As the title of this post indicates, this story actually comes from Ash Wednesday, and yes, it took me more than 40 days to post it, but we all must travel our own wilderness journey during the liturgical season of Lent, and my journey included sitting on this story.
Betty Blue and I had to go straight from work to church so I could sing in an Ash Wednesday service. By the time I left church, it was totally dark outside. When I first started using a bicycle as a form of transportation, I was tentative. I didn't like riding on big highways, so I rode on the jogging paths. Riding in the dark freaked me out, so I avoided it at all cost. Riding in the rain, even a drizzle, made me nervous, so I always hitched a ride. However, the more time Betty and I spent on the streets of Durham and RTP, the more comfortable I became. First, I moved onto the four-lane highway and realized that was okay. Then I got used to getting wet. Heck, I've even ridden in the snow. Then I started riding in the dark when my work schedule would not allow otherwise. And finally, I started riding at night on the weekends when I needed to get from church to home—meaning, I was riding in the dark by choice.
So that Wednesday night after the service, I started suiting up for the ride home—cleats, helmet, jacket—which resulted in comments from several people that I was riding a bicycle home in the dark OH MY GOSH UNHEARD OF Y'ALL. I really do appreciate the "be careful, "be safe," "take care" sentiments (less do I appreciate the "I hope you have lights on that thing" comment—that thing, by the way, is named Betty Blue, and she has three lights and doesn't put up with disrespect, thank you very much), but I always feel rather singled out by all of this. I mean, no one goes up to someone in a car who is not their child, looks them in the eye, and says, "I'm going to be your parent for a moment and tell you to be careful." But then I have to remind myself that most people in my community are not using a bicycle as a mode of transportation and that Durham is not a big city in Europe (or Portland, Oregon, for that matter) where the infrastructure for cyclists, as well as pedestrians, exists on most roads. Granted, I do see more cyclists getting to and from work now than I did 5 years ago. However, it's barely a drop in the bucket, and I understand why. Until cycling becomes mainstream, it will probably be seen as unsafe and inconvenient, and trying something that seems unsafe or would cause you to make a change in your lifestyle takes a lot of determination and maybe some reckless abandon. But how do you make cycling mainstream; how do you make it easier for the masses? I have questions about how to transport families on two wheels and how to get people to work in a timely fashion when their job is 25 miles from their house. Obviously, there needs to be a great change in American culture, and sadly, I think that change will only come through some crisis. I truly believe that one day—maybe not in my lifetime—motorized vehicles will no longer be feasible, and fuel will not be readily available, or it will be too expensive for most people to afford. People will then be forced to look at alternative forms of transportation and will be less likely to frown upon a woman who is riding her bicycle home in the dark because they too will be doing it. They too will be comfortable with it. I know that cycling has its risks, but so does riding in a car. I wish people would remember that, and I wish they would realize that I am willing to take this risk for something I love to do, for something I feel morally called to do.
And now I will quit talking about boring things and tell you what happened while riding home in the dark.
I pulled into a left-hand turning lane at a four-way stoplight. There was a car in front of me also waiting to turn left. I was extremely grateful for this because regardless of how much I eat or what I carry in by book bag, Betty and I are not heavy enough to activate most pressure plates, and this can cause some drawn-out, frustrating moments of waiting in the left-hand turning lane. But tonight I was good. The arrow would turn green in a timely fashion, so no reason to lose patience. There were cars going through the stoplight from another direction as I waited. There were also cars stopped at the light coming toward my direction. So even if I was in a situation in which I should practice some healthy civil disobedience and run a red light because it might never change, I would have stayed put for a while longer until the intersection was clear. (FYI for those of you who don't know: cyclists are subject to the same traffic rules as drivers, and we can be ticketed just like a driver if we violate those rules.)
And that's when I heard it: that familiar sound of bicycle chain moving through a derailleur. I looked back to check out the other cyclist and also give them a friendly smile. There were actually two cyclists, a man and a woman. Their bikes were well lit, but neither was wearing a helmet, which was my first inclination that they were too cool for school. To which I say the following: I don't care how cool or careful or special you think you are, when you accidentally run your face into the back of a broken-down vehicle, you will wish you had worn a helmet and you'll be reminded of that every day of your life when you wake up and look in the mirror—if you are lucky enough to wake up at all. Trust me, I know these things. But back to the story at hand: all of a sudden, dipstick in the lead swerves around me on my right side, cuts in front of all the cars waiting at the light, and goes through the intersection. His lady friend apparently had no choice but to follow. I became indignant. It's cyclists like these who piss off drivers and give all cyclists a bad name. And not only that, their decision to cut through traffic in the dark like that was plain foolhardy.
The light turned green and I pedaled on in a silent rage until about a mile later when I saw the flashing lights of a cop car. In Durham, flashing lights are not surprising, but I was curious as to what was going on and how I would maneuver around the situation. The cop car was pulled over at a four-way stop sign. As I neared, I saw why the cop had stopped: he had pulled over those two cyclists and was giving them a lecture on road safety. Y'all, my time sitting in that left-hand turning lane felt vindicated; my anger felt justified. And as I took my turn at the intersection, there in full view of the cop and the cyclists to see, I obeyed the full-stop traffic rule, waited for the car that was there first to go, and then I took my turn. It was all I could do to keep from turning around and yelling, "This is how you do it, bitches."
