not that surprising when you work through which side of the road they drive on but quite a surprise in the US where we shoal to the right.
The next day, after a nice breakfast, my Dubliner friend and the Contraption Captain and Rapunzel and I all set out on bicycle for our respective destinations, which involved pedaling Rapunzel to school first and then the rest of us to our respective offices. We rode pleasantly along and Dubliner said thoughtfully "Just like on the telly, really." When I asked him what he meant he explained that on television, American children are always portrayed bicycling or walking to school.
O RLY.
In the US, it is a minority of children who walk or bicycle to school. In some places it verges on illegal for a kid to bicycle to school. Unless of course they have a police escort and even then they may be sent home.
But European television is not entirely current (last time I visited) with American television which is why (last time I checked) the Europeans I talk to are also surprised that I am not blonde and that the family does not have a drawer full of guns in case we need to shoot someone.
But once it was true. Not the guns, but the bicycling. Once our kids walked and bicycled to school. We didn't even need special lanes for them. Schools were closer and cars were fewer. If at that time we had gone the Dutch route and started building bicycling infrastructure instead of the American route, add tons more cars and faster roads we might today really have it all. Instead we're fighting to take hold of just a few feet.
One more thought if you're still around. I'm subbed to a mailing list of area road bicyclists. Some part of the talk is area rides and another part is bicycle maintenance but a not insignificant piece is surviving the road so a person can live to ride another day. In such a discussion someone referred to the "bike lane" and then referred to times they find they must ride in the "car lane." A second person corrected them saying that there was no "car lane" there were public roads. Before cars there were public roads and people walked on them and biked on them and rode their horses or drove a coach and four or whatever. It was a road. You used it to get from point A to point B. And now? We have car lanes.
We almost had it all but then we threw it all away.
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