Sharing the road

All car drivers should have to bike commute to their office, school, or grocery store at least once each year. Trust me on this one: I am a much better driver now because I cycle. When you're in a car, you don't realize how dangerous your mode of transportation can be. Try sharing the road from the security of a small carbon frame, open-air, you-powered vehicle, and all the bad habits we develop as lifelong drivers become abundantly clear: the California stop, the cell phone while speeding, the fiddling-with-the-radio while turning, the blind turn with only a glance at oncoming traffic...Don't get me started about the speeding semi trucks, the cars full of teenagers who think it's hilarious to see how close they can get to your elbow, or the idiots trying to discipline their dogs/kids/friends while passing you.

I know there are plenty of bad cyclists out there -- really, really bad cyclists who make your commute and mine hell. I'm all in favor of bike licensing; I think fixies don't belong on roads; and I would like to see us all pass a basic cycling skills test before we get to take our bikes off designated multimodal paths. But to me the difference will always come down to this: if I'm a bad cyclist, I might die. If I'm a bad driver, someone else might die. If I'm a good cyclist who meets a bad driver, it doesn't matter how many laws I obey, because I'm going to be the one who pays the price.

Lately, I've noticed an uptick in crazy drivers all over the Northwest: I nearly lost the back half of my car in Seattle when I stopped for a red light that the guy behind me assumed I'd run. I've been halfway through a crosswalk when someone decides they don't need to slow down for me. I had a sedan miss me by about four feet today as I cycled home because he didn't yield to the right of way. It was easier to run the stop sign than to see if anyone might be entering the intersection.

I know we're all busy, stressed out, and sick of the region's growing traffic, but what happened to being kind to each other? Or to recognizing that slowing for a yellow light -- or stopping for a freaking red one -- is not going to take hours off our day? If you're in that much of a hurry...maybe you should try leaving earlier?

What really bothers me is that you aren't going to get a lot of jail time if you kill a cyclist down here, even if you're speeding, running a light, or performing other acts of negligence which distract you enough to run down a human being. Last month, a guy road raged on two cyclists because he didn't like sharing the road: he intentionally hit one, sped off, struck the other, and then tried to flee. One cyclist went to the hospital; the perp is free on reduced bail.

I know we aren't always easy to see, and I know sometimes the laws for cyclists and drivers get confusing...but please, try it from our perspective once. Think of it as drivers ed redux. I guarantee you'll be a kinder, gentler, safer driver afterwards. I know I am.

Spinning my wheels

*huff* *huff*

I'd write more, but I'm still catching my breath after biking all the way up freaking Fremont today. That hill was a lot shorter when I got to turn on 41st. Those last nine blocks? The deceptively gradual grade? My knee wants its cartilage back. My lungs are apparently capable of having seizures.

*gasp*

The sick part is that I really enjoyed it. I even chased after someone who passed me on a road bike. Probably won't be doing that for another week (by which time I hope to regain feeling in my quads), but at least I know I still can.

*collapse*

Back in the rhythm

I've logged 40-odd miles on my bike since Monday and was actually somewhat relieved to give it to the shop yesterday for its annual inspection (file that under Things I Should Be Capable of Doing By Now). While I love riding it, my legs were starting to wonder if they'd ever be allowed to recover from the trauma of climbing Capitol Hill's backside every day. I managed to have incident-free rides the entire time, apart from one of those great drivers who slowed down and pulled across the lane into a parking space in front of me without signaling. Gotta love it.

I'm hitting all the spots I've missed since Christmas: Musashi, Agua Verde, Victrola, Pizza Pi, Piecora's, Star Life...it's pure bliss, and not something I get to do very often. I've also been walking around the neighborhood where my friend lives (Judkins Park) and enjoying it quite a bit. Much astir in my mind regarding housing, and hopefully we'll be able to get the ball rolling relatively soon.

Visited work on Wednesday and found myself missing the chaos, despite the fact that it used to drive me up the wall now and then. It was a good place to be. I hope I'm fortunate enough to find something like it again.

Now, we're off to Lummi for the annual mother-daughter retreat, and we'll be back late Monday. It is so damned good to be home. If I just had the Husband here, I'd be set for life!

Something smells...

And apparently, it's me!

It poured all day today, but I didn't have class until 2:00. Trust me, this is not a cause for elation; it's hard enough to attend class at all when your PhD flatmates never have to be anywhere for anything (what, exactly, do they do over here?) -- it's worse when you have to sit in class until 5 at night. Wednesdays are my really fun days: 10 to 4, straight classes with no breaks! Woo-hoo!

Sidetracks aside, by the time I left, a considerable amount of standing water had accumulated on the streets. Shivering students were sloshing past on their bikes, pants soaked through, hair matted to their heads, helmets...er, well, no one wears helmets here except we Americans, so never mind.

I grinned and deftly donned my Seattle bike gear: neon yellow jacket screaming "Don't you dare hit me!!", rainproof ski pants (the lightweight shell kind), REI full-finger gloves, reflector leg straps and -- coolest of all -- waterproof helmet cover that doubles as a reflector. Finally, I added my prize, a symbol of all my dorkiness that will forever mark me here: my waterproof backpack cover. God, I love that thing. I can bike for miles and nothing inside my pack ever feels the rain. Sure, it's a giant, flat gray and uglier than a garbage bag, but it is the Best Invention of All Time. This makes Velcro look like a first grade science project.

It's true that I stand out a bit, as most Cambridge students seem to prefer the "I'm going to die on this bike anyway, so I might as well look good doing it" statement. You see girls in miniskirts, guys in long, dangerously flapping trenchcoats, old ladies in long, sweeping dresses...I've lost count of the number of women who navigate their bikes in stilettos -- I tried boots once and promptly caught a heel in my pedal, then pulled the whole contraption on top of myself trying to yank it out before the light turned green. Between that and the mad determination of most cyclists to cause substantial pile-ups because they're too lazy to steer in a straight line, I prefer to be as obnoxiously visible as possible. I'd rather stay dry and unsplatted than be fashionably soaked and pretty on the pavement.

So I sped down the hill and arrived at the tech building bone-dry, despite the vicious downpour. Now, the only difficult part of my wardrobe is that I have to remove all of it before I enter a classroom -- teachers don't seem to appreciate it when I drip-dry on their floors. It consequently takes me a few moments to get ready: peel off the gloves, shrug off the jacket, pry off the helmet, unwrap the leg bands and take off the pants. Gotta love the looks that last one receives: "Hey! Is that girl taking her pants off in public?"

Yes, yes I am. Alas, they always lose interest when they see the real pair underneath the shell.

Anyway, I was in the process of disrobing when a couple of my friends walked past on their way to the same lecture. One checked out my things, which immediately sent me into a pointless exposition about the merits of waterproof backpack covers. Midway through my drivel, she cut me off and said:

"You know, you just reek of Seattle." Then she patted my arm as I turned crimson. "It's okay," she assured me. "It's a good thing."

It's never a good thing to hear the words "you" and "reek" in the same sentence. I should probably just start wearing Gortex and Birkenstocks while munching granola and be done with it.

Signs that I haven't quite rejected our consumer culture in its entirety

1. My incessant urges to have my hands on my new computer. I keep toting it outside to check out the indoor/outdoor screen, screwing the monitor around so I can use it as a notepad (will I ever need it? Who cares?!), and fabricating excuses to surf the internet because the web's become cooler since I found a computer with wireless capabilities. Kelli gave me EndNote as a wedding gift, and I started salivating. I was more excited about a freaking bibliography program than I think I was about getting into some of my grad programs...though that may not say much, since they were in LA. I also keep telling people that I purchased a new computer and then insisting that they come over to see it, because I don't feel like exposing it to the dangers of the outside world yet. My own father was forced to follow up a perfectly nice sushi dinner with a trip to our current house so I could show him the twisty-screen feature. Amazingly, he's still willing to help me fly home for Christmas. Someone. Please. Help.

2. The pathetic thrill I feel when I purchase a new bike jersey or pair of gloves. They're woven, cheap fabric in gaudy shades your colorblind aunt wouldn't wear, for god's sake. It's not like I stumbled onto that mint-condition Prada top hanging in the back of Buffalo (although I think I'd prefer the bike gloves). Now, I'm drooling over the bikes in the latest Trek catalogue -- for the price of a semester at graduate school, I could own Lance Armstrong's freaking model racing bike. And when I skidded across the wet cobblestones of British roads at 40 mph and wrapped the bike around a telephone booth, well, at least I'd have the sweetest wreck you've ever seen. Seriously, this obssession must stop. I'm starting to see the appeal of those insane multicolored jerseys that weekend warriors wear -- and from there, it's really just a quick slide down the slope to purchasing bike socks with flashy designs and spandex pants for every occasion.

3. Tortoise supplements. Laugh as you will, but it's no different than buying expensive cat toys or humiliating your dog by having its nails painted. Okay, so I technically did that, too, when my husband made Ndugu this swanky tux for his wedding day role. Anyway, by this time next year, Ndugu will be sequestered in an outdoor pen where at least 10 varieties of weeds, greens and grasses will sprout for his consumption. And yes, I did in fact spend the weekend building an outdoor tortoise pen -- which he hates. It's not interesting enough, or big enough, nor does it have a little button he can push to make worms pop out of the ground. Still, I'm trying to make up for it with the pasture mix, the feather grass, the dandelions and the "krunchy krouton" all-natural nutritional food topping. I don't need a child, thank you: I have a chelonian.

4. Did I mention my new computer?

Great site for Seattle cyclists

www.ghostcycle.org

If you've ever been hit, share your story here. It's about time that cycling conditions in the city received more publicity. I realize we're better off than most, but I've still had more close calls than I prefer to remember -- and some of these stories are pretty awful. Hopefully, the site will make an impact.

*Dreaming of Cambridge, where bikes rule the roads...*

De-evolution

You know you have a cycling addiction problem when you walk into a bike store to purchase a helmet and walk out with said helmet...as well as a second pair of fingerless gloves, a neon yellow jersey and an orange summer safety vest. You know it's really a problem when you were going to buy more but got kicked out when the store closed because you couldn't choose between a U-lock and a second pair of bike shorts -- and when the guy behind you in line started teasing you about your gear's coordinated colors (blue, thank you). He told me I should buy an airhorn to grab the attention of wayward drivers...and I almost did...Can't you see me furiously squeezing my horn bulb and shooting death glares at the guy who tries to make a quick left into my path?

The podiatrist removed my stitches today and made the mistake of telling me I could start biking whenever I wanted. Tomorrow morning at 8am, I'll be flying down Eastlake on my way to the dentist -- why drive in this weather when you can combine a workout and a tanning session?

Seriously, there's something wrong with me. I'm dreading the transition from my Trek 520 to the single-gear junkheap I'll purchase to slog along Cambridge's paths. I knew I was in trouble when I experienced a total high biking down the Burke on a frigid January night while the rain spattered my clothes. There's no sight in Seattle that rivals the Burke's panoramic views of the downtown skyline at night -- and no better way to experience those views than to be flying down a deserted trail in the dark with nothing but the sound of your tires singing.