Cycling and road rage

Tom Vanderbilt writes in Outside magazine about what makes some drivers so irrationally hostile toward cyclists.

I've never been a commuting cyclist but I have known a few, and as a driver I have tried to be understanding toward them. As a frequent pedestrian, I think I comprehend some of the points of conflict between bicyclists and drivers. Pedestrians, after all, are in a similar position of relative power toward cars as bicyclists, which is to say, "not much."

There is fault to be found on both sides. Drivers are often preoccupied when they should be paying attention to the road, they're often driving too fast, they think they own the road, and if the rest are anything like me, they're frequently late. The least unexpected wrinkle in the drive finds them woefully unprepared to accept it, emotionally and sometimes physically. (Physical unpreparedness is what leads to accidents.) And as Vanderbilt notes, cars are dangerous even when they're parked: many bicycle-car accidents result from car doors swinging open unexpectedly, the driver (or passenger) having failed to keep an eye out for bicyclists.

(The unexpected opening door catches other drivers off guard, too. Hell, a police officer did it to me the other day in a place where the lanes were exceptionally narrow. I came close to swerving into another car because it looked like the cop's door was going to hit mine.)

Cyclists, for their part, need to understand the psychology of drivers a little better. Bicycles can come up surprisingly quickly on cars, especially when the cars are stopped at intersections. We drivers don't intend to cut you off there, but when we checked five seconds before we didn't see anyone, so we figured the coast was clear. (Yeah, we should have had the turn signal on: that's another one you can hold against us.)

Two observations about some bicyclists, though, make me angrier as a driver than anything else:

• They blow through stop signs and even red lights when traffic permits. I'm getting over being mad about this one because I can see how it makes life easier not having to pedal from a standing stop all the time. Nevertheless, this behavior pisses off a lot of drivers because it reinforces the belief, mistaken or not, that cyclists routinely thumb their noses at laws drivers must observe. Asking that drivers "share the road" with bicyclists is a tough sell when drivers think the cyclists are hypocrites about following the law.
  
• They don't understand how invisible they are at night. They don't outfit their bikes with lights and reflectors, or they don't use enough of them, and they wear dark clothing.

There's no excuse for the visibility issue. Drivers are expected to maintain their cars to a minimum standard not only for their own safety but for that of others on the road. Bicyclists must be held to a minimum standard as well, and the number one priority must be to make themselves noticeable amidst a sea of overly bright car headlights and moving shadows.

Why am I so upset about invisible cyclists? Because I'm scared to death I'll nail one of them by accident. My heart accelerates to triple-time whenever I spot a bicyclist at the last second. I don't like the shock to my system and I blame the cyclist for bringing the situation about.

I like to think I'm getting better at actually sharing the road with cyclists, but it's a process that will take time. Cyclists, be patient with drivers like me, and help the process along.

Gen Y and cars

A rare bit of good news, environmentally speaking: so-called Gen Y-ers are buying fewer cars.

They’re likely to see autos as a source of pollution, not as a sex or status symbol.

Motorists aged 21 to 30 now account for 14% of miles driven, down from 21% in 1995.

There's a change in lifestyle, which is critical to changing how society works:

“It’s a matter of mind-set far more than affordability,” says William Draves, president of Learning Resources Network, an association that studies consumer trends and provides education and training services.

“This generation focuses its buying on computers, BlackBerrys, music and software and views commuting a few hours by car a huge productivity waste when they can work using PDAs while taking the bus and train,” says Draves.

Current electronic hardware carries its own environmental burden, of course, but we have to fix the big problems first, and getting less reliant on the private car is fixing the much bigger problem here.

Cars aren't human, but ...

I know it's a bad habit to anthropomorphize inanimate objects, but I have always done so with my cars. It's my version of placating the gods, I suppose. If I'm in the car I have to get someplace on time (I seldom drive recreationally), so like my ancestors of millennia ago I want to smooth out any potential obstacles. Said ancestors probably sacrificed animals; I pat my car lovingly on the dash and murmur words of encouragement.

(Strictly speaking, treating the car like a pet is not "anthropomorphizing" it, but I don't know enough Greek or English to be able to figure out what the word is for attributing bestial characteristics to inanimate objects. I haven't been curious enough to see if English possesses a Greek-derived root analogous to "anthropo-," only denoting "animal" instead of "human." But I digress.)

Now my brain is more than usually agitated because I'm in the unusual position of having two cars, the one I've been driving forever and a new one intended to replace it. Suddenly "anthropomorphism" is the correct term for my feelings: the old car is now an elderly relative -- oh, let's not beat around the bush: it has become Mom -- and the other car is my newborn baby. Since there's only room in the garage for one of them, everyone with a normal brain assumes that leaving the old car outside is a no-brainer (ahem). But if you think of the old car as Mom, that means you're shoving your mother out the door to brave the elements.

You can argue that your mother is far better able to take care of herself than your baby is, but that's where the analogy starts to fall apart. The new car, after all, has not faced the corrosive impact of years of weather. Its paint is unscratched, its hoses still flexible, its metals not yet oxidized: in short, its armor is whole and strong. As such, the new car is less like a baby and more like a sturdy young man. In that light, it behooves Sonny to brave the elements rather than Mom: she should enjoy the time she has left protected from Nature's wrath.

At this point the analogy collapses entirely, for who would not only consign Mom to the wind and rain, but also send her away for good as a trade-in or a donation? Mom's making some funny noises and the actuarial tables say she's lucky to have lasted this long, so it's time to kiss her goodbye while she can still leave the house under her own power -- you're not going to win the "Child of the Year" trophy that way.

In short, it's a dumb analogy.

And yet ... I'm still anthropomorphizing the cars.

If it makes you feel any better as dew collects on your every exposed surface, Mom, the guilt is eating me alive.