Cycling, the Bus, Encroaching Thighs

I took the bus home from work yesterday and then stopped at Freewheel to ask Dan, who wears glasses, his secrets for cycling in the rain without having his glasses get covered with water. He didn’t have any. He asked if I’d gotten rained on earlier in the day. I admitted I’d taken the bus. “But I really—” As I paused to think of the right word, he finished, “Hate the bus.” “Right, I hate the bus.” “Don’t we all.”

Today I rode my bike to work, though it was a tad soupy out. As I rode south on New Montgomery in the left-hand lane, though traffic was very light and the right lane was utterly unoccupied, some idiot floored his gas pedal behind me and swerved around me in the left-hand parking lane. It was scary. I wasn’t hurt. After I got done being scared, I was angry. I couldn’t easily catch up with the driver; just as well. That sort of incident is probably my least-favorite thing about riding a bike, and something like it happens on virtually every ride.

Now that it’s been raining so much, it’s a toss-up as to which is worse/better, the bus or cycling.

Bad things about riding the bus: Waiting for it to come. Not getting a seat. Sitting on a seat with god knows what on it. Feeling crowded. Unwanted physical contact with strangers. (More on that below.) Weird smells. Wondering who touched the railing before me and where their hands had been prior to that. Having the bus break down halfway to one’s destination. Waiting while the driver gets off the bus and walks into a fast-food place. Waiting in traffic jams. Loud, annoying fellow passengers. Vaguely menacing fellow passengers. Fighting teenagers.

Good things about riding the bus: It’s dry. Interesting-looking people. I never fear being run down while I’m on a bus.

Bad things about riding my bike: Schlepping stuff I wouldn’t need if I weren’t cycling: panniers, locks, rain gear, pump, spare tube, patch kit, latex gloves, etc. Not being able to see through my glasses when it rains, particularly in the dark. Having to ride farther out in the street when it rains to avoid puddles of indeterminate depth. Having to allow 15 minutes to mop off my bike and deal with wet effects after riding in the rain. Aggressive motorists. Feeling afraid of motorists.

Good things about riding my bike: Feeling awake and energetic when I get where I’m going. (I kept noticing myself yawning as I waited at the bus stop. I never yawn on my bike.) Being outside in the (relatively) fresh air, the sun, the wind, even the rain. (Riding in the rain is perfectly pleasant; it’s just not being able to see that’s the thing.) Traveling on exactly my own schedule and never having to wait for anything—a bike slides easily around traffic jams and broken-down buses. Getting a bit of exercise. Saving fuel. Not contributing to air pollution or the pernicious effects of travel by automobile, including sprawl and valuable space that must be allocated to parking cars, both in garages and on the street. Seeing people I know while cycling around town. (The people are there even if I’m not cycling, but if I’m in a rental car, I don’t notice them and wouldn’t be able easily to stop and chat with them.) The pleasant feeling of self-sufficiency when I get somewhere under my own steam, or when I haul a week’s worth of groceries home on my bike. Not having to drive around for half an hour looking for a place to park. Parking right outside the door of the building I’m visiting.

My cycling rain jacket is a Burley, and it’s great, but is just a bit snug these years. It serves its purpose but the look may not be entirely flattering. However, it’s the largest size Burley offered, an XL. I happened to visit their site yesterday and saw that they are now offering an XXL. I plan to order one today.

So, about the physical contact with strangers: Somewhere along the line, probably in 10 or so years of riding Muni a lot, I developed a strong aversion to having a stranger mash his thigh against mine. Generally, this is a thigh that belongs to a him, not a her, and generally it’s because the owner of the thigh is sitting with his knees as far apart as is physically possible, taking up three-quarters of the space meant for two people. My aversion no doubt comes more from the indignant thought that the guy is taking up more than his fair share of space than from the actual sensation, which is not injurious.

I’ve never come up with a really great way to deal with it. Sometimes I cross my legs so that the other person must be in his own space or find his pants leg resting against the bottom of my shoe. I did this once at a meeting at City Hall. The man next to me was wearing an elegant suit and was well into my space by virtue of his wide-spread legs. When he retreated for a moment, maybe turning to speak to someone behind him, I established my boundaries by crossing my legs. When he turned back to re-occupy what he obviously regarded as his rightful area, his pants leg did very nearly touch the bottom of my much less elegant shoe and he gave me an angry, aggrieved look: how dare I seek to besmirch his suit? I noted his displeasure but moved not my foot.

I’ve also noted that men on planes tend to assume that they are entitled to use the arm rests on both sides of them, though there are, in a three-person row, four armrests for three people, meaning that just one person can have two armrests, while the other two people get one apiece. The man evidently does not question that he will be the person to get the two armrests.

On a flight from San Francisco to Phoenix, I was the first person to sit down in a three-person row, in the window seat. I made a conscious decision to use the armrests on both sides of me. Deliberately I planted my arms upon them. The occupant of the middle seat arrived: a man, who also was determined to have two armrests. My arm already being on the armrest did not faze him. He mashed his arm against mine. I refused to move my arm. He refused to move his, and thus we rode all the way to Phoenix pushing against each other’s arms. I was furious by the time I got off the plane, and probably so was he.

What I need is a polite, concise and highly effective utterance that’s somewhere between “Get your f***ing leg out of my space,” which could provoke unpleasantries, and “Sir, you may not be aware that blah blah blah,” which would probably lead to a look of utter incomprehension and not produce the desired results.