Director's Dare
This Lane For Left Turns Only
Friday, May 7, 2004
I have a confession to make. I've never really been a bike rider during any of my adult years. The vast majority of my transportation has been on two feet or four wheels and much more on the latter than the former. I agree with the environmental aspect of cutting down the pollutants that are emitted form our four wheeled friends. Hey, I breathe air, drink water and hate to peer through a smoky haze as much as the next guy.
My quandary has always been time, or so I've told myself. "I would ride my bike except I'm in such a hurry," I tell myself. "Once I get done with the project, maybe then I'll ride my bike to work. It's just quicker to jump in the car, truck, van, or SUV."
We've all used these same excuses before. Being prone to choose the gas-propelled option over the self-propelled, I've never really paid much attention to the bike riders on the road. In fact, and here comes the real confession, the only time I really notice them is when they are riding in the road like a car.
I've always felt a little uncomfortable in my car when a cyclist is in line with the cars for a left-hand turn at a stop light. In fact, I've even been know to scream in my head at the top of that little voice that talks to you sometimes when no one else is around, "Hey! Don't you know you are in the middle of the road? That's why they make crosswalks. What are you thinking?"
Well, since I began training for this triathlon, I've spent more time pedaling and less time riding the gas pedal. In many ways, I feel like I've rediscovered my youth. When I was a kid, I rode my bike everywhere. I grew up in a small farming community where my best friend lived about 5 miles away, it was 3.5 miles to town and 4 miles to the swimming pool. I couldn't even begin to count how many times I made those treks on my BMX Huffy purchased from the local variety store.
I loved to ride my bike and pushed the boundaries of common sense like most pre-teen boys will. I set up jumps with 2 X 4s and old, rusted oil barrels. I fancied myself quite a stuntman and even dared to jump over my sister while she lay on the ground in frozen fear as my bike flew over her body. In the dead of the Idaho winter when the snow was deep and frozen solid, I rode my bike up and down the banks of the “ditch” long before BMX bikers ventured into skate parks and rode the half pipes. Biking was like flying. It was pure freedom.
Then somewhere between 16 and old, I lost that.
Well, in many ways I'm regaining that feeling. There's a certain thrill in speeding around a corner. I love to streak downhill with tears squeezing out of the corners of my eyes, bugs slamming into cheeks, chin and forehead and feel the wind whipping through my hair… well, you know what I mean.
Yesterday morning I was glorying in this new found empowerment, swishing down hills and leaning into turns, when I came to a red light. My first tendency was to pull over to the sidewalk, push the pedestrian crossing button and traverse the street in the cross walk. Then, "No," I thought. "I'm going to do it."
I used my hand to signal a lane change and confidently pulled behind a car in the left turn lane at the light. I tried not to notice the raised eyebrow that examined me from the rear view mirror. I forced myself not to flinch when a huge Ford F250 roared up behind me and hid the nervous licking of my lips when another car of college girls pulled up along my right side.
The only thing that drowned out the noise of the motorized cage in which I had placed myself, was a voice, silently screaming in the back of my head, "Hey! Don't you know you are in the middle of the road? That's why they make cross walks. What are you thinking?"
Then the light changed to green and I was off.
I appreciate all of your emails. Keep them coming.
Labels: triathlon
