May 22, 2023
Greetings from the person,
I was hit by a car while riding my bicycle twice in the same week.
I have traveled tens of thousands of miles on my bike over the years, from one end of the country to the other, so it seems almost expected that someone would hit me eventually. Thankfully, fifty years after that busy week, I am still here to muse about those odds.
I was reminded of those two drivers recently, for various reasons. Both were indignant, more concerned about whether I may have scratched their car than if I were hurt. Both were incensed that I was in their way when they crashed me into the pavement.
The truth is it was normal in those times for motorists to resent the presence of cyclists. I was often cursed at, cut off in traffic, edged off into the shoulder, while someone yelled out their window for me to “Get off the road!” The argument I heard more than once was that automobiles paid the taxes that built and maintained the roads, and people on bikes had no rights.
I’m grateful that things have changed, that most communities and the drivers that populate them are willing, if not begrudgingly, to share the road with cyclists. There are a growing number of places that demonstrate with pride that they have bike lanes or paths designated for that traffic. I have to say, I’m a little jealous, if that’s possible, of something that didn’t exist when I was younger.
I have been a runner for some four decades now, racking up tens of thousands of miles on the road. This week I realized how lucky I am that I have never been hit by a car, at least not so hard that it was worth mentioning. I have had more scares than I like, however, those times when I have had my hands on the fender of a car as it almost collided with me. More common is the last-minute swerves when the driver suddenly realizes they are about to run me over.
Most of the time people are kind, apologetic, no one wants to crash into me. But there are enough of the other folks too, who are clearly irritated at the inconvenience of having to accommodate a runner on the white line. I’ll come back to this.
I’ll let you off the hook here: I’m not just writing about sharing the road with runners and cyclists. I’ll also warn you: I’m not just writing about sharing the road with runners and cyclists.
I started running on trails some months ago, and occasionally I share those squiggly paths with people on mountain bikes, and occasionally others on horseback. I’m the newbie, so I just assumed that we all had our place there and that trail etiquette would surface and I would know when to get the heck out of the way. Which it did, and I do.
On the way to that enlightened state, I had my moments of resentment, when I found myself dodging bikes that came hurtling out of the shrubs in front of me. I’ll be honest the grumbling was reinforced by other trail runners who huffed and rolled their eyes whenever mountain bikers were mentioned. I wondered if this was one of those Hatfield/McCoy things but have tried to remain open-minded. Which is what most of us closed-minded people say.
I was at a nature preserve this week, a huge place with lakes and camping and trails, a beautiful, peaceful space. When I went to park the car, in a lot that was completely empty, I counted the number of handicapped parking places. There were a dozen along the sidewalk by the beach. I wondered if they ever got used, wondered if that whole effort was overdone, wondered about the people who just use the spaces for their own valet spots. I wonder about this more than I want to admit.
That’s when I remembered the motorists who have nearly run me over. In the moments after, when my heart is pounding and the adrenaline is rushing, and I’m muttering to myself about how careless people are with MY LIFE, for crying out loud, when I want to shout at them that no matter what they think are their legal rights to be on the road, I am a HUMAN BEING! There are people who care about me, I’m important to someone, I MATTER! At least show some respect for my place in our world as a human being. You can win the policy war about the tiny margin along the edge of this road, but please don’t forget I am a human being just like you.
Oh, shoot. Is this what it takes to learn compassion?
The new person who came late to church who doesn’t know when to genuflect. That guy who has the funny accent and stands too close when he talks to you at the post office. The family that is too noisy at the beach, and doesn’t know how to control their kids. The woman who stands at the freeway exit with a sign. The person who thinks they have a right to political asylum. The old man in line at the grocery store who wants to write a check. Those other people? They are human beings too. Those people who might struggle in a parking lot because they are missing their legs, those people who ride mountain bikes? Also human beings.
They are important to someone, they matter. They like broccoli, they memorized their in-law’s birthdays, they had polio, they grew up poor but made a go of it. And they are someone’s brother, someone’s grandfather, someone’s son. If we knew them, we would respect them.
As I told my cycling story, my narrow strip of experience that only a few of you share, I think it was pretty easy for you to empathize, wherever you fall on the debate about sharing the road. I think I could count on you to respect the next runner you see trudging the white line, maybe move over a couple feet, give her a wave on the way by.
But maybe you might think this is a leap, to go from being considerate about pedestrians to being respectful to strangers who look different or don’t know the rules or got a bad break or are just doing their best to make their way. But it’s not. We are all sharing the road together.
Yes, it’s way better than it was in the 70’s. But that doesn’t mean we can be careless about it. Somewhere in your spirit, there is patience and kindness and tolerance, and maybe curiosity. Put it to good use. Those are human beings out there, let’s respect them like they matter, like they are our neighbor.
Hope this finds you seeing the person,
David
Copyright © 2023 David Smith
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