I ride in to work at 5:15 am and leave for home at 3:00 to 4:00 pm most days, so I don't usually ride in much traffic even though my route takes me through the densest part of downtown, over a busy bridge, and then up a major commuter street. My schedule means that I avoid rush hour. Yes, we have rush hour in Portland. It is a wimpy little thing compared to rush hour in L.A. or S.F. - for one thing, it actually lasts just an hour - but it is the best we can do. And I prefer to avoid it.
Tonight, however, I left work at 5:30 pm and rode home in the heart of rush hour. It was already dark. There were cars everywhere, densely packed headlights and brake lights, glowing and blinking, while cars surged, braked, swerved, and revved. I felt like a skinny ranch dog in a herd of steel cattle. Traffic was so thick that for much of the ride, I was moving faster than the cars, passing them first in the traffic lane and then in my bike lane, even as we went up a mild grade.
Passing a stream of cars on the right made me nervous. Many drivers figure if they haven't recently passed a cyclist then they can turn right without worrying about a cyclist being there. So I was wary of being right hooked. To my surprise our Portland drivers do in fact seem to be learning to check the bike lane before turning right. On several occasions a car clearly waited until I had passed to make its right turn.
Then again, there was the lady in the white Escape who pulled, without looking or signalling, into the bike lane to get to a parking space. I saw that coming and it only slowed me down. I hate losing momentum on an uphill but there's not always a choice.
I had switched on all my lights, the NiteRider on the bars and the generic Cree XML T6 LED spot on the helmet. Each is about 600 lumens and will run for about an hour with a full charge. This illumination really helped. When I'm coming up behind a car that is slowing or edging over toward my lane, whose driver might just be thinking about turning into that driveway or side street, I lift my head and put the helmet spot right into his rear window. The cabin lights up like someone switched on all the interior lights and his rear view mirror is suddenly flaring bright. I'm fairly sure it tells him there is something back there. The car always stops edging over, I see the driver sit up and look around, and I go safely by, not a statistic. Same when I'm approaching an intersection at 25 mph and a car is creeping out into my lane. The driver's face gets lit up, I see his staring eyes and knuckles on the wheel, and the car always lurches to a stop.
My lights seem to make me unpopular with other riders. As I come up behind them and they see their shadows growing in the brightening pool of light, they look around for what vehicle is overtaking them. When they see it is another cyclist, I can sort of feel their irritation. Or maybe I'm imagining it. We commuters seem like a surly lot, there's never any chit chat or even hellos or waves as pleasure riders often exchange. It feels like we are grimly, intently forging through the minefields and dangers, every man for himself, with no thought to spare for each other beyond "I hope it's him and not me". It is even more impersonal at night. In the day I take a look at the riders I pass, admire their shiny bikes or in some cases their shapely butts. At night they are just figures to be caught, passed, checked off and scored per the rules of Silly Commuter Racing.
It’s Not A Race
On the rear I had double red blinkies, which felt just a little inadequate in that sea of red lights. I think I will investigate amber blinkies and more reflective tape. Some riders with panniers put big patches of reflective tape on the back side of the bags, they stand out like glowing warning squares. Seems like a good thing.
I wear a messenger bag, it has reflective strips dangling on the buckles, but the entire rear panel could be reflective. There is a safety store here in town where they sell reflective and high-viz tape, stickers, cloth and clothing. I think a visit is in order.
And then, with reflectivity the farthest thing from their pea-sized brains, there are the (expletive deleted) bike ninjas. The riders with no lights at all, invisible ghosts who appear from nowhere in their fashionably dark clothing. I hate them. Almost ran into, or was run into by, two of those prick heads tonight. I wish the police would ticket them just like they'd ticket a car driving at night with no lights. I wish they'd get right hooked straight into a light pole every now and then. Wait, they do.
I guess it wasn't really a relaxing ride home. But in a sort of aggressive, pumping, teeth-gritted way, I enjoyed it. Glad I don't get to have this particular kind of fun too often.