by Al Drinkle
“Woah! You should use a bell, mate!”
Aside from greeting my cats, these are often the first words of the day that I speak aloud. I'm on the bike path early in the morning, grateful for the beautiful sights and smells that accompany summertime fitness. The sun starts to rise but the wind hasn't caught up yet, and critters of the river valley scuttle and flit about. Inevitably, I'll hit a section of the path that's been compromised by obtrusive tree roots. Pedalling fast and dodging the incidental speed bumps, my trajectory temporarily becomes unpredictable. Just then, an unannounced spandex-clad speed-demon overtakes me on a bike that's worth more than my house.
"Woah! You should use a bell, mate!" There’s no answer. There’s never an answer.
Part of my frustration with the aggro, silent passing technique is that I don’t like being startled, and it's potentially dangerous to both parties. But the most disappointing thing is that it's a breach of the solidarity between cyclists that I naively presume exists.
I don't care if you're training for the Tour de France (inexplicably in the vicinity of Prince's Island Park) while I'm calmly scanning the riverside for a place to read and drink. There are enough other factors out there endangering cyclists that we should be vehicularly civil to each other. Considering that half the motorists I encounter seem to want me dead—or at least off the road where I'm legally bound to be—and that imbecilic joyriders on electric scooters have rendered the bike lanes all but suicidal, I don't need further hazards in the form of fellow cyclists on idyllic pathways.
For the handful of cyclists who ride faster than I do and who provide warning before passing, I can assure you that it’s appreciated—and pedestrians would concur.
Coming next week: Electric Scooters Hijack Brains of Operators!
