Three Traffic Vignettes

I

I’m cycling south on New Montgomery, which has several lanes of traffic going in the same direction (south!) and always many jaywalkers, as there is a hotel on one side of the street (a favorite venue for visiting politicians) and the Academy O’Fart University on the other.

A fellow, 55ish with dark curly hair, is jaywalking across the street pulling a little luggage-type cart behind him. He will soon walk into a truck in the far lane, but expects he won’t actually, because he expects the truck will move along, but it doesn’t, and when the man gets over to the truck, he goes like this: “Aaaaurrghahgh!!!!” He howls with rage at the top of his lungs.

“Tsk,” think I, observing this self-inflicted misery. As if it’s the truck driver’s fault the man can’t cross New Montgomery, which it wasn’t, unless the truck driver called the man and said, “Eh, don’t bother walking all the way to the crosswalk. Just step out there and watch the traffic part!”

II

I’m cycling home after work, westbound on Market St. A small boy on a bicycle sails off the curb and out into the street. I’m startled and dismayed. I ride behind him, watching as he weaves in and out of the bicycle lane. He turns to me and says something gleeful about going faster. He is a very cute young feller. I finally realize he is attached to a woman cycling along some feet ahead of him, who hasn’t looked over her shoulder once.

At the next light, I confirm: “Is this your child?” She just smiles and nods, as she is no doubt sick of getting in arguments with lecturing cyclists: “Where’s his helmet? Do you know he’s not always riding in the bike lane? Why don’t you put an orange flag on the back of his bike so drivers can see him?”

If he doesn’t get flattened by a car, I imagine that boy will grow up to write a critically acclaimed book about the wonderful adventures he had with his free-spirited and/or insane mother. You know, like The Glass Castle or The Liars’ Club.

III

I’m cycling to work, eastbound on Market St. As is not at all unusual, I’m in a group of 10 or 15 cyclists. Most are in the bike lane. A few are not; they are riding next to their friends who are in the bike lane. The driver of a silver Prius honks and swerves around the cyclists. A cyclist says something to the driver through the driver’s side window.

The driver retaliates by swerving into the bike lane, all the way to the curb. No one is hit. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever seen a driver do. The driver speeds through the next light, probably thinking he will leave us all behind staring at a red light.

Of course, we all make it through the light, too—you can’t lose a bicycle in city traffic—and the driver pulls over. I assume there will be a physical confrontation, or that the driver is even going for his gun.

But the cyclists all simply pass him, which makes me feel kind of proud.

As I pass the silver Prius, I take a long look at the license plate, shorthand for, “We could find you if we wanted to.” I don’t try to remember it, or stop to write it down, maybe due to the good example of the other cyclists.

In front of the Prius is some sort of truck, whose driver asks me, “Why is everyone looking at that car? I just saw six cyclists go by in a row and they all looked at that car.”

I tell the truck driver what happened. I keep an eye on the Prius over the truck driver’s shoulder. The Prius driver gets out of his car, starts to approach us, and then doesn’t.

The truck driver is very friendly and says he’s always very careful when he’s making his rounds. He peers around the corner of his truck before stepping past it into traffic.

Our pleasant chat concludes and I see the Prius driver approaching, so I wait for him to walk over, and I say, “I don’t want to get in a fight,” because I don’t. (Why? I don’t know; just didn’t feel like it.) He is a 50ish guy with intense blue eyes and a silver crew-cut.

Our conversation goes more or less like this:

“You need to be more careful.”

“I know that some of us were overflowing the bike lane: you got frustrated.”

“That’s right.”

“But it was very frightening for us when you swerved into the bike lane, because we don’t know if you’re going to kill us or what.”

“Yeah, I know you’re vulnerable out there.”

“I know not every cyclist always behaves perfectly.”

We had a perfectly amiable conversation and parted in a similar manner; he even smiled during it. It was good that his memories of the event won’t all be bad, as maybe he will refrain from doing something so dangerous next time.