Archive for September 29, 2008

Ruminating on personal responsibility, part 1

September 29, 2008 / / 2 comments

A couple years ago, my wife and I decided to break in our new passports with our first overseas trip.

Actually, we were only planning to go to the East coast, until we learned we could spend a week in London for less than a comparable amount of time in New York. (Obviously, that was when the dollar still had a little residual value compared to the pound or euro.)

I had assumed that the highlight of our trip might be the British Museum or Westminster Abbey, or maybe the day trip we’d planned to Paris on the Eurostar. But in retrospect, what stands out most was when the British people made me cry.

It happened as we toured St. Paul’s Cathedral — perhaps the most awe-inspiring edifice it has ever been my pleasure to set foot in, with the possible exception of an Anasazi kiva.

Actually, it happened twice; the first came as we wandered through the apse behind the main alter, and stumbled on the American Memorial Chapel, dedicated to the American service men and women who were based on British soil during WWII and gave their lives to help keep Britain free. And yes, it brought tears to my eyes to experience the magnificence of the gratitude expressed by the British people in this most sacred of places.

Then we wondered down through the crypts below, past markers indicating the final resting places of John Dunne, Lord Nelson, Winston Churchill, Samuel Johnson, Henry Moore, T.E. Lawrence — better known as Lawrence of Arabia — and Florence Nightingale, just to name a few.

And there, amid some of the most revered names in Western history, was the grave of William S. (Billy) Fiske — a lowly American pilot who died fighting with the Royal Air Force in the Battle of Britain, before the U.S. even joined the war. And I’m not ashamed to say that it made me cry that this man, unknown in his own country, would be remembered with reverence in such a place of honor.

And even more, that the British people would feel such a responsibility to honor those who fought shoulder-to-shoulder with them to keep their country free, and together the other Allied nations, free the world from Nazi domination.

I suppose one reason it had such an impact on me was that my own father was one of those young Yanks stationed on English soil, before joining the invasion of France in the days just after D-Day. Thankfully, he was one of the lucky ones who made it home.

Growing up, I must have asked him a million questions about the war, but he never wanted to talk about it.

Oh, he’d tell me the funny stories, like being assigned to guard a French whorehouse, as the girls kept trying to temp him to come inside. Or the time he and a few other soldiers drove through the French countryside drinking champagne from the bottle, while they tossed confiscated German grenades out of the back, one at a time — only to find out later that the front had shifted, and they’d driven the whole way behind enemy lines.

But when I asked if he’d ever shot anyone, or if anyone in his unit had been killed, he wouldn’t answer. But the tears in his eyes told me all I needed to know.

I guess I come by it naturally.

When I got a little older, I asked how anyone could justify the firebombing of Dresden or the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

He explained that when the war ended, he’d been stationed on Okinawa, preparing for the planned D-Day style invasion of Japan, an invasion in which his unit had been told to expect 100% casualties. And I realized that he owed his life — and I, my very existence — to those bombs.

He finished by saying, “We all did terrible things during the war. But we did what we had to do.”

It was then I realized, for the first time, that he had assumed personal responsibility for the things he’d had to do. And would go to his grave bearing that awful weight, and asking God’s forgiveness for the rest of his days.

And for the first time, I began to understand my father.

Contrast that with today, when it seems that no one takes responsibility for anything.

At the end of WWII, we had a president who insisted that the buck stopped on his desk, and who assumed personal responsibility for making the decision to use atomic weapons.

Today, we have an administration in which no one ever assumes responsibility, and no one is ever held accountable. Not even for a war in which no weapons of mass destruction were ever found, and no connection to 9-11 ever existed, despite what we were told. And which will leave yet another generation of service men and women carrying the scars of their service for the rest of their lives, and countless lives and families, both here and in Iraq, disrupted forever.

This follows a president who looked the American people straight in the eye, and lied about an otherwise insignificant tryst in the Oval Office.

We live in a world in which gilded CEOs can bring the national economy to its knees and escape with multi-million dollar golden parachutes. Where politicians seek political cover rather than stepping up to make the difficult choices they were elected to make. Where we’re assured that campaign donations don’t buy access. Or votes. Where a vice presidential candidate is deemed qualified for the nation’s second highest office because she can see a foreign country from her state. And plausible deniability is the watchword of the day.

A world where genuine honesty and accountability belong on the Endangered Species List.

And personal responsibility lies in the tomb next to Billy Fiske.

 

So what the hell does this have to do with bicycling?

Part two, coming soon.

Category: General / Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Today’s post, in which I nearly kill a wrong-way cyclist

September 25, 2008 / / 4 comments

Still haven’t made it back on the bike – that will come this weekend, God willing – but at least I thought I’d hit the gym after work this evening.

So I slogged my way through Westside rush hour traffic – how it can possibly take 45 minutes to drive just over 8 miles will forever be beyond my comprehension. But finally, I was just a block from the gym, making the penultimate right turn before reaching my destination.

Just as I rounded the corner, I founded myself facing a cyclist riding directly towards me on the wrong side of the road, mere feet away from a head-on collision. He’d been completely hidden from view by the parked cars on the side of the street, and was riding down the middle of the right lane, albeit in the wrong direction.

I jerked the wheel hard to the left and swerved around him, missing him by just feet. And of course, he just kept riding, as if a near-death experience was just another everyday occurrence. Which it may be, if he always rides like that. And I was only grateful that there wasn’t a car in the other lane, so I had the room to go around him, without getting hit by another car.

And there’s the problem.

Because there are people who make a habit of making other people responsible for their safety. Like this gentleman, who placed his survival in the hands of a total stranger, in this case, me. And without asking permission first, I might add.

Or the multiple riders I saw later on my way home, riding in traffic on Olympic Boulevard, after dark, with no lights or reflectors. Or helmets, for that matter.

Which meant that their continued existence on this planet depended on people they don’t know, slogging their way home from work and no doubt tired from a long, hard day. And the ability those people to spot them in the darkness, and have both the reaction time and driving skill to avoid them.

Of course, it’s not just cyclists.

You can see the same thing everyday, as skaters dart across traffic on their custom boards and pedestrians jaywalk in the middle of a block – even though there’s often a crosswalk just a few feet away – oblivious to the traffic bearing down on them. Or perhaps trusting that the drivers will stop for them.

It seems to be the same mentality shared by drivers who insist on turning left as soon as the light changes, cutting off the cars coming in the opposite direction who actually have the right-of-way. As well as the ones who weave in and out of traffic on the freeway, forcing other cars to break to avoid them.

In each case, they seem to trust that other people will see them, and take whatever action is required avoid them. Even at the risk of their own safety.

And that’s not something anyone has a right to expect. Or even ask of another human being.

Your safety is your own responsibility. As is mine. And just as it is for everyone else.

I’ll try to avoid you. Really, I will. I’ll do my best to keep you, and everyone else I encounter, safe for the few seconds we share the same few feet of roadway.

But ultimately, it’s up to each of us to take responsibility for our own safety. And not expect other people to do it for us.

Category: General / Tags: , , , ,

Today’s post, in which I nearly kill a wrong-way cyclist

September 25, 2008 / / 4 comments

Still haven’t made it back on the bike – that will come this weekend, God willing – but at least I thought I’d hit the gym after work this evening.

So I slogged my way through Westside rush hour traffic – how it can possibly take 45 minutes to drive just over 8 miles will forever be beyond my comprehension. But finally, I was just a block from the gym, making the penultimate right turn before reaching my destination.

Just as I rounded the corner, I founded myself facing a cyclist riding directly towards me on the wrong side of the road, mere feet away from a head-on collision. He’d been completely hidden from view by the parked cars on the side of the street, and was riding down the middle of the right lane, albeit in the wrong direction.

I jerked the wheel hard to the left and swerved around him, missing him by just feet. And of course, he just kept riding, as if a near-death experience was just another everyday occurrence. Which it may be, if he always rides like that. And I was only grateful that there wasn’t a car in the other lane, so I had the room to go around him, without getting hit by another car.

And there’s the problem.

Because there are people who make a habit of making other people responsible for their safety. Like this gentleman, who placed his survival in the hands of a total stranger, in this case, me. And without asking permission first, I might add.

Or the multiple riders I saw later on my way home, riding in traffic on Olympic Boulevard, after dark, with no lights or reflectors. Or helmets, for that matter.

Which meant that their continued existence on this planet depended on people they don’t know, slogging their way home from work and no doubt tired from a long, hard day. And the ability those people to spot them in the darkness, and have both the reaction time and driving skill to avoid them.

Of course, it’s not just cyclists.

You can see the same thing everyday, as skaters dart across traffic on their custom boards and pedestrians jaywalk in the middle of a block – even though there’s often a crosswalk just a few feet away – oblivious to the traffic bearing down on them. Or perhaps trusting that the drivers will stop for them.

It seems to be the same mentality shared by drivers who insist on turning left as soon as the light changes, cutting off the cars coming in the opposite direction who actually have the right-of-way. As well as the ones who weave in and out of traffic on the freeway, forcing other cars to break to avoid them.

In each case, they seem to trust that other people will see them, and take whatever action is required avoid them. Even at the risk of their own safety.

And that’s not something anyone has a right to expect. Or even ask of another human being.

Your safety is your own responsibility. As is mine. And just as it is for everyone else.

I’ll try to avoid you. Really, I will. I’ll do my best to keep you, and everyone else I encounter, safe for the few seconds we share the same few feet of roadway.

But ultimately, it’s up to each of us to take responsibility for our own safety. And not expect other people to do it for us.

Category: General / Tags: , , , ,

Today’s post, in which I nearly kill a wrong-way cyclist

September 25, 2008 / / 4 comments

Still haven’t made it back on the bike – that will come this weekend, God willing – but at least I thought I’d hit the gym after work this evening.

So I slogged my way through Westside rush hour traffic – how it can possibly take 45 minutes to drive just over 8 miles will forever be beyond my comprehension. But finally, I was just a block from the gym, making the penultimate right turn before reaching my destination.

Just as I rounded the corner, I founded myself facing a cyclist riding directly towards me on the wrong side of the road, mere feet away from a head-on collision. He’d been completely hidden from view by the parked cars on the side of the street, and was riding down the middle of the right lane, albeit in the wrong direction.

I jerked the wheel hard to the left and swerved around him, missing him by just feet. And of course, he just kept riding, as if a near-death experience was just another everyday occurrence. Which it may be, if he always rides like that. And I was only grateful that there wasn’t a car in the other lane, so I had the room to go around him, without getting hit by another car.

And there’s the problem.

Because there are people who make a habit of making other people responsible for their safety. Like this gentleman, who placed his survival in the hands of a total stranger, in this case, me. And without asking permission first, I might add.

Or the multiple riders I saw later on my way home, riding in traffic on Olympic Boulevard, after dark, with no lights or reflectors. Or helmets, for that matter.

Which meant that their continued existence on this planet depended on people they don’t know, slogging their way home from work and no doubt tired from a long, hard day. And the ability those people to spot them in the darkness, and have both the reaction time and driving skill to avoid them.

Of course, it’s not just cyclists.

You can see the same thing everyday, as skaters dart across traffic on their custom boards and pedestrians jaywalk in the middle of a block – even though there’s often a crosswalk just a few feet away – oblivious to the traffic bearing down on them. Or perhaps trusting that the drivers will stop for them.

It seems to be the same mentality shared by drivers who insist on turning left as soon as the light changes, cutting off the cars coming in the opposite direction who actually have the right-of-way. As well as the ones who weave in and out of traffic on the freeway, forcing other cars to break to avoid them.

In each case, they seem to trust that other people will see them, and take whatever action is required avoid them. Even at the risk of their own safety.

And that’s not something anyone has a right to expect. Or even ask of another human being.

Your safety is your own responsibility. As is mine. And just as it is for everyone else.

I’ll try to avoid you. Really, I will. I’ll do my best to keep you, and everyone else I encounter, safe for the few seconds we share the same few feet of roadway.

But ultimately, it’s up to each of us to take responsibility for our own safety. And not expect other people to do it for us.

Category: General / Tags: , , , ,

Road report from the dark side

September 22, 2008 / / One comment

Forgive me father, for I have sinned.

It’s been a full week since I’ve been on my bike. Worse, I’ve been driving my car to and from work almost every day. Seven out of the last eight working days, in fact.

Yes, it’s true. I’ve gone over to the dark side.

Not that it was my idea, of course. I’d much rather still be working at home, so I can take off for a long lunch and knock off a quick 30 or so miles on the bike. Or maybe 40. Or 50. Especially when the weather is absolutely perfect, like it was last week.

And to make matters worse, the office I’m working in is just south of Ballona Creek, so I can see all the riders headed to and from the beach on the Ballona Creek Bike Path. Assuming they don’t get mugged along the way.

But in this economy, I’m just happy to have work after a very slow summer. Besides, it could be worse; I could have been a high-paid investment banker on Wall Street.

All this time in my car has given me an opportunity to observe cycling from the perspective of a driver. And surprisingly, it hasn’t been all that bad.

Sure, there was the cyclist who hadn’t learned how to ride in a straight line yet, and was swerving right and left with every corresponding pedal stroke. As a result, he’d suddenly jerk into traffic, then back out again, back and forth. And yet, every driver somehow managed to avoid him, at least as long as he was within my site.

Or there was the woman riding a single speed cruiser with a big basket on the handlebars, who made a very, very slow speed right turn off a very busy street — and still, somehow, she managed to swerve all the way to the middle of the left lane before completing her turn (that would be the lane nearest the middle of the road, for any Brits reading this).

In the time it took to finish her turn, two cars were also able to make the same right turn behind her. One went into the right lane, safely passing to her right; the other followed her into the left lane, none too pleased from the sound of it. But as near as I could tell before my light changed, she was able to safely, and by all appearances, happily, continue down the road, as far as she could ride from where she was supposed to be without crossing over into oncoming traffic.

But most of the cyclists I’ve seen on my commute have just been people dressed for work or class, riding safely and politely. And most of the drivers I’ve seen have been equally courteous, taking the time to pass each rider safely.

Now, I have no doubt that if I would have talked to one of them, they could have told me about some driver I didn’t see who came too close, or turned right in front of them with no warning; just as I could no doubt find drivers who would complain about some crazy cyclist they encountered.

By and large, though, I’ve been pleased to see just how well cars and bikes have been able to share the road. So maybe this crazy town isn’t as dysfunctional as I thought.

As for me, I’m pleased to report that, even though I’m now a driver myself, I haven’t felt any urge to run a cyclist off the road, or toss a large drink at a rider I pass — or raw vegetables, as seems to be the fashion overseas.

So evidently, it’s not contagious. Or maybe I just haven’t been exposed long enough yet.

 

Tamerlane picks up a thread that began in New York, and transforms it into a meditation on vulnerability, and discusses the ethics of biking. Will Campbell amusingly confronts another cigarette smoking asshat. The S.F. Cycling Examiner describes flipping over the handlebars, without spilling his coffee. CNN discovers Santa Barbara’s former naked cyclist, now baring it all in Oregon. Town Mouse’s novel is soon to be available in paperback, although with the current exchange rate, still out of reach for most of us Yanks. Bike Girl continues going car free, while I go reluctantly bike free.

Category: General / Tags: , , , , , , ,

Cycling with a pale rider

September 15, 2008 / / One comment

I got a brief reprieve today.

I spent the last couple days of last week working at my new job. Or more precisely, not working. They weren’t really ready for me last week, so I spent two full days sitting at a desk doing nothing.

And since I would have been out on my bike if I hadn’t been stuck there, they were, in effect, paying me not to ride.

I mean, I know people hate cyclists around here, but that’s ridiculous.

Fortunately, they thought so too, and told me to take today off while they got a little more organized.

Which meant I had today unexpectedly free. And that, of course, meant I was on my bike.

For once, it was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, there was hardly any wind, and only a few people on the on the bike path, so I could ride as hard and as fast as I wanted, without having to slow down for pedestrians or slower riders. Well, not much, anyway.

So naturally, I enjoyed the ride.

And I thought about death.

It’s been on my mind lately, both because of what could have happened — but thankfully, didn’t — following my infamous bee encounter last year, and because we lost a couple of loved ones this year.

My mother-in-law — my wife’s stepmother — passed away this year at 96. Then we lost a good friend cancer; a beautiful, kind and loving woman who died much too soon, and yet another reason I hate cigarettes.

But the reason it was on my mind today was this post from New York’s Bike Snob. (Thanks to No whip for posting the link.)

In it, he tells of encountering a police investigation on his way to work, and later learning that a cyclist had come out on the wrong end of an encounter with a school bus. That led him to this thought:

“… As a human being you’re never really all that far from death no matter what you’re doing, but when you’re on a bicycle you’re especially close. When I’m on a bike I think of death as a membrane so thin you can’t see it because when all is going well you’re looking at it from the invisibly narrow side, not the all-encompassingly wide side. But when things go awry, and a series of decisions and coincidences sends you directly towards it, it’s all you can see. And the death membrane has extraordinary wicking properties, so sometimes all you need to do is touch it in order to wind up on the other side of it in a puff of vapor like an evaporating bead of sweat.”

As an experienced rider, I’m aware that death is always one possible outcome anytime I ride. Just as it is with any number of active outdoor sports, such as diving, mountaineering and rock climbing. And as with any other form of transportation, as last Friday’s Metrolink tragedy shows.

But unlike other forms of transportation, cyclists must share the road with cars, SUVs, trucks and buses, as well as any number of obstacles and road hazards, with no protection other than a helmet, glasses and a thin layer of padding between our legs. Which makes us particularly vulnerable.

You can’t really think about it, of course. If you did, you’d never leave the house. But it’s always there, like a silent, ephemeral riding partner. Especially in a city like this.

And if you want to avoid it, you have to be aware of it on some level.

I deal with it by saying a quick prayer anytime I get on my bike or behind the wheel of a car. I never, ever ride without a helmet. And I’m always on the lookout for anything that could pose a risk, and ready to react instantly to avoid it.

Like today, when a driver on a cross street saw that the cars were stopped on the street I was riding on, leaving just enough room for her to dart across, but never noticed — or even looked for — the cyclist coming up beside them. Fortunately, I was watching her, with my hands on the brake levers just in case she tried something stupid.

And she did. Although, despite almost hitting me, she made it quite clear that she hadn’t done anything wrong, from her exceptionally myopic point of view.

Of course, there are other cyclists who ride as if they have a death wish, zipping through red lights and stop signs without helmets, and with no regard for safety. Or common sense, for that matter.

Like the guy I saw at 7th and San Vicente today, riding on the wrong side of the road, and crossing against the light as oncoming cars jammed on their brakes to avoid him. He somehow managed to get away with, while giving no indication that he’d done anything wrong, or that he had placed himself, or anyone else, at risk. And rode off without a care in the world.

Now, I don’t want to imply that I don’t take any risks.

I do — probably more than I should. But I’ve learned what I can, and can’t, get away with. I never take a risk unless I know that I have the skill and experience to pull it off. And I never forget that there’s someone waiting for me to come home safely.

Or what could happen if I get it wrong.

That’s why I’m so adamant about creating a safe environment for cyclists, with streets and bike lanes that allow cyclists can share the roadway without unnecessary risk. And that are intelligently designed to help us get from here to there, swiftly and safely.

Because no one should ever have to risk their life just to get to work or class.

Or to enjoy an afternoon ride.

 

While I’m driving to work for the first time in over a decade, Bike Girl goes the other way, car-free for a full month. Tamerlane considers the ethics of cycling and the efficacy of infrastructure. Outdoor Urbanite sheds some light on bike lights, which I’m going to need if I ever want to try riding to work. Mikey Wally tries to make peace, and ends up getting punched and his bike stolen by some jerk — keep your eyes open for a black fixie with an unidentified jackass on the saddle. Town Mouse takes in the local leg of the Tour of Britain — amusingly, and very descriptively, as always. A San Diego cyclist encourages new riders to get out of his bike lane in today’s Times. And L.A.C.B.C is looking for people to kids’ bikes and helmets for a day, on October 11th at Santa Fe Dam.

Category: General / Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Learning the hard way

September 11, 2008 / / One comment

Gary made a good point the other day.

For all my bitching and moaning about careless, angry and/or indignorant drivers, not to mention the appalling lack of bicycling infrastructure and planning around here, riding in L.A. is usually a pretty ordinary experience. With a little care and caution, most problems can be avoided. And those that can’t usually offer a way out if you can just keep your cool long enough, or react fast enough, to find it.

Still, in all the years I’ve been riding — here in Los Angeles and around the county — I’ve only had four accidents serious enough to require medical care. And at least three of ‘em were my own damn fault.

Like my first serious accident, for instance, back when I was riding 50-miles a day in training for a planned solo cross-country ride from Denver to Key West.

It was a beautiful, sunny afternoon following a rainy morning, and I was feeling good, supremely confident in my bike and my own skill as a rider. I approached a busy intersection, paying close attention to traffic conditions; in fact, this day, I can still tell you the location of every car, truck and bump on the road, as I leaned into a sharp right turn well north of 20 m.p.h.

The only thing I didn’t see was the puddle of water directly in front of my wheel.

I was leaning so far into the turn that my knee was just inches off the ground as I hit the puddle. Both wheels instantly slid out from under me, sending me skidding across six lanes of traffic with my bike still tucked firmly between my legs. Somehow, I managed to avoid the cars — or more precisely, they managed to avoid me — and smashed into the curb on the other side with enough force to crush both wheels.

My clothes were completely shredded; my jersey was falling off my shoulders, and only a few loose threads held my shorts and protected me from a complete loss of dignity. Of course, I just wanted to get back on my bike and keep riding, nearly naked or not; a few of the drivers who’d stopped to help convinced me it would be smarter to let one of them drive me to the hospital.

I ended up with severe road rash from my ankle to my chin, along with a broken bone in my right elbow, and my sister gave me my first helmet the next day, which I’ve worn ever since. Of course, that cross-country ride was officially canceled; I ended taking a job in San Diego, instead, while I recovered from my injuries.

And I learned that nothing is more dangerous than overconfident rider.

My next accident came a few years later, as I was riding along the bike path on Coronado Island. A small boy suddenly darted across my path just feet in front of me, and I instinctively laid my bike on its side, since there was no way to stop in time.

That worked. He wasn’t hurt — terrified, maybe, but okay. And his parents couldn’t stop thanking me as I rode home more road rash and another broken bone, this time in the other elbow.

The next incident occurred right here in Los Angeles, when a driver following behind me on a quiet side street started honking her horn for me to get out of her way. She could have easily gone around me, but for some reason, it seemed more important for her to go through me.

Rather than let her jam me into the parked cars, I took the lane, which pissed her off even more — much to my satisfaction, I have to admit. I stopped at the stop sign on the next corner, then just as I started to make my turn, she gunned her engine, lurching to a stop just inches from my wheel.

And that’s when I did the stupidest, most idiotic thing I’ve ever done on a bike. Which is saying a lot, to be honest.

I stopped, turned around and looked her right in the eye, then flipped her off. The next thing I knew, her bumper was going through my back wheel, throwing me to the ground. The result was yet another broken arm, permanent vascular damage to my right calf, and a failed court case that kept me off my bike for over a year.

And teaching me the hard way that some battles just aren’t worth fighting.

Finally, there was my infamous bee encounter, exactly one year ago Friday. I’m still dealing with the last, lingering injuries. And I still don’t remember what happened.

Still, that doesn’t seem too bad for nearly 30 years of riding. Only one of those incidents involved a driver, angry or otherwise. And not a single one was caused by poor planning by anyone other than myself.

So maybe the lesson here is that safe roads and educated, courteous drivers are important.

But nothing beats a safe and careful rider.

 

Gary encounters a wrong-way rider with an attitude, while Will gives new meaning to getting doored. Outdoor Urbanite presents safety as fashion statement. Courtesy of C.I.C.L.E., we have an Introduction to Bicycle Etiquette, and a cyclist t-boning a bear. No word on any possible ursine injuries. A Petaluma writer calls for licensing cyclists, for our own good. The Feds are looking for a biking bandit. Kansas cops are cracking down on non-stop cyclists. How’s that for alliteration? And finally, my old home town is telling cyclists to dismount and don’t be that guy. Hey, I said I was sorry…

Category: General / Tags: , , , , , , ,

The attack of the silly season

September 10, 2008 / / 5 comments

Maybe there’s something in the air right now.

First, our presidential candidates waste what little campaign time they have left arguing whether lipstick belongs on a pig or a pitbull. Then closer to home, Will Campbell has a bizarre encounter with a hotrodding motorist who gives him a rare double bird, then asks if he’s a USC fan.

(I used to listen to a Louisiana band that featured an even rarer audio/visual double-bird song title. The singer would extend the middle finger of each hand, holding one upright and the other sideways, then announce “The title of this song is, ‘This is for you; this is for the horse you ride.’”)

I ran into the same sort of thing this afternoon.

You see, I wanted to get one last, good ride in, because, starting tomorrow, my 14 years of self-employment could be coming to an end. I’ll be spending the next 4 weeks working full-time in a corporate office; if everything works out, it could turn into a permanent job. That’s not really what I want, but after 8 years of Bush’s trickle-down economics, I can’t afford to get trickled on anymore.

So even though it was a cool and cloudy morning, I set out on one of my favorite rides, down Montana to Ocean, on to Main, then back up along the beach to the Palisades, and back again. And since it may be awhile before I can get another good ride in, I threw in some hills to get a good workout in, starting out with an uphill course through Westwood and UCLA, and adding a quick run up Temescal Canyon for good measure.

And other than a few minor incidents, it was a very pleasant and rewarding ride.

The first occurred when a middle-aged biking perv somehow managed to turn his head almost all the way around — sort of like Linda Blair in the Exorcist — to stare at a young woman in a tiny bikini behind him. And in the process, drifted over to the other side of the bike path, nearly hitting me head on before I managed to rouse him from his lustful reveries.

Then a little further up the bike path, I came up behind a couple of attractive women riding slowly, two abreast, in a narrow section where there wasn’t really room to pass. So I just politely held back until I saw an opening, then moved up and announced “Passing on your left.”

Now, usually when I say that, the other riders will move to their right to make room, or at least hold their course. Sometime, they’ll even thank me for telling them I’m there.

This time, the woman on the outside actually moved further to the left, blocking my path. Assuming she hadn’t heard me, I said it again, only to get a response of “We heard you!”

“So why did you move to your left?” I asked.

The response from both of them, for reasons that will forever escape me, was “Fuck off!” And suddenly, I was reminded just how ugly an otherwise attractive person can be.

I saw my opportunity to slip past, so I took it, adding a “Fuck you” as I left them behind, with a parting finger over my shoulder.

As I rode off, the one who tried to block my way yelled out, “I can catch you, you know!”

By then I was 30 yard ahead of them, on a carbon and steel road bike, while she was riding in a long dress and flip flops on a heavy single-speed coaster bike. And she thought she could catch me?

Yeah, that’ll happen.

Of course, I’m usually not one to walk — or in this case, ride — away when someone starts up with me, so my first instinct was to ride back and confront her. But then what? Was I going to beat up a couple of girls? Or just stand there and scream back and forth?

I learned a long time ago that fighting with someone who is that out of control is a no win situation. So I just kept pedaling and within a few minutes, they were out of sight, if not out of mind.

Finally, as I neared the northern end of the path, I saw a woman running with her dog, a beautiful black lab. But as I rode up along side them, I noticed that the dog was limping, his right hind leg missing every other step as he ran alongside her. So I slowed down to tell her what I’d seen.

She didn’t thank me, either.

In fact, she didn’t answer me at all. But she immediately stopped running and got down on one knee to attend to her dog, while I continued on with my ride.

And that was exactly what she should have done. Because it wasn’t about me, or her; it was about making sure the dog was okay.

With that, the bizarre confrontation with the other women was forgotten, and the natural order of the universe seemed to be restored. And I rode home, fully enjoying one last, good ride through the Westside.

 

Streetsblog notes the state legislature has passed the Complete Streets Act, requiring that all users — including pedestrians and cyclists — must be give equal consideration in any new road project. A Florida County is overcome with rationality, rejecting a speed limit for bikes. The League of American Bicyclists ranks the states for bicycle friendliness; California inexplicably comes in at #7. Maybe things are better up in NorCal. The cycling lawyer asks why drivers are turning into the Hulk this year, while Science Daily notes the more people who ride bike, the less likely they are to be injured. Kinda the theory behind Critical Mass, no? Mikey Wally reports on 37 cyclists detained over a shoplifting incident, and offers an effective way to keep riders from drafting. And finally, China’s Flying Pigeon takes roost on Figueroa St.

Category: General / Tags: , , , , , , ,

Reading the signs

September 9, 2008 / / 2 comments

My grandfather was one of the last of the old time mountain men.

A former Doughboy, he fought the Kaiser in France (that was the war before the war Tom Hanks won — the one that was supposed to end all wars). And even in his 60s, he still earned his living off the land.

He’d disappear for a few days, or a few weeks, and come back home with a deer or elk to feed his family; if hunting had been good, he might have a few more to sell to the local butcher. Or maybe he’d have a truck full of logs to sell to the sawmill, or a some pelts he could trade for things he needed.

He was a gruff old man, without a lot of patience for a little kid like me; still, he taught me that the wilderness had countless stories to tell if you just knew how to read the signs.

Like how to tell if a set of cat tracks were from a harmless bobcat or a more dangerous cougar, and whether it was on the prowl or just passing through, and how to examine the tracks to see it was old news, or if they were fresh and there was a potentially dangerous animal lurking about.

Granddad taught me how to spot a tuft of fur stuck to a tree where a bear had tried to scratch his back, and tell whether it was from a black bear or a grizzly bear. And how to spot the odd semi-swirling marks, like one half of a parentheses on top of another, that indicated a snake had recently passed by, and look for the tell-tale markings that could identify it as a rattlesnake.

He wasn’t my real grandfather; not by blood, anyway. He was just the man who married a pretty widow, whose husband had drowned shortly after they’d moved to that small Colorado town, leaving her with two small children to raise — one of them my mom. But my other grandfather, my Dad’s father, had run off when he was just a boy, so he was the only one I ever had.

He died when I was just 12 years old, after a long, miserable battle with emphysema — just one of the many reasons I hate cigarettes. So I must have been very small when he taught me those things. But they stayed with me; even now, I find myself using those skills as I ride the streets and bikeways of L.A.

Like if I find myself riding through an area I’m not familiar with, I keep an eye on the local graffiti to see if it’s just the usual taggers, or possibly a sign of gang territory that warns me to be careful.

Or I read the intersections, looking for warning signs. Like remnants of wreckage in the roadway on yesterday’s ride, such as the twisted pile of rubber and glass that indicated a recent collision in Brentwood, and marked it as an intersection where I should be a little more cautious.

Then there was the set of nearly intersecting skid marks that told the story of a car entering from a side street, and slamming on the brakes to avoid another vehicle — in this case, a road bike, judging by the narrow marks it left as it skidded to a stop. But there was no broken glass, and the two sets of skid marks ended just far enough apart to suggest a happy outcome this time.

There were other signs, as well, such as the pile of broken glass next to an empty parking space, suggesting that someone lost their car stereo — or perhaps their car — the night before. And the used condom left in the gutter nearby implied that thieves weren’t the only ones active in the night.

Some signs are more obvious, though.

Like the relative emptiness on the beachfront bike path, that told me the tourists are gone for this year. Or most of them, anyway; the small group of biking Deutschlanders I gave directions to offered proof that there are still a few left exploring our fair city.

The nearly deserted plaza in Hermosa Beach, which only a few weeks earlier was jammed with young men and women in board shorts and bikinis, told me that school was back in session, and another L.A. summer is nearly over.

And the snapping of the wind-driven flags over the pier, pointing away from my destination, told me it was going to be a hard ride home.

 

VeloNews says Lance could be making a comeback. Gary reminds us that most rides are uneventful, while Bike Girl challenges her councilmember to join her for a ride over the Cahuenga Pass. Will Campbell rides with the original Midnight Ridah, and No Whip describes his recent Pennsylvania fat tire tour, complete with snakes and skinny dipping. Streetsblog announces a new Livable Streets Group to try to reclaim the Ballona Creek Bike Path. Just Williams comments on the lack of summer in the U.K. and prepares for wet rides, then is surprised with a sunny day.

Category: General / Tags: , , , , , ,

Just poor planning? Or are they trying to kill us?

September 5, 2008 / / One comment

When I ride my bike, I tend to stick to routes I know, and take side streets whenever possible.

That gives me an intimate knowledge of the danger spots; because I know the streets, I know where I’m likely to run into trouble, so I can be ready for it.

For instance, when I take the bike lane on Main Street in Santa Monica, I know I’ll have a long, straight route where I can get up a good head of speed, often approaching — or sometimes exceeding — the speed of traffic. But I keep a close watch for taillights and drivers behind the steering wheels of parked cars, so I can avoid getting doored. And I have to be prepared for cars that suddenly cut in front of me and stop in the bike lane to back into a parking space.

If I keep a close watch on the oncoming cars behind me, though, I can easily cut out into traffic and take the lane for as long as it takes to avoid any obstacles.

Closer to home, I often take Ohio through Westwood, which gives me a nice, relatively quiet street to ride. East of Westwood Blvd, I look out for cars that dart out from the side streets without looking for bikes coming downhill at 25 or 30 mph; west of the boulevard, I know that cars tend to pass too closely. Sometimes intentionally.

But when I drive my car, I don’t have to be concerned about things like that. So I frequently find myself driving down streets I seldom, if ever ride.

Like Pico Blvd, for instance.

According to the most recent Metro Bike Map, it’s designated as a bike route between the 405 freeway to Century Park East.

Evidently, they assume a lot of cyclists are going to ride along the 405, then sling their bikes over their shoulders and climb down from the overpass, since there’s no exit ramp there. Or else we’re going to ride Pico to Cotner — just before the freeway — and then take the onramp for a nice, exhilarating ride over the Sepulveda pass.

And who knows, that could happen. Because anyone crazy enough to ride through all the traffic and potholes along there is probably crazy enough to ride the freeway.

The next section, just east of Sepulveda, offers two narrow lanes in each direction, bounded by parked cars on either side. And there’s no room to ride in the parking lane, even if you did manage to avoid any swinging doors.

Which means that any rider there would be forced to take a lane on one of the Westside’s most crowded streets. Then try to dodge all the cars pulling in and out of all the various driveways, parking lots and valet stands, as well as one of the city’s busier shopping centers.

I suppose that explains why I’ve never seen a cyclist on that particular bike route. And I can only assume it was designated as a bike route in a blatant attempt to thin the herd, since I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone without a death wish.

Then I find myself driving down other streets, such as Centinella, which was recently repaved and widened, leaving plenty of room for a bike lane now, in an area that desperately needs one. Instead, they put in nice, wide lanes and a center divider lane. The newly rebuilt Santa Monica Blvd, where they could easily extend the bike lane through Beverly Hills — or at least far enough to accommodate the route Will recently attempted.

Or Jefferson, which has three full lanes of traffic leading to and from the new Playa Vista development, yet no bike lanes to help move those people in and out of the area, or get riders to and from all the work places that have opened up in the former warehouse district south of Ballona Creek.

Maybe they assume riders will take the Ballona Creek bike path to get there. Except that it runs on the north side of the creek, with little access to the south side. And it presents it’s own set of problems.

I could go on (and on… and on…), but you get the idea.

Pick virtually any street in West L.A. If it’s a designated bike route, chances are, it shouldn’t be. Or if it could safely accommodate a bike lane, it doesn’t. And if by some miracle it actually has a bike lane, it usually doesn’t go anywhere, and dumps riders off in the most dangerous spot possible.

I think Timur hit it on the head. (If you haven’t read his blog, drop what you’re doing — once you finish reading this, of course — and check out one of the most intelligent, insightful and beautifully written sites in local cyberspace.)

The problem is that our entire bike system shows every sign of being designed by people who have never ridden a bike in their entire lives. Or at least, haven’t been on one that didn’t training wheels, streamers on the handlebars or playing cards attached to the spokes.

It’s a system that was designed to move cars with maximum efficiency, though little evident efficacy, with no thought paid to any other form of traffic or the effect it will has the surrounding community — like the mayor’s plan to turn Olympic and Pico into one-way streets, for instance. And whatever minimal effort was made to accommodate cyclists or pedestrians was obviously nothing more than an afterthought.

That why we need to add our comments to the new bicycle master plan, which the city is updating right now. (Yes, there actually is one now, believe it or not.) Then contact your council member to insist on adoption of the Cyclist’s Bill of Rights — and do something concrete about it by insisting that Metro include a 1% each set-aside for cycling and pedestrian projects in the proposed 1/2 cent sales tax increase.

You don’t have to look very had to see the failure of bicycle planning around here.

And no one’s likely to do anything about it unless we stand up and make them.

 

The Times’ Bottleneck Blog’s questions SoCal bike routes, including one on a Ventura highway in the sunshine; you’re gonna go, I know. Once again, the city breaks the law by banning cyclists from the holiday light display in Griffith Park. Maybe we should get a group together and go anyway. LACBC celebrates it’s tenth anniversary with a potluck party. Thankfully, only Will Campbell’s shadow bites the dust, courtesy of a non-stop driver, then encounters the owner of these road we ride on. Back from vacation, Gary catches us up on the Brentwood Grand Prix, and urges us to support the subway to the sea. But who won the Manolos? Alex says goodbye to Spook. And finally, New York has over 3600 reports of vehicles blocking bike lanes; L.A. zero. Somehow, I don’t think that means it never happens here; maybe we just don’t have enough functional lanes that anyone out here thinks it matters.  

Category: General / Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
« Older Entries  
Wordpress Theme by ThemeZee