On the Road Again

Walk a mile in the other fellow’s shoes, or drive a mile, that’s my philosophy.  Behind the wheel, I try to cut pedestrians and cyclists a break.  Walking or riding, I try to act smart so as not to find myself in the middle of the street with a car barreling down on me.  I can only hope I don’t act like the people I see.

A month ago, walking the dog, I saw a car blow through not one or two but three stop signs.  There but for the grace of God—and a basset hound that refused to be rushed—was a nasty accident involving yours truly.  Then, this week, said dog and I were on the corner ready to cross when a car decided the stop sign was more a suggestion than the law.  I complimented the driver for not bothering with such niceties.

On Thursday, I took to my bike for a ride along Lake Michigan up the North Shore.  People mostly left me alone, I’m happy to say.  No pedestrian exhibited a sudden death wish, and no car tried to force me off the road.  I was left to my thoughts and the open road until I got a few miles from home.  Then it was, Hey, lady, I don’t make a pancake out of me, for chrissake!

I was driving down a Chicago street half-way between busy and residential, not big enough for a bike lane but with enough traffic to have stop signs every few blocks.  The problem with the stop signs is they back up traffic come mid-afternoon, which is what time it was.  Basically, in a situation like this you hug the curb whenever you can so as not to be a target.  But if there’s a line of parked cars, then you hug them and pray no one opens a traffic-side door.

So, I’m riding and scanning for any sign of potential door openers when a women pulls alongside me.  Traffic is so slow because of the stop signs that we’re pretty much moving parallel to one another.  She felt a little close, but that might’ve been my imagination.  I couldn’t help but notice, though, that she wasn’t looking up.  No, she was too busy driving while checking her cellphone.  This is how people get rear-ended, or pancaked, though I think “crushed” would be a more accurate term.

One eye checking for car doors popping open and one eye locked on to the oblivious driver, it left me one eye short to scan the road ahead.  The good news is I got home OK.  Now, I’m hoping that Darwin was right about natural selection.  Cyclists are going to have to come up with that third eye if they want to survive as a species.  Talk about new-look sunglasses.