Cycling etiquette

Cyclists are assholes. At least it seems like that’s what almost everyone believes. As an avid cyclist, I often find myself defending other cyclists to friends and co-workers after listening to some story about an annoying bike encounter. It’s exhausting, really. The stories usually involve someone on a bike who blew through a stop sign, or almost hit my friend on the sidewalk. While defending these unknown cyclists, I would say things like “well, of course we wouldn’t stop at every stop sign” or “If it’s a busy street, the sidewalk is the only safe place to ride. Biking is closer to walking than it is to driving anyway.”

I now realize that I was going about these defenses all wrong - probably because I was one of those asshole cyclists - I often blew through stop signs and road on the sidewalk. It took a pretty serious bike accident (caused by a train track, not a car, thank god), and having a decent amount of other cyclists yell at me when I did something reckless, to realize that I’ve been in the wrong. I can’t pinpoint exactly when it happened, but I went from being the cyclist who gets yelled at to the one who rolls her eyes and sighs in exasperation when another cyclist is being an asshole (I’m not ballsy enough to yell yet).

At this point, I can’t even remember the last time that I was yelled at while riding my bike, which makes my morning commute to work much more pleasant. The interesting thing is, I still don’t always stop at stop signs and I sometimes ride on the sidewalk. Only now, I’m no longer an asshole about it. I’ve learned two key ways to cycle relatively freely, without being a jerk:

- Don’t just follow the rules, find the root of the rule, and go by that

- Treat commuters like people, not obstacles.

My first point came to light when I was trying to explain to someone (post cycling revelation) why it’s OK not to stop at every stop sign. I was saying that if there aren’t any cars coming, there really isn’t any reason for me to stop. The truth of it is, even cars don’t stop fully most of the time if there aren’t any other cars around. My friend took this to mean that I never stop at stop signs, which is absolutely not true. If there are any other cars going to opposite way, or turning, I stop. If there is a car opposite me, I slow way down, in case they forgot to turn on their blinker and are in fact turning. If there are absolutely no cars in sight, I slow down enough so that I could still stop in an instant, look both ways, and keep going.

We should always yield to whoever has the right of way. If this means making a full stop, then please do it. We (cyclists) should never slow down someone else’s commute by making them wait longer at an intersection because we’d rather zip through a stop sign and get to work slightly faster.

Here, the rule is that we should always stop at stop signs. This will never happen. It slows cyclists down too much and takes so much energy to stop and start again. The stop signs are only there to prevent commuters from hitting each other, and to make the road a safe and fair place to be. This is the root of the rule. If you are being safe and fair as you ride, then you are fine.

This segways into my second point - treat other commuters like people, not obstacles. Before I started riding more safely, I thought of my commute as a kind of obstacle course - pass that person, make it through that light at the expense of some lingering pedestrians, etc. It’s almost kind of fun when you get in the zone and aren’t letting anything slow you down.

Then this one day, a bus leaving a bus stop was an obstacle. I sped up and zipped around it, got my tire stuck in a train track and I flew over the handlebars, landing right in front of the bus. Thankfully, the driver was paying attention and stopped. However, I got stabbed by my handlebars, which severed a nerve and I ended up losing all feeling in my thigh as a result. All this because I just had to get around that bus before it left the bus stop.

After the accident, I went through, in my head, all of the times I was yelled at - that driver that yelled at me for going through the stop sign when it was his turn, the other cyclist who scolded me for going through a red light and almost hitting a pedestrian. I began to think about it more and more and began to feel bad. That driver was probably mostly upset because he almost hit me, which is really scary. The last thing you want to do on our commute is kill someone. And the cyclist was looking out for an innocent pedestrian, who was just trying to cross the street. The driver at the stop sign, the bus driver, the pedestrian, these are all other people, just trying to get somewhere. We should just try to treat each other with more common courtesy.

This seems really obvious, but it’s something that we so often fail to do. Think of each commuter as a friend, or someone that you just might happen to meet again sometime. How embarrassing would it be if you cut someone off and they turned to be your new boss? Treat every commuter like they’re your new boss. Yes, really. And then we will all have happier more peaceful commutes.

The children are waiting! Please tell them the story about the bald frog with the wig

This was a random question that I was prompted to answer when editing my blog profile. I wrote out a little story, only to find after pressing "Save," that it was 1500 characters too long. However, not wanting all of that writing to go to waste, I decided to turn it into a blog post. The question (which actually technically is not a question): The children are waiting! Please tell them the story about the bald frog with the wig:

Robby, the Russian froggy, lost his parents at a young age to a traveling French chef. Robby was too young to remember his family's tragic ending. His earliest memory was being picked up off the side of the road, by a beautiful little girl. 

"You must be hungry, Mr. Prince." The beautiful little girl said. "What's your name? Mine is Yana." 

"Ribbit." Said Robby. 

"That's a silly name!" Said the girl.

"Damnit," Thought Robby. "She doesn't speak Frog."

Yana took Robby home to her little cottage by the lake. "Let me get you all dressed up, my prince!" She said.

"What in gods name is she talking about?" Thought Robby. But he didn't have a home or a family, so he tried to go along with it. "Ribbit!" He responded.

Yana spent all morning fashioning a wig out of yarn for Robby. "Here," She said. "Now you look like a prince."

Days went by. Weeks, months, turned into years. Robby grew to love Yana and began to think that he too, was a person. Yana even began to understand a little Frog. She could tell when he was hungry or when he wanted to play. 

Once day Robby felt sad, but he didn't know why. "Ribbit..." He sighed.

"What's wrong, Ribbit?" Yana asked. " I know! You want to go to the lake!"

She picked him up and brought him outside to the lake by her house. "Here, go play!" She said. 

Rob hopped out to the edge of the lake, and something woke up inside him. He felt home. Then he heard something, he had almost lost all memory of, other frogs, and they were laughing.

"Hi!" Said Robby. "What's so funny? Can I play?"

The frogs came out from under the lily pads. There were two boy frogs and one lady frog. 

"We're laughing at you!" said the lady frog. "What's that on your head?"

Robby realized how silly he must look to the other frogs. "It's my hair!" He said indignantly as he hopped back to Yana. Yana picked him up and took him home.

So I like napkins and dollar dollar bills

I don’t really get those signs in café bathrooms that say “Napkins come from trees. Take only what you need.” I mean, do those signs really deter people from taking the amount of napkins that they initially planned on taking? I know I don’t go into the bathroom thinking “I was gonna take 10 napkins for the road, but now that I know that they come from trees…”

The worst is that there is always a drawing of a smiling tree on the sign. Which leads me to imagine this tree, hanging out on a sunny day, smiling, and then a guy with a chainsaw comes up. The tree starts to quiver, obviously aware of what happens next. “Sorry tree,” the man says. “Lorraine needs another napkin.” Then the man starts to chop a branch off, while they both cry.

There’s also always a hand dryer next to the napkin dispenser. But who has time for that?

Speaking of guilt….

Checking out at the grocery store has become a test of the worst kind. Before I go to pay, I’m always prompted with something like “Help veterans for $1 - yes or no?” It’s like being asked “Are you a good person - yes or no?” And the grocery clerk always verbalizes this question as it pops up, asking in a monotonous tone “Would you like to give a dollar to help veterans?” So you verbally have to admit that you are a bad person to the clerk and the woman behind you. Or you could say yes. But that would be giving in.

I'm back!

When I went to China, I learned a lot about myself. I spent a lot of my time alone, reflecting and writing. And when I wasn’t alone, reflecting, I experienced so many interesting new things that I never ran out of material to write about. 

One thing I learned about myself is that I really do love writing. It’s one of two things that make me feel alive and free (the other thing is dancing, which I don’t plan on making a career out of. Although if I get discovered, I’ll be open-minded). 

I came back from China, inspired and full of a newly discovered passion. It was similar to the inspired feeling I had when I graduated from college, but less naive and more focused. I knew that I wanted to write. I applied for all kinds of jobs, and took a few chances, applying for copywriting (and other writing) jobs that I knew I wasn’t qualified for.

It took a few months of searching, but I finally found a job. It didn’t have anything to do with writing, but that was OK. I needed a job, so this would be fine for now. After a few months, I came to realize that I really didn’t like my job. I had a a few negative co-workers who loved to gossip and play the blame game, and I didn’t get paid much at all. About a year later, I found another (much better) job, which I still have and love. 

Fast forward a year and a half, and I’m happily living with my boyfriend, working at a job that I love. Now that I’m happy, I’m not spending all of my free time applying for other jobs. So, what am I spending my free time doing? I’m watching a decent amount of TV, going out with friends a lot (which often involves dancing), and reading here and there. But I’m not writing. 

I took a few stabs at writing fiction recently, but that didn’t go well. The lead character was always a blonde girl whose intelligence was constantly underestimated until she proved them all wrong. Basically, a memoir of my fantasies. No one wants to read that.

Then I remembered that I had started a blog called “An American in San Francisco,” which was supposed to be my blog sequel to “An American in Shenyang.” However, I got too caught up in the job search when I got back, that I forgot about it before posting anything. 

The title of this blog isn’t a reference to me being back in the U.S. It’s letting you know that “I’m back into writing again, finally.” And this time, I hope to keep it up.