Using A Bike Lane To Avoid A “Brick”

 I don’t drive. So I am basing this assumption on being an (infrequent) passenger and (more frequent) observer:  When drivers are lost or confused, or detect malfunctions (in their cars or passengers), they pull over in the nearest place that looks safe.

That is, if the driver is human.  If the car’s driver is itself (Does that sound creepy or what?), it won’t pull over.  And, if it’s lost or confused, it won’t go to a therapist or spiritual counselor.

Rather, it will “brick.” No, it won’t build a wall—at least not literally. (Even Donald Trump and Greg Abbot have difficulty doing that!) Rather, said non-human driver will stop dead wherever it happens to be—even in the middle of an intersection.  

In San Francisco, which probably is denser with ride-sharing services and autonomous vehicles than any other city, Waymo and Cruise self-driving cars accounted for 215 crashes during the first four months of this year.

I could not find reports of injuries caused by those collisions.  The city’s transportation authority says that self-driving vehicles “will improve safety” but admits that the technology “isn’t fully developed yet.” One commenter wonders whether the city can “end this experiment now” or “does someone need to be killed first?”

He posted a video that illustrated his concerns:  a number of human drivers steered into the Valencia Street bike lane, in the city’s Mission district, to avoid a self-driving Waymo vehicle that “bricked.”

Twofer! Let's take a look at how well the posts are working on Valencia @SFMTA_Muni. Can we end this experiment now or does someone need to be killed first? Also did @waymo report this incident to @californiapuc? pic.twitter.com/BSBvYUw5HK

— Andy (@Shenanigans_ATL) August 7, 2023

Hands During A Ride

 No, they’re Michelangelo’s hands of God and Adam on the Sistine Chapel ceiling.

Nor are they Albrecht Dūrer’s Praying Hands

or Auguste Rodin’s Cathedrale.

Nor is it the work of any other dead white guy whose work I love.

Rather, it’s from a woman who, old and white as she is, very much lives among us.

I saw Sassona Walter’s “Touch” yesterday in front of the old Greenwich Town Hall. I pedaled Negrosa, my vintage Mercian Olympic on an all-but-perfect first-Sunday-in-August morning. 

The ride home was pleasantly uneventful until almost the end.  On the Randall’s Island-to-Queens span of the RFK Bridge, a young guy on a motor scooter just missed my elbow.  

Something seemed strange about the encounter.  A moment later, I realized I hadn’t cursed the guy out, even to myself. Was I becoming more of a lady—or simply more accustomed to such things?

Well, a couple of moments later, he took a tumble about ten meters in front of me.  I stopped, and a guy on a motorized bike pulled up.

Turns out, the guy on the scooter jammed his brake when he hit a bump. He had a few scrapes but, fortunately, didn’t hit his head. 

The guy on the motorized bike and I offered him water, which he turned down. But when we reached our hands to his, he let us lift him up. Then, on discovering that the brake mechanism had broken, we walked with him the rest of the way across the bridge.

They Couldn't Keep It Clean

When I worked in bike shops, customers brought in bikes with problems I couldn't have imagined.

Note:  "Mudguards" are, to the British, what we Americans call "fenders."