Rules of the Road — CMB Post

This post originally appeared on the now defunct Chicago Moms Blog.

There's a storm on the horizon, a battle brewing between motorists and cyclists, and it promises to be ugly, if not deadly. I'm not sure when bicyclists went rogue, when it became a badge of honor to cut off (and flip off) any motorist in their path, but suddenly I feel under siege by these two-wheeled renegades.

Don't get me wrong, I like bike riding as much as the next woman. I was thrilled when my youngest finally joined the ranks of bike riders this summer. Personally, I was an early and avid rider and, even during my most aggressively anti-exercise phases, I have always enjoyed a spin on the old two wheeler.

But lo those many years ago, when first I learned to pedal, we were taught that bike riders had to follow the same rules of the road as did motorists. While those rules vary from state to state and community to community, we all know the basics: obey traffic signs and signals, ride in the same direction as traffic, yield for pedestrians, school buses and emergency vehicles, and generally follow the rules and etiquette of right of way.

Turns out, I'm right. According to Jesse White, the Illinois Secretary of State, bicyclists "must obey the traffic laws." It also turns out that apparently Jesse and I are the only two people in the state who have read the "Illinois Bicycle Rules of the Road" pamphlet.

I get that cyclists may have a certain moral authority, as their choice of transportation is healthier for them as individuals, as well as for the environment and, by extension, the rest of us. But here's the hard truth of the matter: when push comes to shove, car beats bike every time. While bike injury statistics are notoriously underreported, the sad fact is that both the motorist and the cyclist will end up as losers in a serious collision.

As a mom, I have young drivers and young bikers in my family, and the current state of aggression between bikers and drivers has me terrified. My daughter, who has had her license for nearly two years now, still hyperventilates when she sees an aggressive biker or, even worse, a pack of wild riders. We never know when these scofflaws are going to dart in and out of traffic, blow through a stop light or make a sudden, unsignaled turn. On any number of occasions, she has chosen to hang back, driving behind the cyclist(s) and under the speed limit, which can present its own set of dangers and complications.

I'm equally frightened for my young bikers, who are dealing with allegedly adult drivers often suffering from road rage or cell-phone distractions. Early in the school year, a child riding her bike to one of the middle schools in our town was struck by a motorist. Thankfully, she was not hurt, but I'm sure both she and the driver were seriously rattled. I don't let my kids ride their bikes to school, in part because their backpacks are too heavy to balance well on a bike, but also because I don't trust the motorists in our community.

I really want our roadways to be safe for all comers — bikers, motorists and pedestrians. Simply painting a stripe down the right side of a street to create a bike lane does not solve every issue. We must all learn to be respectful, to share and, most importantly, to follow the rules of the road. End of lecture.

This is an original Chicago Moms Blog post. When Susan Bearman isn't nagging about travel safety, she can be found writing at Two Kinds of People and The Animal Store blog.

Most of Us Have Gears We Never Use*

*"Life is like a 10-speed bicycle. 

Most of us have gears we never use."

— Charles M. Schulz

There are two kinds of people in the world: those who know how to ride a bike and those who don't.

I learned to ride my mom's bike when I was four. This is the single athletic feat of my life that I can claim as purely my own. I wanted it bad, so I taught myself. Standing on the pedals because I couldn't reach the seat, I pedaled and fell until I didn't fall anymore.

Riding a bike meant freedom. It also meant not having to walk every where. I come from the same genetic stock as Lech Walesa who once said: "I'm lazy. But it's the lazy people who invented the wheel and the bicycle because they didn't like walking or carrying things." (Hey, don't knock his philosophy of life; after all, he did win the Nobel Peace Prize.)

Lately, I'm a little freaked out by the wild packs of bikers that seem to be taking over the streets in their obscenely tight padded shorts and moisture-wicking jerseys. These Lance Armstrong wannabees are in a fight-to-the-death struggle with the internal-combustion engine. I was taught that cyclists are have the same rights and responsibilities as motorists when on public thoroughfares, but these road warriors are heedless of the rules. They know that when push comes to shove, the motorist will be blamed for any accident, so between March and November I live in fear that one of these
whack-jobs avid cyclists is going to jut in front of my car and be squashed like a bug.

Given the tension between bikers and drivers, it's no surprise that the history of the bicycle roughly parallels the development of the automobile. This may also explain why my love affair with the bike came to an abrupt halt on my sixteenth birthday, when I got my driver's license. (Now would be a good time to refer back to the Walesa quote.) Even so, I have never truly lost the joy of biking, although helmets have put a real damper on that whole wind in your hair thing.

Several years ago, my mother-in-law gave me her old bicycle, a comfort bike that lives up to its name, complete with a bell and the modern equivalent of a basket. Through no fault of her own, my bike and I have a fickle relationship. Sometimes she and I go steady, and other times I'll take her on a date and not call again until the next summer. 

Part of the problem is my kids. Only half of them know how to ride, so when it comes to getting the family from Point A to Point B, we've mostly relied on the minivan. 

At six, my daughter decided to learn to ride her bike, and after hours of tears and yelling, succeeded in forcing her body to master the machine — in one day. Her twin brother is still a non rider at 17. My middle boy is a cautious, by-the-book kind of guy who approached learning to ride a bike like a military general plans and executes a week-long siege. He strapped on all his safety gear every day, practiced for a reasonable length of time, then put the bike away, only to make a fresh start each morning until he had won the war.

My youngest, the "me too" of our family, really wanted to follow in By-the-book's footsteps, but wasn't quite ready. He gave up out of frustration or humiliation or both and hasn't wanted to try again for three summers. Yesterday he announced he was ready, so tonight after dinner, we gave it a shot. He has matured both physically and mentally over these three years, and after just a half hour or so of trying, he is so close he can practically taste it. He started getting skittish, though, so rather than risk another (perceived) failure, I told him he was doing great and that we would try again tomorrow. He was simultaneously a little proud of himself and relieved to pause his efforts. As he closed the shed, his parting shot echoed Mark Twain, who said:

"Get a bicycle. You will not regret it. If you live."

This summer, we (and by we, I mean me) are trying to be a little leaner and greener. We are trying to fool our bodies into fitness by doing "fun" physical activities without referring to them as exercise. The old minivan is less than 25 miles away from hitting the 100K-mile mark. The mom is less than 18 months away from hitting the big 5-0. We all have to make some sacrifices to keep things running. I'm hoping we'll find a few answers in our two wheelers.

When did you learn to ride a bike? Did it come naturally, or only after a struggle? Click here to tell me your story or to speak your peace about the Critical Mass movement.