How About Passing When Its Safe?
April 26, 2004 AM/Arastradero Road
When you're riding a bike and a car passes you close, you feel a quick push-pull. The pressure wave in front of the car gives you a push away, and then as soon as it passes, the lower pressure difference pulls you back into the car's slipstream. When a car passes really close you can even feel the pressure wave on your hip from the right-side mirror. That's what I felt this morning.
It was a silver Lexus. The driver failed to anticipate a corner, one that he couldn't see around but decided to pass on anyway. And so the Lexus and I squeezed into the lane as another car showed up at just the wrong moment coming the other way. There was no need for that.
When cars flirt that close, adrenalin floods your system. As far as my body was concerned the driver threw a punch or fired a shot. Sometimes I manage to let it go. This morning I dug into my pedals and caught up to the Lexus at the next light. The driver was older, in his late 50s with a nose and cheeks that looked a little over-inflated. His wife, and elderly mother-in-law were in the back seat. No one was riding shotgun. He was wearing a white golf shirt covering a belly that almost touched the steering wheel. They were all relaxed, and looked like they were headed out for breakfast. My heart was pounding. I leaned over and ask him if he knew just how close he came to hitting me? He launched into a line of excuses about how there was no bike lane and I shouldn't be riding on this road. All I really wanted to hear was a sincere apology. But I never got one. Typical. Men in expensive automobiles didn't get their expensive automobiles by admitting they were wrong. About anything. Ever.
"How about passing when its safe? How hard is that?" I shot back. But he wasn't listening. He leaned on a button and the window slid up between us. I swore under my breath. He waved to dismiss me. Asshole. I flipped him off. His eyes went wide, just for a fraction of a second and then they narrowed. I got to him. He was pissed. I rode away. I almost immediately regretted flipping him off. The adrenalin and my temper got the better of me. Congratulations Phil, you just reinforced the stereotypical rabid crazed cyclist image.
I really should have known better. I can't wait until cars drive themselves.