Recently, Stephen Pastis lampooned cyclists in his Pearls Before Swine comic strip (June 2). In one panel, the character Rat says, "I don't know what it is about cyclists, but every one I've ever met has always been so self-righteous."
I had to laugh. The remark hit close to home. Like many Portlanders, I commute by bicycle and I know what sort of reaction we spark among many of our non-cycling fellows. I shared the strip with friends, who said, " It's YOU!"
Later that day, a more serious event cast a different light on the mismatched perspectives of those behind steering wheels and those leaning over handlebars. I was riding home from work on a busy street in Southwest Portland where there are two lanes in each direction. Since the road was downhill, I was going as fast as the cars. As I approached a major intersection, I moved into the left lane to prepare to make a left turn. (Yes, that is a legal way for a bicycle to make a left turn on a multi-lane street.)
As I passed a slower-moving vehicle in the right lane, the driver suddenly veered toward me, without signaling. Fortunately, his window was open, so he heard me yell a warning. He moved back into his lane, avoiding a collision.
But then he started yelling at me, claiming the conflict was my fault because I was in his blind spot. I yelled back at him that his negligent driving could have killed me (though I used language that was more blunt). He yelled again that I should stay out of his blind spot. I yelled back at him. Then I turned left. He turned right. And we went on our ways.
I'm sure that as he drove away, that driver muttered to his passenger something like Rat's jab about self-righteous cyclists. Once my fear and adrenalin subsided, I indeed wished I had kept my mouth shut after alerting him to my presence on his left. It's not the first time I've yelled at a driver longer and louder than was absolutely necessary. And let me add that I agree with drivers who complain about cyclists who flout traffic laws. In fact, cyclists need those rules even more than drivers, because we don't have crash-tested steel cages to protect us when things go wrong.
The point is that words and actions can appear to be either self-preservation or self-righteousness. It all depends on your perspective.
Most drivers are usually at ease behind the wheel, especially on familiar routes. Think how often you have arrived at your destination and realize you can't really recall the trip, because your mind was wandering, you were listening to the radio, and so on. Even though driving is actually the most hazardous thing most of us do on any given day, it doesn't seem risky at all. It's all so commonplace and comfortable.
Cycling on a quiet bicycle boulevard or path is even more relaxing and enjoyable than driving. When I ride, I arrive at work in a sunnier frame of mind than when I have to drive. That said, mixing it up with steel behemoths (a typical midsize sedan weighs well over a ton and a large SUV can easily top three tons of steel, glass and plastic) hurtling along at 30 or 40 mph or faster tends to get your attention when there is nothing to protect you if the driver makes even a slight miscalculation.
So cycling, while always exhilarating, sometimes requires the vigilance of a gazelle eyeing a passing pride of lions. If they attack, which way should I flee? To make another Pearls Before Swine reference, it's a bit like Zebra keeping watch on Crocodile.
As I continued home, climbing up through my neighborhood, a cyclist zipped by going down the hill. Close on his tail came a driver in a 7,000-pound SUV, chatting on a cell phone. If by unhappy chance, that cyclist had fallen after hitting some debris or a pothole, I doubt she could have stopped before running over him. And yet I 'm sure she had no idea that she was putting his life in jeopardy with her casual, relaxed attitude toward driving.
Thus we get the mismatch of perspectives that can make cyclists appear self-righteous or shrill to drivers, while we wonder how drivers sometimes seem to be so cavalier about putting our lives at risk.
So if I yell at you someday, perhaps a bit too loudly or long, please forgive me. It's just the fear and adrenalin. I'll try to remember my manners, if you will please try to not maim or kill me.
Andrew Holtz lives in Northwest Portland.