As I was driving today, I had a moment that reminded me of a defining feature of being on a bike in traffic: ambiguity.
I was approaching an intersection where I knew I'd take a right. Lane markings seemed to indicate I was in the right lane, though there was rather a lot of room to my right. Sure enough, someone pulled up to my right, in spite of my turn signal. Perhaps the lane markings have been obliterated by a few seasons of snowplows, or perhaps (like many intersections in the area), lane markings there have always been a little ambiguous.
At any rate, I found myself wondering how this would play out. Would I need to let that driver slide ahead as I accelerated, and slip in behind him? Would the panel truck now behind him give me enough space? Should I try to get his attention & ask, with universal sign language, whether he was also planning to turn right, or whether he was going attempt to go straight?
All at once I realized that I was occupying the mental space of biking: most of my biking interactions with drivers involve this kind of ambiguity. Simultaneously, I realized that this kind of ambiguity was the exception, not the norm, for driving. Drivers, of course, have lane markings, signage, and traffic signals all working together to eliminate ambiguity. As drivers, we know where we're supposed to be, most of the time.
As bikers, we're always in that mental space of ambiguity, because the signs, markings & signals make no special case for us. And yet we're a special case. We're operating slow, human-powered vehicles with high maneuverability and no protective shell. Sure, we can attempt to make eye contact with drivers, raise our visibility by "taking the lane" and setting a straight course, and signaling turns and stops, but the fact is, in spite of doing all these things, I travel on my bike in a state of ambiguity that won't change until the road markings do.
As it turned out today in my car, the driver to my right turned right, and I followed, signaling. The panel truck made some room for me. I couldn't help but think that my experience of biker-ambiguity helped me as a driver.
But I'd still like bike lanes.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
3 comments:
Today ambiguity led to a bike-ped conflict - I was the biker. Westbound Beacon St. @ Cleveland Circle, waiting for the green light to go in the direction of the reservoir toward Chestnut Hill. On my bike, I am lead position in the center lane, I don't want to be in the right lane to block right hand turning cars. Light turns green, many cars behind me, but pedestrian is still crossing. I inch forward, anxious about cars behind me. Pedestrian comes down hard on me, telling me to back off. I defensively point at the green light - I am right. He barks to me - I have to hand the detail to him - that he was more than 3/4 across the way when the light turned against him, and thus has right of way. I dismiss him with a surge of anger. About a 1/2 mile down the road I realize that the pressure of the automobiles waiting behind me is what caused me to inch closer to him, not to threaten, but to push him to hurry up. He reacted to me as the proximate antagonist, and I reacted against him defensively. The pressure of cars again drove a ped-bike conflict. I wish I could go back and talk it over with this person - I cringe to think I may have sealed another ped attitude toward belligerent bikers.
Can we give out some awards? One award would be Most Badly Marked Intersection. Lots of competitors around Boston, but Cleveland Circle is certainly in the running for a gold.
One of these days I'd just love to stand at the front of a line of cars, pretending to talk on a cellphone, and continue to stand there after the light's turned green, yabbering and gesturing.
I feel that same pressure. In times like that, with a line of cars behind you, it's good to repeat the mantra, "I belong here, I belong here."
I am a terrible driver, so I experience these types of ambiguities all the time. I actually find it easier and less stressful to cycle than to drive, but I might be the exception.
Post a Comment