When people get angry, they “see red.”
Not so long ago, however, a cyclist in New York City might’ve seen yellow: No driver drove more of us to fits of rage (not to mention alcohol and other drugs) than one behind the steering wheel of a taxi. He (almost all were male) was the “cowboy” of the urban canyons, darting in and out of lanes, pumping the accelerator and brake pedals seemingly split-seconds apart and screeching to stops a hair’s breadth from strollers in the crosswalk.
Today I took a ride across the High Bridge into Manhattan down to the Village. For the first time I can remember, I was happy to see yellow cabs on Seventh Avenue. In fact, they seemed tame and predictable—at least in comparison to some of the new menaces on the road. I’m talking about the kids on scooters and motorbikes, and people in SUVs whose driving skills didn’t improve with the size of their vehicles.
But the worst of all are some ride-share (Uber, Lyft, et al). Since people don’t hail them—they’re summoned via apps—they pull in and out of bike lanes, or whichever lane is nearest the curb, without warning. And nearly every one I’ve seen is looking at a screen rather than their surroundings. Basically, they’re taxi drivers without the regulations or accountability of drivers in yellow cabs—who today seemed like model citizens on the road.
I didn’t see yellow when I got mad today.
