We had a windy weekend in HotWinds. So Miss Ellen and I had a good workout, riding into steady winds on two sunny days (although a bit cold). Traffic was light this weekend. It was great. We just kept moving.
As a driver, I've always noticed that motorcyclists and bicyclists seem to have their own version of traffic laws. But I am a former pedestrian run over by a car. I think stop signs should be obeyed, and hot-dogging should be kept to a minimum. I use hand signals. All of that. Yesterday I was stopped at a meaningless light , no cars, and a police bicyclist ran a red. Okay, maybe discretion meant I got my breath back.
There's also no doubt that your skin is right next to the road and the tires of the car next to you. It does tend to change your view of the rules somewhat, even if you want to follow them completely.
So. At a traffic light, I move into first position, right lane. I want Everybody to see me. I don't want to be misled and then sideswiped by their Failure to Signal a Right Turn. I am sure a lot of curses have been heaped on my ass. But this ass remains uninjured, thank you very much.
If I have to turn left on busy intersections, I will frequently signal a stop, walk the bike across the crosswalks, and hop back on and go.
The one time I had cars chase me off the road, an old man yelled at me for biking on the sidewalk. Hey. He was the ONLY guy on the sidewalk, more than six feet away. And my nerves were not good, especially having one car in reverse down the block, one advancing up the block, and Miss Ellen between two advancing bumpers. Probably he has been frightened by deviltry on bikes before. Go ahead and yell, Gramps. I am celebrating continued life here.
Double-parking in the bicycle lane: yeah, I know. It seems logical because you are out of the way of CARS.
Now I have to get in the way of CARS. All those other CARS expect me to be in the BIKE LANE.
The other day, I, Ann T., pointed my Hathaway finger at a cab driver (index digit, now, now) and forced him to stop with that pointy thing, rather than ram me and Miss Ellen with his four-door sedan. The eye contact also helped. Driving is still about intimidation. And cooperation, too. I've mostly had the latter.
Believe me, I know who is the vulnerable party.
So Miss Ellen must be SEEN. She goes first, unbroken, unbowed, and untrammeled.
That's the way she likes it.