Tag Archive for bicycle safety

Bike law change #2: Prohibit turning into the path of an oncoming cyclist

One of the most dangerous situations any rider faces is when a driver passes on the left, then makes an immediate right turn. Or when a driver tries to make a left turn directly in front of an oncoming rider.

Most of the time they get away with it. And sometimes they don’t, resulting in a serious, often fatal, accident in which the rider smashes into the side of the turning vehicle.

The problem is that drivers often underestimate the speed of the bike, and think they’ve got time to complete the turn. Or they just drive too aggressively, and assume they have the skill to pull off an exceptionally risky move — or want to send a message by forcing the cyclist to panic stop in order to avoid them.

The only way to stop it, and protect the safety of cyclists, is to ban it entirely — and require that drivers wait until any oncoming rider passes before making their turn, whether right or left.

 

Bicycle Fixation observes we’re getting closer to genuine critical mass (lower case). The Utne Reader discovers conservative cyclists aren’t a myth after all, while conservative #1 plans to open the way for mountain bikes in the national parks. Now if he’d just restore their funding before he makes his ungraceful exit in January.

Bike law change #1: Require drivers to maintain a minimum passing distance of three feet

As it now stand, the law only requires that drivers pass a bicycle on the left, and maintain a safe distance without interfering with the safe operation of the bicycle.

But what does that mean in the real world? To some drivers, that means giving a cyclist as wide a berth as possible — for which we are eternally grateful.

Other drivers interpret that as any distance which allows them to pass a bike without actually hitting it. But they may not realize that getting caught in the slipstream of their vehicle can make us lose balance and possibly fall. Or that coming too close makes us instinctively swerve to the right, even if that means running off the roadway or into parked cars. And it’s always possible for a driver to misjudge the distance and actually sideswipe a rider.

So let’s take the guessing out it, and require a minimum of three feet distance when passing a bicycle. And make it clear that drivers are allowed to briefly cross lane or center dividers to pass safely.

Change the law. Change the world.

Note: Suggested law changes appear below; these posts will be moved to a separate page next week

It shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone that most traffic laws weren’t written with bicyclists in mind.

The vast majority of traffic laws were designed to move cars from here to there, as safely and efficiently as possible. In theory, anyway.

Few, if any, were written by cyclists, or with the participation of anyone who has ever been on a bike beyond the age of 12. As a result, bike traffic has been nothing more than an afterthought shoehorned into the laws and traffic lanes — without regard to whether it actually made sense, in terms of safety or efficiency.

That may have worked in decades past when most cyclists never left their own neighborhoods, and spandex-clad riders were an anomaly on the roadway.

But things have changed. Today, more and more cyclists are sharing traffic-clogged roads, as high gas prices and environmental concerns drive commuters out of their cushy SUVs and onto the saddle. And countless other people are discovering the health benefits of cycling; others just plain enjoy riding.

Government has a significant stake in promoting this increase in bicycling. Rising obesity rates, along with related problems such as increases in diabetes rates and high blood pressure, demand that more emphasis be placed on the health and fitness of their citizens. At the same time, increasing traffic congestion — and perhaps the very survival of our planet — requires that something be done to reduce the amount of cars on the road.

As a result, our state and local governments have an obligation to reform traffic laws to encourage cycling and protect the safety of all bicyclists, whether they use their bikes for recreation or transportation.

Over the next few days, I’m going to take a look at some ways the existing laws regarding can, and should, be changed. Changes that could help us all get home safely, and make every ride a little more enjoyable.

Feel free to offer your own comments and suggestions, and maybe together we can do something to change the laws. And help get more people out of their cars, and on their bikes.

Note: After appearing here first, this series of posts will eventually migrate to a new Bike Law page, replacing the “Things I’ve learned on my bike” page.

 

No Whip lets other bloggers tell their story of the Furnace Creek 508 he recently finished. Tamerlane starts a new blog focusing exclusively cycling, and discovers what it’s like to have an extremely close call of his own, as does another rider on the Eastside. Long Beach is looking for volunteers to help count bikes in an effort to become more bicycle friendly. And finally, El Random Hero discusses an alternate form of alternative transportation.

Mama said there’d be days like this, too.

I’d planned on writing a follow-up to Tuesday’s post, in which I’d suggest changes to the current biking laws.

Maybe next time.

Because that’s what I was thinking about as I was riding today, when I suddenly realized I was missing a hell of a great ride. So I mentally hit command – option – escape (control – alt – delete for you ‘softies out there) and shut off that part of my brain for the remainder of the day.

It was one of those idyllic late summer days, when it might be unbearably hot inland, but absolutely ideal closer to the coast. Warm and dry, clear blue sky, little or no wind, and big, blue waves forming perfect curls crashing on the beach. The only flaw was a wall of haze – a local euphemism for smog, for the uninitiated – along the coast above Malibu; but since I wasn’t going that way, the only thing it marred the view north across the bay.

Better yet, this was the week it finally all came together for me – that magical moment when cycling becomes almost effortless, and you can just ride, without having to think about it or work at it. Usually I reach that point by mid-July; this year, as I struggled to come back from the infamous bee encounter, I was starting to think I wasn’t going to get there at all.

Then as I was riding on Monday, I suddenly found myself just…riding. For once, I wasn’t trying to get in shape or thinking about what I was doing. I carved effortless curves through the corners, and zoomed along a couple of gears higher, and a couple miles an hour faster, than I had just the week before.

And just enjoyed the ride.

I enjoyed that same effortless feeling today as I rode, enough that I was able to hold my tongue when I found myself passing the helmet-less, mountain bike-riding jerk I’d encountered a few moments earlier. The one I’d just seen blow through a red light, forcing the oncoming traffic to brake to avoid him, then speeding up to cut off a car on a narrow corner a few seconds later — again, forcing the driver to brake hard to avoid him.

Normally, I might have said something. And maybe I should have. But it just didn’t seem worth marring such a lovely day.

Same with the county beach employee who was driving his pick-up with two wheels in the bike lane, as he prepared for a turn a few hundred yards further down the road. I ended up right next to his open window at the next light, and almost said something.

But for a change, I just didn’t feel like it.

Instead, I contentedly followed the young guy riding with his jeans rolled up, who insisted on jumping ahead of me when the light changed — and surprisingly, was able to ride just fast enough to keep ahead of me. I finally passed him on the marina section of the bike path, after I kicked it up to my big gear, raising my speed another 4 or 5 mph. Yet when I got to the fork between the Ballona and Braude bike paths, he was still there, just a few yards behind me.

I really had to admire him, because I was really hauling through there. And I was actually dressed for the part.

The rest of my ride was just as pleasant, if uneventful, until I found myself speeding downhill about a mile from home. Suddenly, the car ahead of me stopped without warning to let a pedestrian cross, forcing me to swerve right at over 25 mph to get around him. Then as I did, the driver waiting at the cross street took that as his opportunity to cross, and pull out directly into my path. So I gently squeezed the brakes and swerved right again to go around him, then immediately swerved left to come back into the traffic lane, carving a perfect C behind him.

Only problem was, there was a car illegally parked in the red zone on the other side of the intersection, directly in my path. So I squeezed the brakes again, tapped the rear derailleur to drop down a couple gears, swerved hard to the left, then back right to straighten, and cruised back uphill and home as if nothing had happened.

It went something like this: swerve, squeeze, swerve, swerve, squeeze, tap, swerve, swerve. And just about that fast.

Like I said, it all came together this week — and not a moment too soon.

Then I went home and had a massive iced coffee, into which I may have inadvertently spilled a wee dram of Irish Whiskey.

Of course, we won’t mention the school bus driver who decided to pass me on a curve, and nearly forced me to rear-end a parked car. Because something like that would be upsetting, and risk marring the lovely mood left by this idyllic day.

And we can’t have that, now can we?

Alex tells the story of S.M.P.D.’s hassling of Critical Mass riders, and offer’s his heartfelt opinion at the end. (Welcome back, dude – we’ve missed you.) Bike completes her car-free challenge, and offers tips for the rest of us. No Whip finishes the hardest thing he’s ever done – a 500+ mile challenge through the high desert; if I wore a hat, it would be off to you, Matt. A writer for the Times shares our rants about the lack of bike lanes in this town. And finally, the S.F. Bike Examiner lusts after a very light — and very expensive — new bike.

Mama said there’d be days like this, too.

I’d planned on writing a follow-up to Tuesday’s post, in which I’d suggest changes to the current biking laws.

Maybe next time.

Because that’s what I was thinking about as I was riding today, when I suddenly realized I was missing a hell of a great ride. So I mentally hit command – option – escape (control – alt – delete for you ‘softies out there) and shut off that part of my brain for the remainder of the day.

It was one of those idyllic late summer days, when it might be unbearably hot inland, but absolutely ideal closer to the coast. Warm and dry, clear blue sky, little or no wind, and big, blue waves forming perfect curls crashing on the beach. The only flaw was a wall of haze – a local euphemism for smog, for the uninitiated – along the coast above Malibu; but since I wasn’t going that way, the only thing it marred the view north across the bay.

Better yet, this was the week it finally all came together for me – that magical moment when cycling becomes almost effortless, and you can just ride, without having to think about it or work at it. Usually I reach that point by mid-July; this year, as I struggled to come back from the infamous bee encounter, I was starting to think I wasn’t going to get there at all.

Then as I was riding on Monday, I suddenly found myself just…riding. For once, I wasn’t trying to get in shape or thinking about what I was doing. I carved effortless curves through the corners, and zoomed along a couple of gears higher, and a couple miles an hour faster, than I had just the week before.

And just enjoyed the ride.

I enjoyed that same effortless feeling today as I rode, enough that I was able to hold my tongue when I found myself passing the helmet-less, mountain bike-riding jerk I’d encountered a few moments earlier. The one I’d just seen blow through a red light, forcing the oncoming traffic to brake to avoid him, then speeding up to cut off a car on a narrow corner a few seconds later — again, forcing the driver to brake hard to avoid him.

Normally, I might have said something. And maybe I should have. But it just didn’t seem worth marring such a lovely day.

Same with the county beach employee who was driving his pick-up with two wheels in the bike lane, as he prepared for a turn a few hundred yards further down the road. I ended up right next to his open window at the next light, and almost said something.

But for a change, I just didn’t feel like it.

Instead, I contentedly followed the young guy riding with his jeans rolled up, who insisted on jumping ahead of me when the light changed — and surprisingly, was able to ride just fast enough to keep ahead of me. I finally passed him on the marina section of the bike path, after I kicked it up to my big gear, raising my speed another 4 or 5 mph. Yet when I got to the fork between the Ballona and Braude bike paths, he was still there, just a few yards behind me.

I really had to admire him, because I was really hauling through there. And I was actually dressed for the part.

The rest of my ride was just as pleasant, if uneventful, until I found myself speeding downhill about a mile from home. Suddenly, the car ahead of me stopped without warning to let a pedestrian cross, forcing me to swerve right at over 25 mph to get around him. Then as I did, the driver waiting at the cross street took that as his opportunity to cross, and pull out directly into my path. So I gently squeezed the brakes and swerved right again to go around him, then immediately swerved left to come back into the traffic lane, carving a perfect C behind him.

Only problem was, there was a car illegally parked in the red zone on the other side of the intersection, directly in my path. So I squeezed the brakes again, tapped the rear derailleur to drop down a couple gears, swerved hard to the left, then back right to straighten, and cruised back uphill and home as if nothing had happened.

It went something like this: swerve, squeeze, swerve, swerve, squeeze, tap, swerve, swerve. And just about that fast.

Like I said, it all came together this week — and not a moment too soon.

Then I went home and had a massive iced coffee, into which I may have inadvertently spilled a wee dram of Irish Whiskey.

Of course, we won’t mention the school bus driver who decided to pass me on a curve, and nearly forced me to rear-end a parked car. Because something like that would be upsetting, and risk marring the lovely mood left by this idyllic day.

And we can’t have that, now can we?

 

Alex tells the story of S.M.P.D.’s hassling of Critical Mass riders, and offer’s his heartfelt opinion at the end. (Welcome back, dude – we’ve missed you.) Bike completes her car-free challenge, and offers tips for the rest of us. No Whip finishes the hardest thing he’s ever done – a 500+ mile challenge through the high desert; if I wore a hat, it would be off to you, Matt. A writer for the Times shares our rants about the lack of bike lanes in this town. And finally, the S.F. Bike Examiner lusts after a very light — and very expensive — new bike.

Mama said there’d be days like this, too.

I’d planned on writing a follow-up to Tuesday’s post, in which I’d suggest changes to the current biking laws.

Maybe next time.

Because that’s what I was thinking about as I was riding today, when I suddenly realized I was missing a hell of a great ride. So I mentally hit command – option – escape (control – alt – delete for you ‘softies out there) and shut off that part of my brain for the remainder of the day.

It was one of those idyllic late summer days, when it might be unbearably hot inland, but absolutely ideal closer to the coast. Warm and dry, clear blue sky, little or no wind, and big, blue waves forming perfect curls crashing on the beach. The only flaw was a wall of haze – a local euphemism for smog, for the uninitiated – along the coast above Malibu; but since I wasn’t going that way, the only thing it marred the view north across the bay.

Better yet, this was the week it finally all came together for me – that magical moment when cycling becomes almost effortless, and you can just ride, without having to think about it or work at it. Usually I reach that point by mid-July; this year, as I struggled to come back from the infamous bee encounter, I was starting to think I wasn’t going to get there at all.

Then as I was riding on Monday, I suddenly found myself just…riding. For once, I wasn’t trying to get in shape or thinking about what I was doing. I carved effortless curves through the corners, and zoomed along a couple of gears higher, and a couple miles an hour faster, than I had just the week before.

And just enjoyed the ride.

I enjoyed that same effortless feeling today as I rode, enough that I was able to hold my tongue when I found myself passing the helmet-less, mountain bike-riding jerk I’d encountered a few moments earlier. The one I’d just seen blow through a red light, forcing the oncoming traffic to brake to avoid him, then speeding up to cut off a car on a narrow corner a few seconds later — again, forcing the driver to brake hard to avoid him.

Normally, I might have said something. And maybe I should have. But it just didn’t seem worth marring such a lovely day.

Same with the county beach employee who was driving his pick-up with two wheels in the bike lane, as he prepared for a turn a few hundred yards further down the road. I ended up right next to his open window at the next light, and almost said something.

But for a change, I just didn’t feel like it.

Instead, I contentedly followed the young guy riding with his jeans rolled up, who insisted on jumping ahead of me when the light changed — and surprisingly, was able to ride just fast enough to keep ahead of me. I finally passed him on the marina section of the bike path, after I kicked it up to my big gear, raising my speed another 4 or 5 mph. Yet when I got to the fork between the Ballona and Braude bike paths, he was still there, just a few yards behind me.

I really had to admire him, because I was really hauling through there. And I was actually dressed for the part.

The rest of my ride was just as pleasant, if uneventful, until I found myself speeding downhill about a mile from home. Suddenly, the car ahead of me stopped without warning to let a pedestrian cross, forcing me to swerve right at over 25 mph to get around him. Then as I did, the driver waiting at the cross street took that as his opportunity to cross, and pull out directly into my path. So I gently squeezed the brakes and swerved right again to go around him, then immediately swerved left to come back into the traffic lane, carving a perfect C behind him.

Only problem was, there was a car illegally parked in the red zone on the other side of the intersection, directly in my path. So I squeezed the brakes again, tapped the rear derailleur to drop down a couple gears, swerved hard to the left, then back right to straighten, and cruised back uphill and home as if nothing had happened.

It went something like this: swerve, squeeze, swerve, swerve, squeeze, tap, swerve, swerve. And just about that fast.

Like I said, it all came together this week — and not a moment too soon.

Then I went home and had a massive iced coffee, into which I may have inadvertently spilled a wee dram of Irish Whiskey.

Of course, we won’t mention the school bus driver who decided to pass me on a curve, and nearly forced me to rear-end a parked car. Because something like that would be upsetting, and risk marring the lovely mood left by this idyllic day.

And we can’t have that, now can we?

 

Alex tells the story of S.M.P.D.’s hassling of Critical Mass riders, and offer’s his heartfelt opinion at the end. (Welcome back, dude – we’ve missed you.) Bike completes her car-free challenge, and offers tips for the rest of us. No Whip finishes the hardest thing he’s ever done – a 500+ mile challenge through the high desert; if I wore a hat, it would be off to you, Matt. A writer for the Times shares our rants about the lack of bike lanes in this town. And finally, the S.F. Bike Examiner lusts after a very light — and very expensive — new bike.

Ruminating on personal responsibility, part 2

“Some people claim that there’s a woman to blame

But I know it’s my own damned fault.”

— Jimmy Buffet

 

— Bart Simpson

“I didn’t do it, nobody saw me do it, no one can prove anything.”

 

I got a nice surprise yesterday. Due to some issues at the new job (and boy, do they have some issues), I found myself with an unexpected day off. And looking out the window, I also found an unexpected, end-of-season heat wave providing near-perfect riding conditions — and a perfect opportunity to take advantage of it.

So I lubed the chain, wiped off the grit and sand from my last few rides, and took off for the coast. I thought I might take advantage of the weather by riding the entire Marvin Braude Bikeway, from my home in Westwood up to the northern end of the path at Will Rogers State Beach, then south through Santa Monica and Venice, around the Marina, and down along the South Bay section through to where it ends at Palos Verdes, and back again — 59 miles from door-to-door.

I knew I really wasn’t up to it after sitting behind a desk for the last two-plus weeks, with only one day in the saddle since mid-September. But knowing how rare days like this really are, and not knowing when I might have the opportunity again, I vowed to press ahead — knowing full well the price I was going to pay. (On the other hand, that was nothing compared to this guy’s next ride.)

And pay I did.

I spent the next three hours after my ride completely spent, stretched out on the couch, and twitching and jumping every few minutes due to the frequent leg cramps. Between an amino acid, protein, watermelon and banana shake, a couple Excedrin and lots of caffeine, the cramps finally subsided, though the aches and pains lasted through the night, keeping me awake much of the night.

But I take full responsibility. I knew exactly what I was getting into, and made a conscious decision to do it anyway.

And believe me, it was worth it.

Of course, it’s easy to assume responsibility when the only consequence is a few aches and pains. It’s much harder when there are real consequences involved.

Like my road rage incident a few years back. I had no problem at all blaming the woman who deliberately hit my with her car for refusing to share the road, and taking her anger out on me. But it took me years to accept the flat-out stupidity of flipping off the angry driver behind me.

She bears full responsibility for her actions – despite the fact that she got away with it. But I have to take responsibility for my own actions, as well.

Or take civil disobedience. From Thoreau to Saul Allinsky, civil disobedience has been recognized as a powerful tool for change. But a key component of civil disobedience is a willingness to accept the consequences of your actions — to intentionally break the law to protest its unjustness, knowing its full force will come to bear against you.

Gandhi understood that, as did Dr. King. Both were repeatedly subjected to jail, or worse. And both ultimately paid the highest possible price. But they both understood and accepted the risk, and the responsibility.

That part of the equation seems to be largely forgotten today.

At its core, Critical Mass is an act of civil disobedience. The riders routinely break traffic laws in a mass demonstration, in order to promote cycling and make bicyclists more visible and accepted, both by the public and by law enforcement.

But like any other act of civil disobedience, there can be consequences, from tickets for various traffic infractions  — both justified, and unjust — to accidents and injuries, like what happened in Seattle awhile back. Whether right or wrong, deserved or otherwise, it is an entirely foreseeable consequence. And participating means accepting responsibility for the outcome, whatever that may be.

Of course, accepting your own responsibility does not absolve the other parties, either. They are wholly responsible for their actions, just as you are for your own.

So if a cop writes you an illegal or unfair ticket, you are perfectly entitled to fight it in any way necessary, whether through the court system, the departmental disciplinary system, the city government or the court of public opinion. Or if a driver gets tired of being corked and forces his way out through the cordon of riders, he can and should be held accountable for his actions.

Will gets that.

In his recent chin-first encounter with the rear of a minivan, he took full responsibility for looking down as he climbed a hill, and not paying attention where he was riding. Yet at the same time, he held the driver responsible for double-parking in the traffic lane when there was a parking space available right next to her.

Both were equally responsible for their own actions.

Tamerlane gets it too, as evidenced by his recent posts about ethics and vulnerability.

So if you blow through a stop sign and get a ticket, it’s your own damn fault. If you run a red light when there’s traffic around, whatever happens is your responsibility – regardless of whether the drivers should have seen you or been able to stop in time.

They’re responsible for their actions, you’re responsible for yours.

And if you choose to ride without a helmet, or after dark without lights, or ride at dusk on the wrong side of the street, you have already accepted the consequences, whatever they may be. Because, by your actions, you are shifting responsibility for your safety to those around you — and they may not choose to assume it.

Or if, like me, you’ve been riding without licensing your bike — whether or not you were aware that it was even required — you are responsible for that if you happen to get stopped by the police.

As I’ve said before, the highest responsibility of any bicyclist is to ride safely; that is, to ride without causing undue risk to yourself or the people around you.

That does not necessarily mean obeying the law in every instance. It means assuming responsibility for your own safety, as well as the safety of other people who may be affected by your actions, and making the best possible choices for everyone involved. Sometimes that means stopping for the red light, and sometimes that means going through it. But whatever you do, doing it for a damn good reason.

I haven’t always done that myself, as that road rage incident, my encounter with the bees, and a few other accidents clearly indicate. But in each case, I’ve tried to learn from my mistakes, so I can make better decisions next time.

So stop and think when you get on your bike, and learn to ride safely.

Because we are each responsible for our own actions.

And we all deserve to get home in one piece.

 

A bicyclist is killed and his companion injured in Carson; Damien Newton takes the press to task for misleading reports that seem to blame cyclists. Meanwhile, Steve Hymon asks if that crack is a bike lane or the San Andreas fault, and gets an immediate response — and action — from County Supervisor Don Knobe. Must be nice to have the power of a huge regional daily behind you. And San Francisco’s Cycling Examiner parses the meaning of that octagonal red sign with the white letters.

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

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.

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

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.

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

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.