Etiquette? Who’s Etiquette?

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There seems to be a lot of debate about cyclist behaviour in Calgary of late – at least if you read the entertaining CalgaryHerald.com Pedal blog.  I find this both amusing and distressing.

I’ve come to love cycling in what I feel is an organic way.  I long thought cyclists in Calgary were insane, riding in traffic I barely wanted to ride a motorcycle in.  If you’d told me that one day I’d forgo the leather in exchange for Lycra, I’d have thought you landed on your un-helmeted melon one too many times.  Yet it happened.  A poor purchasing decision, an insistent child and suddenly here I am.  I am, for lack of any better box to draw around me, an accidental cyclist.

At almost 40, I don’t aspire to be a professional nor is my head filled with delusions of my own talent and performance.  I don’t have a pro-cycling hero  though I’m watching the sport and the governing body – the UCI – approach self-implosion with fascination as rider after rider comes clean about their doping.  I have no doubt the venerable Lance Armstrong is as guilty as Mr. Hamilton presents him to be.

I don’t read cycling magazines, I’m not in touch with the cycling community and as a result I find myself largely immune to the politics, the trends or awareness of my faux-pas.  I wear stretchy pants and shorts because  they proved to be more comfortable than the alternative.  I can’t begin to imagine riding in a pair of jeans or trying to keep the pant leg of my suit out of my chainrings.  Riding clothes are…well….for riding.  Why wouldn’t I wear them when I’m riding?  Does a judge wear his robes in the car on his way to work?  I thought not.  Do I care what you’re wearing?  Do I care that you care what I’m wearing? Not in the least, and why should I?

I’ll admit to bending a few rules, notably around stop signs.  On my daily commute I have a grand total of 6, round trip.  Two are on right-hand turns, one of which leads to  a dead-end / bus trap.  The traffic coming from my left are buses heading for the bus traps, sneaky motorized scooters using the bus trap and the occasional rider.  I roll through it.   There.  I said it.  I treat that stop sign as a yield sign.  I feel no guilt.

Two of the other stop signs are on residential streets that cross busy four-lane roads, which I inevitably arrive at during rush-hour.  I am not a pedestrian and I don’t pretend to be one.  When I arrive at the intersection, I sit in the middle of the lane, on my bike in the same spot you would if you were a car trying to get across.  I bide my time waiting for a break in traffic and go out of my way to avoid making eye-contact or communicating any other indicator that I expect or am waiting for traffic to stop so I can cross.  Despite that, about 50% of the time traffic does exactly that, and stops.  Now I’m obligated to cross but I’m not suddenly going to get off my bike and walk across like a pedestrian.  I’m not a pedestrian, nor did I seek to be treated like one – so I’m not going to act like one because a well-meaning and kind, but misguided motorist felt they should stop.  Besides, having been brought to a halt by the actions of one or two motorists, do the rest of them really want me to get off and clickty-clickty-clickty walk my bike across the road in my clown shoes?  Or would they rather I got my butt and bicycle to the other side of the road so they can get on with rushing home in anger?  I don’t care if @TomBabin or @CURTMAH think I should walk – I’m riding.

What about cyclists trying to “educate” each other by yelling at them when they’ve broken a rule they think is important?  First, nobody cares what you think.  Or what I think for that matter, at least they shouldn’t.  Do I think you’re reckless for not wearing a helmet?  I do, but so what?  I wear a helmet because this is the only noggin I’ve got and I’d like to keep in reasonable shape.  Do I think riding a brakeless fixie on the street is stupid?  Yep, and it’s illegal.  Would I yell at someone for it?  To what end?  Moral superiority?  Smugness?  Who cares.  In my first few forays on the bike, I had an indignant woman yell at me “where’s your bell!” to which I replied “Where’s your leash?”, her dogs (plural) wandering across the path.  We were both in the wrong and both yelling.  How much fun is that?

Imagine if you yelled at every driver you saw bending the rules or driving in a fashion that displeased you.  Sounds stupid just to say it.  I figure if you’re going to put the effort and energy into pointing out the incorrectness of someone else’s riding behaviour, you ought not to be discriminatory.  Take your good fight to the motorists too.  Make sure that all of those making the rest of us look bad motorists know that you know that they’re wrong. That You. Don’t. Approve.

The more I read about cycling community, the more I want no part of it.  I don’t ride to make a statement, to save the planet, to mimic my broken-winged idol, to make friends or for any reason other than one – pleasure.  I love riding my bike.  It is, to mangle a phrase, damn hard work and greatly rewarding when done right.  I want it to be hard work (most of the time).  When I’ve finished my ride, I expect to be tired, sweaty and sore.  I want to feel like I conquered some limits, pushed some boundaries and fought my demons.

You’d be better served and likely have lower blood pressure if you stopped worrying about things you have no control over.  You might even learn to enjoy your bike.