Two, Maybe Three, Correctly Cycling Cyclists

Nonetheless (picking up where I left off), I also hate seeing cyclists run red lights. It’s dangerous, it’s illegal, and it’s crappy PR.

So when I saw another cyclist stopped at a red light that cyclists routinely run—the intersection is configured so there is almost no chance of cross traffic—I commended him thusly: “Ha, it’s the other law-abiding San Francisco cyclist!” He said he always stops at red lights, too.

This past week, I again saw someone stopped at that same light and was going to note that he was the third law-abiding San Francisco cyclist, but then I saw it was actually the same guy, so there are still just two of us. He said, “Didn’t I see you in the Tube Times?” and we shook hands and introduced ourselves. It was that kind of week.

Then he said he had seen me running that same light not long before. He absolutely did not, but I wasn’t going to argue. Then he said maybe it wasn’t that I had run the light, but rather stopped in front of the crosswalk instead of behind. In fact, I didn’t do that, either, but realized where he did see me do that: a block or two later, where there is a little skinny bike lane that runs between two other lanes. It looks kind of goofy, but that really is where cyclists ride there, so the bike lane just makes it official.

However, I don’t stop behind the crosswalk there, because that would force every cyclist behind me also to stop in what constitutes a double-sided door zone, so I pull ahead to the far side of the crosswalk, and that is undoubtedly what the other law-abiding cyclist saw me do.

The same day I met that guy, I noticed a cyclist close behind me, and saw that she actually stopped at a red light when I did. In fact, I got the distinct impression she was modeling her behavior on mine. We reached another light that was just turning red, and, assuming I was going to go through it, she started through, but when she realized I was going to stop, she also stopped, albeit forward of the crosswalk, and waited until the light turned green before proceeding.

At the next light, when we were stopped side by side, I commented on her excellent cycling behavior and she said she was following my lead. This was a good reminder that while I’d like to put a sign on my panniers exhorting other cyclists to stop at the red lights for chrissake, probably the best thing is just for me to do this myself consistently, and compliment anyone else I see doing the same.

I went to see the effervescent Carla Martino at Noe Valley Salon for a facial today, an occasional and most wonderful treat, not least because of the accompanying neck, shoulder and foot massage, and also because Carla agrees enthusiastically with everything I say. Today she agreed that cigarette smoke and lighter fluid are yucky, and offered of her own volition that grilling food renders it carcinogenic. Quite so.

Walking home, I saw an angry-looking man standing with his face four inches from a silent sweet-faced Asian woman, berating her. I was furious and paused two feet from them and frankly observed, hoping it would shame the man into stopping. I also thought he might ask me what the hell I thought I was staring at, but it didn’t faze him in the slightest. The woman turned her head and looked right at me, right into my eyes, with an expression I couldn’t identify. She didn’t look angry or disconcerted that I was watching. Did she look imploring, or sad? I couldn’t tell. They got on the train together and I walked off upset.

It would be entirely in character for me to have said something to him, even to have threatened him, but I imagine that would only make things worse for the woman.

Here’s what I would like to have said: “You know, what you’re doing is domestic violence, and it’s illegal. As it happens, my husband is a police officer and he’s on his way here right now. You know that guy who got the broom handle shoved up his rectum? That’s what’s going to happen to you, but splintered end first.” I really must stop mentally rehearsing that before I find myself saying it to someone. It is just so wrong on so many counts, not least that I need someone else to carry out my acts of vengeance, but it’s such a satisfying little speech.

By the way, I used to say to myself after thinking such thoughts, “That is terrible. No wonder the world is engulfed in violence. I’m a bad, angry person. What can I do not to be so angry? Blah blah blah.” Now I say, “Oh, angry thought,” and then I try to notice where it lives in my body, and next thing I know, the thought is gone, ditto any accompanying sensations, and tranquillity reigns again.