Category Archives: Biking

Since I am fortunate enough to have a shower at work, I have no problem biking to work in the summer.  Sweat?  No big deal, I have a shower and clean clothes waiting on the other end. 

Biking other places in the heat and humidity is a harder sell.  If I get sweaty, I stay sweaty, and I have to wear clothes that work for biking.  Generally, I just deal with it and look forward to cooler weather.

As a result, I rarely look nice at all of these summer events, which usually doesn’t bother me, but sometimes it does.  Yes, that woman over there is wearing a cute dress and heels, and I’m wearing shorts and a tank top, but guess what?  I bet she didn’t RIDE HER BIKE HERE.

I live in a city that likes its free outdoor entertainment in the summer — musical theatre, concerts, festivals, movies in the park — you name it, we’ve got it, for the low price of zero dollars!  Taking advantage of all of the offerings, especially on weeknights, is somewhat challenging.

Our average night looks something like this: bike home from work, rush to prepare dinner, eat dinner, leave dishes all over the kitchen, get snacks together for event, bike to event.  I arrive a little frazzled and a lot sweaty.

Last night, we made it easier by dining out at a restaurant near work before the show and then heading straight to the park for “The Music Man.”  It was lovely, no rushing, no frazzling, and to top it all off it was below 80 degrees (Here! In July!), so the sweaty was kept to a minimum.

By the time the show was over (WAY past my bedtime), it was even cooler.  I had a few tunes from the show stuck in my head, one being “Seventy-six Trombones,” and the other, “Shapoopie.”  I biked home alternately humming the former and singing the latter.  It was a great night for a bike ride.

“Shapoopie, shapoopie, the girl is hard to get.  Shapoopie, shapoopie, but you can win her yet.”

Before we fell asleep, I asked my husband if I was his shapoopie.  He laughed and said the correct lyric was “shaboobie.”  This morning, I settled the matter with the help of the internet, and I was on the right track with the p’s.  Shipoopi!

In this post, I described an all-too-frequent close encounter with a car.  What I really want in situations like that is the chance to talk — words not weapons.  I am continually denied this outlet because the cars, they certainly cannot be bothered to stop.  Rather than missiles, my ideal bike accessory would deliver a paralyzing pulse that would force the offending vehicle to pull over and stop at the next safe place allowing me to catch up to them.  And then?  Then we would have a little chat about safety and respect and bicycle rights.

I did have this opportunity on one occasion (minus the shooting a paralyzing pulse part — that did not happen).  I was biking home from work after one of my late evenings (~8pm) at a time of year when it was pretty much dark by that time.  Here’s how it went down.

I stop at a stoplight, waiting to turn left onto a busy, multi-lane street.  I am the first person waiting to turn in the left turn lane; there is a “straight” lane to my right.  As I wait, several cars join the line behind me in the left turn lane and a limo pulls up next to me in the straight lane.  The light turns green, and I begin my turn, only to see the limo next to me, the limo in the STRAIGHT lane, also turning left.  From the straight lane, the driver turns in front of me, completely cutting me off.  After making the turn, we immediately stop next to each other due to another red light.  I am, oh, what’s a good adjective?  Incensed?  Hopping mad?  Breathing fire?  I am [insert adjective of choice] at this point, trying to communicate through the limo windows.  The driver rolls down the passenger side window and says, “Are you trying to say something to me?”  I fail to come up with just the right words in the five seconds I have before the light changes and he speeds off.

I continue on my ride, annoyed that I did not get the chance to respond to his snide little question.  I’m close to home, having turned onto a smaller side street, when what do I see, but the very limo parked outside a neighborhood pizza place.  What are the odds?  I pull up to it, and seeing that no one is inside, pull out a paper and pen so I can write down the license plate number and other car information and report it to the limo company.  I collect the information I need and prepare to leave, when a man exits the pizza place and approaches the car.  I confirm that he is the jerk who almost killed me driver and a conversation ensues.

He defends his illegal left turn from the straight lane, saying that cars were SO backed up behind me in the left turn lane, backed up ALL the way to the interstate exit ramp because of this BICYCLE, and so the logical thing to do was zip up in the straight lane and make the turn from there.  Which is complete crap because, um, I had looked behind me while turning, and there were maybe five cars behind me, with over 100 feet of empty street between the last car in the left turn lane and the interstate exit ramp.  So clearly he is full of it, but since I am positioned between him and his limo, and thus have his undivided attention, I use the opportunity to inform him that bicycles have the right to operate as motor vehicles, which includes using the turn lanes, and that his behavior, in addition to being illegal, could have killed me and shows a clear lack of respect for bicyclists.

Was this conversation effective?  I don’t know, but at least it was a start.  At least I did not stay silent.

And now I will perform some deep breathing exercises because reliving it here is causing a distinct spike in blood pressure.

For that car who passed 8 inches from my leg today, while I was dying riding up a steep hill in 95 degree heat.  Because he/she could not have waited an extra 50 feet until it was SAFE to pass me.

For this time and all the times like it in the past, and all the times to come in the future, when the bike horn just doesn’t cut it.