Close Calls

The day I returned to work after my big backpacking trip in the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness, I rode my bike. This isn't unusual. I live close enough to work that I try to ride most days that I go in, making exceptions if I'm feeling ill or if I have to bring something bigger than I can handle on the bike. Or if it's very cold or very hot. 

I bike along roads for the most part. There's a section of the Greenbelt I can take, but it makes my route longer so I don't always go that way. On this particular day, I was sticking to the road. There's really only one place on my route that scares me, where I have to travel through a stoplight controlled intersection at Beacon and Broadway. 

The trouble with that intersection is the oncoming left turners. The light is one that does the flashing yellow for left turns, and what can happen is the flashing yellow comes on and the first car in the oncoming left decides they have just enough room to make it before I cross into the intersection. That car isn't really the problem, the problem is that the car behind that car literally can't see me. 

I'm always afraid when that first left turner goes in front of me that the next car in line will just assume that it's clear and not look. I keep an eye out for that possibility. 

And thus it was on this particular Monday morning. The light turned green while I was still a ways away. The flashing yellow initiated when I was still about half a block away, pedaling like mad. The first left turner hesitated, but then went on through. 

I entered the intersection right after that first car left it, and the next left turner was my worst nightmare. They didn't slow down at all as I kept pedaling. I looked at the driver and saw that they were unaware of me. 

If I had had time to think it through, maybe I would have tried to get out of the way somehow, or yelled something pithy, articulate and scathing. 

Instead, as the car came within feet of running me right over, I let out a yell. No words, not really a scream, but a loud exclamation, intended to inform the driver that they were about to hit me. 

Whether the driver heard me, I don't know. I had to keep pedaling and only had time to exchange an aghast glance with the next left turner in line, who appeared to empathize with my plight and condemn the other driver's carelessness. Then I pedaled myself directly onto the sidewalk so I could stop and have a bit of hysterics. 

I had some heavy breathing, a few tears, and then pulled myself together and continued on to work. I really wanted to tell someone about it, but the office was empty when I arrived and I didn't end up telling anyone except my husband, first over chat, and, finally, in person after work. With gestures! 

Interestingly enough, that wasn't my only car/bike encounter that week. On Friday, I was taking the Greenbelt home. After I turned off the Greenbelt onto a street, I witnessed a truck completely ignore the stop sign, coming close to running into me - though it wasn't quite as close as Monday's. 

But I got to say my piece this time, letting the driver know how beautiful I thought her running of the stop sign was. She stopped her truck just to give me a special message. "F- you," she said. 

I might have said nothing. I might have taken offense. I might have felt hurt by her being so mean when I was pointing out something she'd clearly done wrong. 

Instead, I just went with the first response that came into my head. "Oh great! I love being f'd!" I yelled. 

Because her truck was stopped, I passed it. After I gave her my words, I heard her truck rev behind me and had a moment to wonder if she'd really escalate this to bodily harm. I rode my bike right up behind a parked car, figuring she wouldn't risk running into someone else's car just because of an annoying cyclist. She roared off. 

I made it home safely. Here's hoping that I've finished all my car/bike interactions for the rest of the year. 

The Proper Order

The other day I was riding my bike home from work. The sky was threatening rain, and I wanted to get home before the downpour began.

So when I was approaching the last stoplight on my route, I pushed my pace. Two blocks away, the light went green, and I wasn't sure I could make it. The line of cars moved through the intersection and I was half a block away.

The approaching left turners had a flashing yellow light and first one, and then another, entered the gap between the last car ahead of me and my speeding bike. No problem, there was room, as long as the next vehicle, a truck, didn't follow suit and not see me coming.

And, to be honest, the second car to turn left actually cut me off. I had to slow a little bit to avoid running into him, because he chose not to yield on his flashing yellow when I had the green.

As I pumped the brakes to avoid a collision, I mumbled a insult under my breath. There's no way the driver could have heard me; his windows were rolled up.

And, for some reason, I saw him turning to look at me as I approached. For one brief moment our eyes met, and he flipped me the bird.

Yes, the guy who cut me off in traffic, taking his car in front of my through the intersection when he had the lowly flashing yellow and I had the good to go green, decided that my presence was offensive enough to his sensibilities that he had to demonstrate his displeasure - silently, since his windows were rolled up and I wouldn't have heard him if he said something.

I rode on, beating the rain home and thinking about the incident. He was in the wrong. I was the one who should have flipped him off. I didn't take it personally that he flipped me off, but I couldn't help but laugh at the circumstances and his clearly poor knowledge of the proper order of things.

Visualize Turn Signals

I guess the "Visualize Turn Signals" bumper sticker was a reaction to the "Visualize World Peace" bumper stickers, indicating, perhaps, that drivers would be better off concentrating on how to make the world around them safer than the world at large more peaceful. As a cyclist, I count on the fact that all drivers are reckless, careless and think I'm an asshole.

Now, I can't entirely blame cars for thinking that I'm an asshole, because I see, both as a driver and a as a cyclist, a lot of asshole bikers. They run lights instead of treating them like stop signs (which is allowed under Idaho Code); they don't look before turning; some of them even use their phones while riding. But I'm not like that. I'm a paranoid cyclist, or perhaps a realist cyclist, because if every car really is out to get me, that's not paranoia, right?

The other day I made a post on Facebook about a car that had not turned right in front of me. I was offering kudos to this random driver, because they respected the rules of the road and treated me like a vehicle. Just as they would not turn right in front of another car, or a motorcycle, so too did they wait patiently for the light to turn, and for me to clear out, before completing their right turn. However, on Facebook, the response was not what I expected. Expressions of concern for my safety and well-being, instead of kudos for the good car.

Maybe I wasn't as clear as I could have been, but, frankly, car horror stories are more the norm than tales of law abiding safety. Just this week, I was approaching that same intersection as the light was about to go green. The first car in line had a turn signal on, so I slowed, not wanting to ride into their turn path. The second car in line had no signal, so I rode up beside it, hoping to cross the street in line with it and let cars behind turn if they wanted to. But as I drew abreast, the turn signal came on and I braked.

Was I supposed to keep going, with an obliviousness that assumes cars won't hit me? I don't know. The car, to give it credit, also braked, and I started pedaling again, releasing a brief obscenity regarding turn signals into the air. It being a brisk 40 degrees outside, I doubt the driver heard me.

Maybe it's time to replace my bicycle bell with an air horn.