Sunday, August 29, 2004
Take Back Our Bike Right Turn Lanes!!
JR - you are my hee-row! Lead On!
Ahhhh, bikers... Not those furry, leather clad road warriors on their full-throated hogs. The
other kind -- the ones who ride around with their butts in the air, daring us "lower life forms" to sniff it. Spandex pants a-shine, pointy little helmets protecting pointy little heads, clackity shoes impossible to walk in. [and this from a woman whose favorite summer sandals were Candies -- you know, Barbie shoes. I could sprint across an open field in those...
ahhhh - good times. *sigh* But I digress...]
There is a road around here I take with great regularity. It parallels the main road into town but verrry few like to use it, which is why it's my fave. It's narrow and winding hanging onto a hillside for at least 2 miles. To the right a creek waaaay down there -- to the left sheered off , straight vertical dirt and rocks. Lotsa rocks. The lanes are the absolute minimum width carved as they are out of a dam-steep hill.
One merry day I'm driving to town. . .
. . . my friend J. and I chatting away relaxedly. Up ahead were a couple of cars -- not too unusual. But they
were going kinda slow, so I slow and look harder. Nuttin'. No apparent reason. I assumed it was one of those old-men-in-a-hat, peering through the steering wheel on his way to the cardiologist. Ya gotta leave home waaaay ahead of time when you're an old-man-in-a-hat. NBD.
Then cars begin to pass --
something -- on a blind curve. [?!?] Yeah, you guessed it:
Planet Savers bikes. Now you gotta understand -- and, sight unseen, you probably
do understand better than these Pietistic Peddlers -- that there are exactly 6 inches of pavement between the extra-narrow lane and a sheer drop-off to the creek. And the rocks. Way below. No guard rail. Nuttin'.
The cars ahead of me, like nutcases, pass and go on about their merry way. Me? I'm too
smart chicken to pass on a blind curve, or the short straightaway ahead, or the next curve which is, you guessed it,
blind. There is the occasional transfer truck barreling along that road. Not many, but it only takes one [1].
Did you know that bikes can only go about 10 mph.? I measured that day. For a long ways, I measured. I'm sure that is as fast as they can go because, surely, no one would dawdle when they know full well someone is stuck behind them unable to pass. Riiiight?
Time passes. Following. Look at scenery. Following. More time passes. Following. Following.
Perhaps I was a bit too eager to finally get around them as the road broadened out, much much much later. Not wanting to actually kill them, and then hafta wash the dam truck, I waited for a nice safe wide place with flat shoulders to gently move all the way to the left side of my lane and ease on by, still doing only about 10 mph. Yet, as I came right up to passing this
fanatical fool guy,
he swerves out in front of me then back to the right!! Scared the crap outta me!
So I honked. I gave him a good one, too. Big Honk! As I came up on the next one, juuust in case he
could have missed the fact that there is a fairly large vehicle behind him, I give him one of those little "I'm here" toots. Little toot. And then pass him.
Off we go, on our merry way to shop our little feet off. Sitting at the light at least half a mile up -- BANGBANGBANGBANGBANG on the passenger side window. Scared the crap outta me!! And there's Little Mister Be-Nice-to-the-Planet -- face screwed up like a constipated howler monkey, screeching like a Brooklyn barroom brawler.
BANGBANGBANGBANGBANG "You open this @%$#@& window! You *&%*# blablablablabla! Yadda yadda %#$^@ yadda $#%@" You get the picture...
I was stunned. My friend J -- she has spent more than a little time in Manhattan and has the attitude to prove it. She has also been ...er, blessed with a voice that can shatter glass. Hell, I'm sure that with sufficient provocation, she can shatter brick. And a vocabulary that'll take the paint clean off a garage door.
She launched into this Righteous Rickey with both barrels. It was almost worth my hearing loss to see his jaw drop, his tail tuck and his heels fly as he ran the red and pedaled off into the sunset.
Sidewalks are for People. Trails are for Horses. Bike-paths are for Bikes.
Roads are for Cars. ...or believe you me, pal, the twain
shall meet.
Posted by
Claire on 08/29/04 at 02:00 PM
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