Trigger Warning

Today's "Sunday funnies" post has nothing to do with cycling.  And I am including a "trigger warning."

More than a few times in my youth, I took chances I wouldn't take today.  Sometimes I was seeking thrills; other times, I thought I was trying to prove something to someone when I was really trying to prove it to--or run from it in--myself.

If I do say so myself, though, I don't think I did anything quite as dangerous as what, apparently, has become a fad: gun enthusiasts pointing their loaded pistols between their legs and posting the photos on Facebook.  

Well, the law of averages says that, eventually, one of them would discharge his weapon--and not the one he intended.

He posted a picture of himself in the hospital.  He was wearing a mask.  

Perhaps he'll be nominated for a Darwin Award.

He Wants To Prevent "The Kiss Of Death"

If you've been reading this blog for a while, you know that I am not wholly enthusiastic about bike lanes.  In part, my attitude includes remnants of the late John Forrester's influence early in my cycling life.  I subscribed to his philosophy of "vehicular cycling" which, as the name implies, calls for cyclists to ride as if they were any other vehicle on the road.  This meant that, like him, I detested bike lanes.  He argued that bike lanes turn cyclists into second-class citizens and, worse, put them in more danger than they'd experience if they were to ride in the roadway.

These days, my lack of enthusiasm for bike lanes is rooted in something to which Forester sometimes alluded, and which I have experienced all too often:  those lanes, particularly here in the States, are, as often as not, poorly- conceived, designed and constructed.  

Dave O'Neill learned that lesson the hard way.  He has cycled across the country and "thinks nothing of" cyclng 150 miles a day.  Two weeks ago, he was cycling from the Nubbe Lighthouse in York, Maine to his home in Greenland, New Hampshire.  While pedaling through Portsmouth, a city that borders Greenland to the east, he experienced one of our worst nightmares:  He was "doored."

He was riding down the city's Middle Street bike lane, his friend ahead of him and his wife behind him.  Like too many recently-constructed bike lanes, it rims a curb and is separated from street traffic by a line of parked cars.

I avoid using such lanes whenever possible for two reasons:

  1.) Drivers often pull into, or park, illegally.  Sometimes they do so out of carelessness or disdain for others. Other times, lanes and parking spaces are not clearly delineated and drivers mistakenly park in the lane.  

2.)  In such a lanes, cyclists are riding to the right of parked cars.  Specifically, they are pedaling by the passenger side of parked cars.  In my experience, passengers are more likely than drivers to embark or disembark from vehicles--especially taxis and Ubers--without paying attention to their surroundings.

Dave O'Neill at the Middle Street Bike Lane

Dave O'Neill experienced a "perfect storm" if you will:  A passenger-side door opened on a car that was illegally parked. Worse, a utility pole abutted the street right next to where the door opened. "I had zero time to react," he recalls.  

When the car door flung into his path, it stopped his bike in its tracks and sent him airborne.  He  landed face-first. "I had gravel in my mouth," he says. "It was the kiss of death."  Still, he says, his injuries would have been "much worse" had he hit the pole instead of the door.

As a recent face-plant victim, I empathize with him.  I also recall a similar situation I faced before I started this blog.  I was taking one of my first post-surgery rides in the 34th Avenue bike lane, not far from my apartment.  That lane was configured in the same way as the one on Middle Street in Portsmouth, with the curb on the cyclists' right and a lane of parked cars on the left.  A passenger opened his door into my path.  

Fortunately for me, the door struck only my left side.  I wasn't seriously injured, but I got a pretty nasty bruise on my side.  And, for a couple of weeks, I looked like I was pregnant on my left side.

By the way:  I haven't ridden the 34th Avenue lane since that incident.  If Dave O'Neill doesn't ride the Middle Street lane, I couldn't blame him.  He believes that lane should be deconstructed and parked cars returned to the curb before someone experiences what he calls "the kiss of death."

Purple Reign?

Today I took Tosca, my Mercian fixed-gear bike, for a spin.

By some strange coincidence, she took me by this garden:

And I was wearing a purple top.  Is she more of a fashionista than I realized? Or am I more of a fashionista than I was willing to admit?