That incident in the intersection and my reaction to it gets to the very heart of my argument and the whole point of this blog. At the moment I witnessed the so-called knucklehead, my mind was firmly in the group “Motorists” and that guy on the bike…well, undoubtedly, firmly in the group “Cyclists”…how do I know? Because I’ve been there, many-a-time, in both groups.

When I’m in my truck and see someone sneak through a light just after it turns red or make a turn without signaling, I notice…but I don’t have the urge to chase them down and verbally bitch-slap them like I might when I see a cyclist do it something similar. Why? Because the other car is part of my tribe, part of my group when I identify myself as a motorist sitting behind the steering wheel.

Now it starts to get weird…when I throw a leg over my single-speed townie bike in my street clothes to do some errands around the big metropolis of Bishop, CA, I don’t feel like a cyclist. I’m on a bike, sure, but don’t define myself as a cyclist in this instance; my group-view is just as it is when I’m driving, a motorist, and I do my best to follow traffic laws just as I would if I was in my Ford F-150.

And now it gets a bit crazy…when I throw a leg over my race bike, shave my legs, and don my spandex cycling kit, I change into a different beast entirely. I identify myself as a “Cyclist” and I wholly, consciously and subconsciously, become a part that group and all-together separate from the group “Motorist” yet using the very same road.

I become the cyclist that sees the road as a limited resource, a creek full of fish, and begin to compete. There is even an accompanying feeling of somehow being a freedom fighter that courses through my veins as I ply the streets, at odds with the imperial, subverting, car driving motorist. Seizing lane space not because I have to, to ride safely, but because of a strange feeling of obligation to “teach” motorists to share, show them that cyclists belong here as much as they do. I don’t think twice about blowing through stop signs or distractedly screwing with my playlist; cars are viewed as adversarial–and their rules? Their motorist rules just don’t apply to me. In short, I act like the very knucklehead I described above.

What the hell is going on here? Am I a madman? No. In either case, whether I’m pissy with a road-hogging cyclist, or fighting for road space clad in spandex, it’s all very automated and subconscious. It’s my primate brain doing what it’s always done and trying to keep me safe. Literally, worlds are colliding, the present and the ancient past, right there and I really have to pay attention, be mindful, of what’s going on in my head or else I get all caught up in the senseless roadside drama.

More to come…

MH