Back in Action

My apologies to all my fans for not updating this blog regularly. It's not for lack of material, but between shooing people off my lawn, writing forceful letters to my congressman about Obama-something-or-other, or writing scathing editorials about the latest Microsoft product for Wired Magazine, I just don't have the time.

Take today, for example. Riding in on Rugby as I have done nearly every day for two years, some frat boy in his precious SUV decided to honk at me and "politely" inform me that I needed to be riding in the bike lane as he passed. Since I slowed him down by what must have been hours, I caught up to him at the light by the Rotunda, and we proceeded to have the usual pissing match over who needs to look up the rules of the road.

There was no shouting -- it was pretty tame, really -- and eventually he kind of got the point. Still, I never really get these conversations quite right (in my defense, it's hard to make your case in 15 seconds). But upon further reflection, I should have said the following:

Hey, buddy. You're rocking the whole kakhi pants/button down shirt thing there, so I'm guessing you go to UVa -- judging from your backwards sunglasses, probably the Comm School. That must mean you're smart -- at least on paper -- so let's dig down into your vast critical reasoning ability and take the following quiz:

Most likely, I am riding in the middle of the lane because:

a) Despite being on a bike, I am in fact blind so I had no idea there actually is a bike lane over there,

b) I am deaf, so I didn't hear your horn telling me to get out of your way,**

c) I knew I was holding you up, but I really enjoy it when impatient idiots tell me that they “worry about my safety”, or

d) Perhaps, just perhaps I am aware enough of my surroundings to realize that the bike lane is currently taken up by slower, lesser cyclists, and if I don't want to run them over, I should probably find a way to go around them.

Alas, all that might be more than 15 seconds.

**OK, this one is theoretically possible, but I doubt this was running through our hero's head

Reading the Rules

Honestly, Mr. Frat Boy**, if you're going to insist that I 'read the code', you might want to familiarize yourself with it first. I suggest you start with the part about not using your car as an outlet for your aggression. Let's hope that the nice police officer I spoke with explained it to you.

**I do not in fact know that the driver of (VA) WYS 7445 was a frat boy, but he sure fit the stereotype.

The Things People Say

What is it about people that they can't admit they've made a mistake? Actually, not just that, but making up something absurd just to try and be right?

Take this morning. Walking my daughter to school as I normally do, I came to the T-intersection at the end of our street. We turned to cross the 'stem' of the 'T' just as a pickup truck was approaching from the branch on the far side. The truck feigned a stop (he did better than my wife normally does, so no foul there) but then proceeded to turn towards us. He was looking straight at me, and as I continued across the street, he started to swerve into the oncoming traffic lane, but then he decided to stop. As I passed, he rolled down his window, and I braced myself for the usual nonsense about being more careful, or whatever.

"You need to be on the other side," he said.

Um, what?

More and more, this is my response to people who decide to engage me in such situations. That is, they say something so goofy that I can't even figure out what they think they mean, more or less respond. So I end up just saying, "You need to be more careful." Or whatever.

Did he think I had to cross the one leg of the 'T' before I could turn up the hill? Did he think I was supposed to go around the fire hydrant? Did he want me to go around behind his truck? What on earth could be going through his mind that he thinks a pedestrian doesn't have the right-of-way crossing the street?

Or did he just think that it was my job to stay out of his way, and he made up whatever crazy rule he could think of to justify himself?

A Name to the Face

About a month ago, I was the victim of serious verbal abuse from what turns out to be a local lost cause in the making. Police were called; nothing happened; I had mostly put it out of my mind. Until an odd coincidence.

The story started on a ride home on a Friday afternoon. Riding down Rose Hill Drive, through one of Charlottesville's many examples of crappy bike planning, I got the popular honk and engine rev from the driver of a white SUV. As usual, I noted the license plate, an easy to remember "2 BAB", and carried on.

Sure enough, as I was passing by Walker Upper Elementary, there was the SUV (remember the license plate? Not too hard, that one.) I gave the driver a good look and kept on riding. A minute later at 4-way stop by the whale tail, I realized the SUV was following me, and the driver, a young, fat punk starts with the usual epithets: "Fuck off, faggot." etc., etc. And I wasn't even wearing lycra (at that point in time).

Until then, I had chalked up the episode to the typical idiocy, but when I get treated as such, I don't have much trouble letting people know that their behavior is unacceptable. So I rode back over to Walker, where the SUV was again parked. It turns out the kid was there to help his father fix a second vehicle.

So I rode by, loudly repeating the license plate and was met with the usual taunts of "Come back, asshole!"

So, I did. 

Then it was father's turn to unleash on me. I questioned their motivation for a while but finally decided to leave after Senior came at me with clenched fists for the second time. (Ironically, Junior whined at one point about me making a gesture at him "back there on Rose Hill" -- had the Neanderthals been willing to listen, they could have learned that it's easier to look behind you when you take your arm off the handlebar -- too bad they were busy trying to get in a fight.)

The police were called, story relayed, but I never heard back as to the results of the visit the police said they were going to make.

Now, cut to a few days ago, when a young Barry Booth was arrested in connection with an assault on the corner. I thought I recognized the face, and a quick web search showed not only a budding rap sheet, but also a connection to Barry A. Booth (aka, "BAB"), presumably the patriarch of the family.

I'm sure Pa is so proud...

To Whom it May Concern

An email I sent to a local delivery company:

I was riding my bicycle around 3:15 PM on August 31 at the intersection of Preston Ave. and Harris St. in Charlottesville, when one of your drivers passed me and, before it was safe to do so, made a dangerous right hand turn in front of me -- a classic "right hook".

I followed him two blocks to his destination (--) and tried -- calmly -- to explain to him that he needs to be more careful, and that he has a duty to yield to bicycles in that situation (I was in the bike lane).

Your driver admitted that he saw me, yet still tried to pin the blame on me, though both common sense and Virginia law are on my side. Ironically, he told me that I was the one who needed to be more careful, which is absurd since had I not been being careful, I would quite possibly be dead and you would be dealing with the liability consequences. Clearly, I could not change his mind, so I am leaving it up to you to do so.

The cab was marked US DOT #######; obviously, he was not willing to identify himself.

I expect a clear resolution of this matter.

Thank you,

Mig Selv

Dear Nice Soccer Mom

Just a suggestion: don't stop in the middle of the travel lane to let your child climb out on the driver's side into oncoming traffic. And if you do, please don't then pull into a parking space so you can turn around.

It doesn't help your image much.

"I TRI"

The Myth of the Arrogant Cyclist is pervasive. It doesn't take much of a thought experiment to realize how absurd it would be for me to ride my 20 pound bike in the middle of busy roads just so I can "teach some motorists a lesson." Nevertheless, it's quite clear that many drivers don't understand that, while I'm not actually trying to slow them down, my safety takes precedence over their convenience.

Apparently, there are cyclists that don't realize this either.

Now, I'm far from one of these people who thinks that the common bond between two strangers on bikes somehow makes them instant friends. Sure, I'll occasionally respond with a wave just to make the original waver happy, but really, I could hardly care less if we're both on two wheels. I mean, some people are just assholes whatever they're doing.

Case in point. Park Street is a favorite corridor into downtown for those who prefer to be stuck in traffic on a narrow, winding road as opposed to being stuck in traffic on an eight lane highway with a stoplight every quarter mile. In response, the City has installed a number of "traffic calming" devices that create a number of dangers for cyclists, including narrow and winding lanes and lots of jutting curbs at intersections.

Since mig selv neither rides in the door zone nor does the curb-hugger weave, I was riding down the middle of the lane at 15-20 out of a possible 25 MPH one morning after dropping Syd off at school. An SUV driver didn't really care for my technique and gave me a toot from his horn when he finally found a place to pass. I kind of chuckled when I saw that his license plate read "I TRI" -- the unmistakable sign of a triathlete -- and when he turned into a parking lot 100 feet later, I decided to ask him what his problem was.

"You can't ride in the middle of the street!" he demanded.

"Yes, I can," I replied, reasonably calmly, "if the road is too narrow to share."

He proceeded to give me the "I'm a cyclist, too" speech, complete with telling me where and when I should ride and how I was doing it all wrong, and blah, blah, blah.

I cut him off and reiterated, "I'm not going to ride in the door zone; that's a good way to get myself killed." To which he replied,

"That's the price you pay for riding in the city."

See? Some cyclists really are assholes.