Originally Posted by genec
Gee, exactly how I used to ride old hiway 94 out to Dulzura and Tecate... except perhaps for the tight mountain curves where I might not be sure that someone approaching at say 30MPH would see me in time... Although often there was no other way to ride, as the fog line was right on the rock. Generally it was a matter of timing with a touch of fear in those areas.
Actually, the further out you are, the longer are the sight lines for them to see you sooner.
So we both ride in the "Alpha-conservative" style. So will you agree to stop characterizing the riding I describe as riding as if I was bullet-proof?
While we're at it, will you also agree to stop saying that when I'm arguing against bike lanes that I'm only arguing or thinking about "San Diego bike lanes", when, in fact, I'm arguing against ALL bike lanes past, present and future, regardless of location, that fit the description "a lane designated for cyclists which is painted alongside vehicular lanes and from which motorists are generally restricted from driving" (note that anything that doesn't fit that description is not a bike lane)?
However those rides were not nearly as scary, and were often quite refreshing as compared to riding in the morning commute traffic and watching the cagers through their dew laden windows juggling cigarettes, cell phones and coffee while I wondered if they realize I am about to cross in front of them... in my bright yellow/green vest on my 40 pound bike.
Since I put myself right into the lane while crossing the intersections, I could only hope the bleary eyes staring at me were comprehending that I was a human and had rights to the very road that they were poised to turn right (on red) upon... even though somehow they failed to indicate their desires with the use of the ever so convenient turn signal.
Almost weekly I would see a Starbucks sipping cager whose eyes would widen in surprise at the realization that they were stepping on the gas, just as my bike went before grill of their great leather seated foreign-made behemoth... on some occasions I could even see the words "Oh my god!" form in their mouths.
Of course this was nothing compared to the apparent game of tag that some chose to play... zooming and zipping between their fellow commuters, nary an indication as to their destination, often slipping between the sleek metal frames of fellow commuters with scant inches to spare, their charges breathing the roar of powerful hydrocarbon beasts pushed to extremes. The drivers of such beasts often seemed to be enthralled by the loud pulsing sounds that emanated from within the darkened confines of their barely restrained thumping metal cages.
Other commuters were more of the harried type, so much in a hurry, so often trying to be in more than one place at a time and so easily disturbed by those that did not share their concern for rushing about like silly rats in an ever increasingly complex maze... these restless few of shattered nerves and little patience took perverse pleasure in disposing of objects from within their vehicles at any available target, while voicing opinions formed deep inside rattled brains as to their ownership of the roadways. While somewhat amusing, the skills required to dodge disgorged objects, might require well-focused attentions of a cyclist well beyond the simple navigation feats often encountered on the poorly maintained, crowded urban tarmac.
Rocks!