This is hardly cooking-related, but I thought I'd share a recent sort-of-fun, sort-of-interesting experience.
I usually ride my bicycle to work at 5:15 am, and I leave for home between 3:00 to 4:00 pm most days, so I don't usually ride in much traffic even though my route takes me through the densest part of downtown, over a busy bridge, and then up a major commuter street. My schedule means that I avoid rush hour. Yes, we have rush hour in Portland. It is a wimpy little thing compared to rush hour in L.A. or N.Y.C. - for one thing, it actually lasts just an hour - but it is the best we can do. And I prefer to avoid it.
A few nights ago, however, I left work a little after 5:30 pm and rode home in the heart of rush hour. It was already dark. There were cars everywhere, densely packed, headlights and brake lights glowing and flashing. The traffic surged, braked, swerved, and revved around me. I felt like a skinny ranch dog in a herd of steel cattle. Traffic was so thick that for much of my ride, I was moving faster than the cars, passing them first in the traffic lane and then in my bike lane, even as we went up a mild grade.
Passing a stream of cars in my bike lane on the right makes me nervous. Since cars are seldom passed by bicycles, some drivers often figure if they haven't recently seen a cyclist, none is there. I was extra wary of being right hooked, which is when a car or truck turns right and cuts off a bicycle that is following on the right.
To my surprise, in Portland our drivers do in fact seem to be learning to check the bike lane before turning right. On several occasions a car clearly waited until I had passed to make its right turn. The number of bicycles on the roads has reached a critical point and their presence is becoming ingrained in the subconscious habits by which most of us drive.
Then again, there was the lady in the white Escape who suddenly jerked, without looking or signalling, into the bike lane to snatch a parking space . . . I saw her coming, so she only slowed me down. I hate losing momentum on an uphill but there's not always a choice.
I had switched on all my lights, including the headlight on the handlebar and the spotlight on my helmet. These are very bright, not your usual feeble bike light. When I'm coming up behind a car that is edging over toward my lane, whose driver might be thinking about turning across me into that driveway or side street, I lift my head and put my helmet spotlight right through his rear window. His cabin lights up as if someone switched on all the interior lights and his rear view mirror is suddenly blazing bright. The car stops edging over, the driver jerks upright and looks around for the source of the light, and I go safely by, not a statistic. Same when I'm approaching a side street at 25 mph and a car is creeping out into my lane. Aim the spot, the driver's face gets lit up, I see his staring eyes and knuckles tight on the steering wheel, and the car always lurches to a stop.
My lights make me unpopular with other riders. As I come up behind them and they see their shadows growing in the brightening pool of light, they look around for what vehicle is overtaking them. Car? Motorcycle? UFO? When they see it is another cyclist, I can sort of feel their irritation.
Or maybe I'm imagining it. We bike commuters seem like a surly lot, there's never any chit chat or even hellos or waves as pleasure riders often exchange. It feels like we are grimly forging through the minefield, every man for himself, with no thought to spare for each other beyond "I hope it's him and not me". It is even more impersonal at night. In the day I take a look at the riders I pass, admiring the shiny bikes and harrumphing at the scruffy ones. At night they are just anonymous figures to be caught and passed.
On the rear I had double red blinking LEDS, which felt inadequate in that sea of tail lights. I will investigate amber blinkies and reflective tape. Reflectivity is a great thing. Some riders put big patches of reflective tape on the back side of their panniers and they stand out like glowing warning squares. I wear a messenger bag, it has reflective strips dangling on the buckles, but I'd like the whole rear panel could be reflective.
And then, with reflectivity the farthest thing from their pea-sized brains, there are the (expletive deleted) bike ninjas. The riders with no lights at all, invisible ghosts who appear from nowhere in their fashionably dark clothing. I hate them. Almost ran into, or was run into by, two of those morons that night. I wish the police would ticket them just like they'd ticket a car driving at night with no lights. I wish they'd get right hooked straight into a light pole every now and then. Wait, they do.
I guess it wasn't really a relaxing ride home. But in a sort of aggressive, pumping, teeth-gritted way, I enjoyed it. I'm glad I get to have this particular kind of fun occasionally, and I'm glad I don't get to have it all the time.
lindac
John LiuOriginal Author
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