Bikes as part of traffic

As all four or five of my regular readers know, and as most of the rest of you have probably surmised, I don't like what many cycling educators refer to as "edge behavior." There are many reasons why taking the lane is safer, more efficient for me, and more efficient for other elements of traffic. Of course, my own safety is my first priority. Yes, my safety trumps the perceived convenience of other road users, just as their safety trumps my own perceived convenience.

Some recent discussions among the online communities of cyclists to which I belong have triggered memories of discussions I've heard or been part of here in Louisville over the last decade or so. A sampling after the break:




Several years ago, as plans were being made for Louisville's "Bike Summit" of 2005 or '06, a former Louisville Bicycle Club VP Advocacy (for now, I'll call her B) stressed a need for the upcoming summit to address the needs of "serious cyclists." I was gobsmacked by this, as at the time I had the somewhat naive idea that "serious cyclists" as I imagined her to think of the term could take care of themselves. I was too polite to ask her to define "serious cyclist" for me, but the context implied that to be serious about cycling, one must race or pretend to race (do club rides), using bicycles more expensive than many automobiles and wearing gaudy advertising for favorite racers or brands or...

I was not ready at that time to challenge her directly by asking whether the guy who lived across the apartment complex from me who rode the remains of a department store bike to work every day so that he could reallocate money from owning a car into providing for his family was "serious" about cycling, although I did pose the question to others shortly afterward.

During that summit, I spent much of my comment time reminding folks that part of the population we needed to reach was those for whom, in the words of a friend, "seven miles is a goal."* I honestly believed that increasing cycling participation was an ultimate goal. I have mixed feelings on that, now, but more on the idea in a bit.

A few years earlier, this same B blanched at my suggestion of Shelbyville Road as a viable route to reach Hawley-Cooke Booksellers in the Shelbyville Road Plaza. The occasion was the book signing and presentation by Joe Ward of his book, Wheeling Around Louisville. Someone thought it a good idea for Joe to arrive at the signing by recumbent tandem--a bicycle limo, if you will, and there was discussion of what route would be reasonable and prudent. As something of a vehicular cyclist, I opined that Shelbyville Road was quite passable for that purpose--it remains so for anyone who drives a bicycle with confidence, and the owner of the tandem in question (Barry Zalph) certainly knows how to drive a bicycle as part of traffic. I was dumbfounded that there were such emotional objections.

Then there was E. E was a popular, or at least well-known-by-reputation, figure in the local bicycle club. He was and is his own person, and a good person, at that. Quirky, yes. Most of us have our quirks.

E had had a collision of some sort with a motorist a few weeks before I encountered him as I was on my way home from a club ride. I was, as it happened, about to turn on to the very stretch of Shelbyville Road that so scared B in the discussion of riding a bike limo mentioned above, and E opted to ride with me so that we could socialize a bit. E rode with me until I reached Hurstbourne Lane, although I don't recall whether he already knew the route I took once past the Watterson Expressway.

Once outside the Watterson, I like to use a sort-of parallel route instead of Shelbyville Road to get as far as Hurstbourne Parkway, in part because it's there and in part because it lowers MY stress level. The grade on Shelbyville is such that it's work to go eastbound on a bike, traffic along there is somewhat less forgiving to slower vehicles because there is less perception of ways around such slower vehicles, and so on.

Getting to the Watterson from where E and I met that day, though, meant using Shelbyville Road. I rode in my usual fashion, taking the rightmost travel lane that served my destination, avoiding the shoulder (which, frankly, is all but nonexistent). E made a post to the list server that many in the club use a day or two later, expressing wonder that I was so calm about being in the middle of all that traffic, taking the lane, signaling my intentions, and still able to track our conversation. I was not, as he thought would be more realistic, a nervous wreck for having been on that road.

A friend and fellow cyclist, Larry, has taken the TS101 course. He was in class with me, as it happens. I've not discussed the topic with Larry in a while, but some time after he took the class, he still insisted that staying closer to the fog line allowed overtaking motorists more room to pass him safely, never mind that said motorists would have a harder time seeing him until they were right behind him. Larry is a big contributor to the Louisville Bicycle Club in terms of time and energy, and captains many century rides (and rides many more). He often rides in excess of six thousand miles a year, and hasn't had a car-involved crash to my knowledge, so he's been pretty successful at not getting hit. I consider him to be highly safety-conscious in most regards, as well. I still contend that staying close to the fog line is more dangerous than safe, regardless of his results. That his lane position kowtows to the convenience, or, rather, the perceived convenience, of other road users more than it increases safety for him and others around him seems lost on many cyclists (again, I haven't had this discussion with Larry in quite some time--his own views may have changed since then).

And I haven't even scratched the surface of how I feel about bike lanes. Regulars know that I generally find them to be poorly-designed, and can probably recite a couple of my reasons.

Since I started talking about conversations, though, I'll leave the solo rants alone for a bit.






* In the late 1990s, I was speaking with a friend who lives in Sunnyvale California. I had just returned to my apartment after a ride to Iroquois Park, a distance of some seven miles each way and a couple miles of rambling around in that park. Her response that "Seven miles is a goal" has been with me ever since as a reminder that each of us has to start somewhere, and that I didn't get where I am in a day.