my nerves are shot.

Dear Chafed,

How is the experiment going with having the kids ride their own bicycles to camp in the morning?

Thanks,

- Imaginary Reader

Dear Imaginary,

I have six words for you:

Three crashes in three days.*

-Chafed



Crash #1 was on Monday.  We are rolling along Sand Hill Road.  We are in a bike lane but there is plenty of heavy-breathing commuter car traffic to our left and I am Not at my Calmest.  As is her wont, Sparkle Pony is allowing more and more distance to develop between her and Red Leader (aka Contraption Captain) with the result that Contraption Captain goes through a red green (sorry for the typo CC!) light, Sparkle Pony arrives at the same light and observes it turn yellow, Sparkle Pony slams on the brakes, and Rapunzel collides with her.

Rapunzel (7 years) takes it surprisingly well but her front fender is de-railed.  We limp in to Contraption Captain's place of work for a repair and continue on to camp after a discussion about stopping gradually and not killing your sister.

Tuesday brings us to Crash #2.  Different intersection but same result.  Light turns yellow and Sparkle Pony stops on a dime.  Rapunzel does not.  Rapunzel collides with Sparkle Pony and gets a long scrape on her back.  Now I'm mad and I complain aggressively to Sparkle Pony who cries.  It is not a good ride.  I mean, no one dies but I start to wonder about cars and whether I should spend more time in them. 

Wednesday and (yes, really) we arrive at Crash #3.  Rapunzel has had enough and is being towed in a wagon where she can sing and play with her toys and feel generally safe from attack by her older sister.  We are heading down a hill and Sparkle Pony (who very much enjoys signaling) is signaling a left hand turn and hitting the brakes when she flies off her bicycle.  I can't believe it.  To her credit Sparkle Pony gets right to her feet and pulls up her bicycle and resists attempts to apply sympathy and comfort.  She says she is fine and indeed she appears fine.  We get to camp without any additional incident.

This is the last week of camp.  Up until this point we were doing quite well.  Rapunzel loves to bike.  Sparkle Pony loves to bike (and apparently has had the opportunity to work out a few aggressions on her younger sister) and I...kindof prefer biking with just Contraption Captain at this point.  We're still doing fine if you ignore the big bald patches on my head =(








*That's right, my nerves are so shot I can't even count anymore.  Which is a problem since I'm an engineer (not the train kind either) and numbers Matter.

was it good for you? no. really. was it good for you?

In the morning this road is a little residential road which could stand re-paving.  In the evening it's a way too narrow road that could stand some re-paving.  In the evening there are cars parked on both sides of the road and that shrinks it down to about 1.5 car lanes, aka not really enough for cars traveling in two different directions.

This little road is a bit of a thoroughfare for bicycles.  It steers some to a bike bridge and others to bicycle boulevard.  It steers a third group towards yet another bike bridge that takes riders to downtown past a library.  The 1.5 car lanes fit a lot of bicycles because we are so skinny.  I note that the reason the cars have a hard time fitting down this road is not because the road is too narrow, it's because the cars (parked and moving) are too fat. 

It's after work and Contraption Captain and I are bicycling towards home, talking and leaning towards each other as we recount our days.  We are riding side by side and watching for car doors.  A car comes up behind us and I can tell from the way it's frothing at the mouth that it is frantic to get past these two horrible side by side obstacles.  I mentally shrug and move behind Contraption Captain.

The car passes us on the left but of course the road is so narrow, has been made so skinny with parked cars that the car is now in oncoming traffic.  And there is oncoming traffic.  Car #2 turns the corner at this moment and leans all over their horn in absolute outrage at seeing oncoming traffic in their lane, admittedly an unpleasant experience.  Car #1 gets in front of us but can't actually go any faster because we were traveling at about 15mph and that's about what this road can take. 

Car #1 gets to a stop sign but is so ruffled by having had to slow down for a bicyclist that they don't really stop which is a shame as there is a pedestrian crossing the street in the crosswalk.  The pedestrian (who appears to be a grouchy old man type of pedestrian) pauses in front of the car to scream at them and chastise them for not stopping and for their generally bad behavior.

Contraption Captain and I smother laughter. 

Car #1 finally makes it past the pedestrian and takes off with his exhaust pipe between his legs.  Or something.

This brings me to a picture I saw yesterday.  It's a picture of a supremely grief-striken girl holding a sign encouraging people to "Walk for Life" to support breast cancer research.  The sign indicates thet her mother has died of the disease.  It's a tragic and moving picture.  I looked at it for a long time, hoping that I would not die when my children were small and still needing me.  People wrote in talking about the importance of a cure so that no one else's mother dies.  All true, ok? 

But.

I just want to say this: 

Without any research. 
Without any fund-raising. 
Without any act from Congress.

....it is in our power to save lives now. 

Is it 200 feet to the end of the road?  Do you really need to pass that bicyclist?  Why not wait, that would be safer.  Is it a stop sign?  Think about stopping.  Do you not want to stop because those damn bicyclists don't stop?  Hey, didn't your mother tell you that just because everyone jumps off a cliff doesn't mean you should jump to?  Do right.  Turn away from wrong.

Nearly all of us drive cars at least some of the time and most of us drive all of the time.  Everyone who drives a car has the power to save a life.  Now.  Today.  Without research.  Yield and allow another driver onto the highway.  Let someone go in front of you who is signaling that they need to turn off.  Wait for that little kid on her bike who is slow to get underway when the light turns green.  Be slow and be patient and drive gently and you will be the person who saves someone's mother, someone's child, someone's friend, someone's husband.

It begins with you.

On July 24, a pleasant lazy Sunday for many of us, a well loved software engineer was driving back to his home after running a few errands.  A second car slammed into his BMW and killed him instantly.  Steve Lacey leaves behind a wife he loved and two little kids he treasured.  The person who killed him was (maybe) drunk and claims to have been in pursuit of another car "that cut me off" when they ended his life and broke the hearts of Lacey's family and friends. 

Don't drive drunk.
Don't use your car as a weapon when you are angry.
Don't use your car as a weapon!
Don't kill someone's wife.
Don't kill someone's husband.
Don't kill someone's father or mother or sister or brother. 
Don't do what cannot be undone.

Save someone.

Please.

I have seen the soldiers of bicycling. And they're very cute.

Ever since writing about The Pretties aka the Beautiful Godzillas I've been noticing cute girl bicyclists.  I saw a beautiful woman with straight black hair and an imperious gaze and a taupe bicycle with turquoise trim standing on the wrong side of the road while waiting for a light to turn.  I've seen pairs of young women bicyclists riding side by side inclining their heads towards each other to share a joke And No One Bothers Them.  I've reviewed every close-call incident I've ever had with another bicyclist and confirmed, it's never been a Pretty.  They do whacked out stuff like ride on the sidewalk or up the wrong side of the street or stopping suddenly to  check their make-up or fingernails but they do not have near death experiences like the rest of us.  Why?  They're supremely slow.  A good roadie is travelling at 26mph andwhen things get dodgy disaster strikes fast.  Pretty Godzillas?  They literally don't want to break a sweat.  Sweating is for losers.  Sweating is for Uglies aka you and me.

It was an incident of a few nights back though that sealed the deal for me.  The setting:  a pleasant summer evening.  I'd left work and biked the eight miles or so as fast as I fucking could.  My backpack was glued to my sweaty back.  My hair was stuck to my face.  I probably had bugs on my teeth, I often do.  I was delighted with the number of roadies I'd cooked on the way home and then I got to the intersection of El Camino and Sand Hill.  That was when I saw them:  Two Pretties, a matched set.

Their bicycles were boring and cheap, washed up mountain bicycles from some department store that was having a going out of business sale.  These particular Pretties looked to be about eighteen years old.  The one nearest me turned her Thoroughbred head and gave me a vapid gaze that communicated that she vaguely saw something nearby that appeared to be totally middle-aged and obsolete.  Ewww.

I looked at her with interest.  She had on a dark blue bra made of something soft.  Over the bra she had on a pale pink tank top with spaghetti straps.  Her shoulders were a little bit tan.  She had long dark honey-colored hair.  She was wearing incredibly tiny denim shorts that barely covered her rump.  Her friend was dressed similarly and they shared similarly bored expressions on their symmetrical faces.

The light turned green.  Denim Shorts had left her bicycle in a supremely high gear.  She pedals off slowly, languidly.  She has a fantastic rump.  I mean I'm female and I could see that this was the kind of rump that can make a guy cry.  And this rump with this jeans is standing on her pedals and turning the cranks in super slow motion.

I heard a pin drop.

This is the intersection where every goddamned day the light turns green for me and a dozen fucking cars run that light because the only traffic is from hapless bicyclists.  Not that evening.  This was the day not a car ran the light.  In fact, this was the day I saw one guy get out of his car and put his hand over his heart and salute.  There was another one on his knees next to the wheelhub of his Jeep Cherokee either praying and having a religious experience or moaning and having a heart attack.  I'm not sure which but he looked pretty happy about it.

I mutely followed The Rump across the street and then took off for home, a realization growing within my bitter old chest.

If we're going to be saved, it will be The Pretties who save us.  Who cares about running over a few kids?  Well as long as no jail time is involved, I mean they probably had it coming, right?  And grandma?  She likely had one foot in the grave already, you're doing her a favor.  And roadies?  Ugly clothes and weird expressions on their faces.  Commuters?  Uglier and weirder.  Also sweaty.

But a beautiful girl in tiny shorts on a bicycle?  This, my friends, is something worth stopping for.  I for one salute our new bicycle overlords.

don't be that guy (if only because it can get expensive)

My commute in to work (and towards camp for the kids) leads down a long straight hill with a divided road, two lanes of traffic going in each direction and a big wide bike lane for the bicycles.  Which is good because the traffic here moves fast and a skinny bike lane would be scary.  Part way down the hill there is an intersection.  Here the road fans out with three additional lanes (bringing our total to five lanes for just one direction!  Those lucky cars!  Has anyone ever seen five bike lanes?  Yeah I didn't think so) with two for car-people going left, two for car-people going straight, one for car-people turning right.  The bike lane turns into a skinny avenue between the right hand lane and the straight lane. 

So far so good.

Car is heading downhill towards the intersection.  They wish to take a right on red.  The straight-going traffic is way backed up however, waiting for a green.  What to do?

If you guessed "drive down the bike lane" you would be correct.  Which happens to be illegal but whatever.

So this morning we are riding down the bike lane towards the red light.  Contraption Captain, Sparkle Pony, and then me pulling Rapunzel.  As a bicyclist I am a noticer and as a bicyclist mom out with her kids I am a noticer times ten thousand so here is what I notice:

1.  The back of a black car that is pulled entirely off the road.  A person standing by the car.
2.  I see a newer generic Red Car pull out of car lane and into bike lane.

#1 is not in the bike lane at all and has no brake lights etc so it's dropping off my radar.
#2 makes me shake my head and laugh and feel annoyed all at the same time.  It's not a close call or anything but people abruptly pulling into the bike lane like this open the door to people pulling into the bike lane on top of me or one of my family.  I have no desire to be mounted by 3,000 pounds of hot red metal, thanks.

Then what happens?

1.  I see the person by the car move into the bike lane.
2.  I see Red Car pull *back* into the car lane.

What do I think?

"Ohhh, hey, that's so sweet and hopeful!!  Red Car must have seen my nice family and done the right thing."  Except maybe not.  Now I see what Red Car has noticed.  That black car on the shoulder is a POLICE CAR OMFG!  POLICE!  POLICE!!  POLIIIIIICE!  YOU ARE SO SCREWED!

Cop is holding a camera in his hand.  Cop has clearly photographed Red Car doing the Naughty.  Red Car tries to hide among the other cars but Cop gestures angrily that Red Car needs to pull over so he can be spanked as an example to all the other commuters.  Driving to work having already blown a chunk of your paycheck on a donation to your local PD is so civic minded.  Or something. 

Cop sees the three bicyclists and one wagon check their progress and gestures us through. 

the kids are alright.

Following recovery from her cold Rapunzel wanted to get back into bicycling to camp which made me happy.  I do not mind towing her as the trip is long and the hour early but I love the idea that she is excited about bicycling and I am proud of how she is handling herself. 

So Monday we were going along pretty well.  Contraption Captain in the lead (I'm reminded of Make Way For Ducklings) and then Sparkle Pony a dignified second, Rapunzel third, and then Chafe City.... with a packet of ninja throwing stars for any drivers who come too close to the bike lane's white line.

We clear the Stanford Mall and cross El Camino and begin our charge towards Bryant Street where the traveling is easier.  Ding ding ding!  Railway crossing.  Train.  We pull up and wait for the train to go by.  Train goes by.  Gate come back up.  Contraption Captain and Sparkle Pony head across.  Rapunzel is just on the crossing with me behind her when the bell starts ringing.  Again.  She is seven and does not know that she can just continue on and be ok, she is sure that a train is imminent and she is at least worried she might die but hopeful that her mother can save the day.  She halts and panics and tries to back her bicycle up with her still on it.  This goes:  not well. 

I pat her back and move her off the bike and steer her under the gate and then quickly drag myself and the two bikes under the gate with me and then I back us off until we are at least close to the white line.  The lights are flashing red and the bell is very loud.  Neither of us enjoy the experience much.  I pat Rapunzel's back some more and the second train hurtles by. 

I glance towards the cars lined up and waiting, gauging their level of humanity as they will be briefly held up by us.  The middle-aged woman behind the wheel of the car in front meets my eye and the look she gives me is one of purest compassion and sympathy and kindness.  Someone's little kid just had a bad scare.  Rapunzel does not cry.  She gets back on her bike and we cross the tracks and bear left towards Bicycle Boulevard.  No car honks. 

Rapunzel tells me that the gate should have just stayed down after the first train.  I agree with her.  I say "if you ever find yourself stuck on tracks with your bicycle, what do you do?"  Rapunzel says "Drop the bicycle and get off the tracks."  I agree.  Sparkle Pony adds "Because you can't replace us, but you can replace a bicycle." 

Yes.

something about just past middle-aged white guys

There is a certain kind of guy who I am especially wary around.

• They are always white professionals.  
• Their wives have (finally) left them and taken them for every cent they have.  
• They're forced to drive a second rate sports car when their pals are driving BMWs and Boxsters.  
• They haven't been laid in over a year.  That last time they had to pay and frankly she didn't seem all that into it.
• If they have kids the kids do not call.  
• They definitely do not have a dog, dogs have more sense.  
• At some point they figure out that their co-workers have always known that those stories about 'nam are totally bogus.

And they really hate bicyclists.

We saw one of these loser white-hole-drivers today.  Contraption Captain and I were heading home from work.  A quiet wide road is briefly un-lined.  On the far left is a turn lane for going into a strip mall with a grocery store.  The far right lane is for people turning towards several apartment complexes.  The go straight lane is for people, well, going straight towards another residential area and the intersection has a 4-way stop.

This kind of driver especially hates two bicyclists riding side by side because it reminds them that no one in their right mind would want to be by their side.  We were not riding side by side however.  Contraption Captain was in front and heading up the lane for going straight.  I was behind him.

I watch White Guy Whose Dick May Drop Off  From Inaction as he shakes his fist at my guy and takes both hands off the wheel to demonstrate his contempt for a bicyclist who has the nerve to not be on the sidewalk with the kids walking out for a fro-yo.  He steps on the gas and zooms past my guy, gesturing rudely.  I cross my fingers and Contraption Captain wisely stays calm.

Hey White Guy.  Glad you weren't overly feeling your oats.  Because.  If you had touched a hair on my man's head I would have caught right up to you, reached into your shitty vehicle and torn your nuts off and crushed them in my fist before your eyes cause that's just how I roll.

Instead White Guy careens up the street, driving way too fast for a quiet tree-lined road.  He's shaking his head at the horror of having been briefly behind a bicyclist who clearly gets more in an hour than he gets in a year.

And then he turns onto our street.

So another thing, White Guy.  I don't know how many times I have to warn you people about this.  Never never poop in your own yard.  I know where you park your car.  Keying is for pansies but you have four tires and six windows that are very naked to me.

Love,

Chafed