As I've recounted in several (too many!) posts, cyclists are struck, or even killed, by motorists--and not much happens to the motorist. If anything, the motorist is given tea and sympathy, and the cyclist is blamed for his or her own misfortune, even if the motorist was clearly violating the law.
What does it take to hold a lawless driver to account?
I think the answer might have just come from San Antonio, Texas: when the cyclist in question is a police officer on patrol.
On the evening of 29 June, two San Antonio officers were patrolling the area around Cattleman's Square on bicycles. They noticed a vehicle that made a turn without signaling and followed it until it stopped a few blocks later.
One of the officers walked up to the driver, 22-year-old Jonathan Ray Martinez, and asked him to identify himself as the other officer parked his bicycle in front of the car Martinez was driving.
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The officer who parked his bike noticed that Martinez was reaching into the center console and looked nervous. Believing that Martinez might attack, he reached into the car to grab Martinez's hands. He couldn't get a hold, and Martinez started to drive away.
The officer's arm was hit, and his bicycle was run over. Another officer, in a car, started to chase, but lost, Martinez. San Antonio police, however, were able to link him to the incident through the license plate.
Martinez was charged with aggravated assault on a public servant and was booked on an unrelated assault warrant. His bail totaled $57,000.
Although I sometimes complain about the way police officers treat us, I am glad that the officer who tried to stop Martinez wasn't more seriously injured, and that Martinez is being punished for endangering a cyclist's life with a deadly weapon (his car). But the cynic (or realist?) in me says that he would have gotten off with a lighter penalty had the person on the bicycle not been a police officer.
Not long ago, suggesting that I equip any of my bikes with a horn or bell would have elicited the same response from me as saying that I should give up my cat, my books--or, of course, my bikes themselves. No "superfluous accessory"---and, thinking like the testosterone-besotted youth I was, "accessories" were, by definition, "superfluous" (As a woman, my thinking has definitely changed!) --would ever beclutter any of my sleek, beautiful machines. Or even the ugly ones I parked on the street.
Another rationale for my refusal to add the 140 extra grams (That's just a wild guess. I've never actually weighed a bell or horn!) to my pride and joy is that, like most humans, I was born with effective signaling devices, the main ones being located between my head and chest, and at the ends of my wrists. Moreover, my voice and hands (specifically, fingers; even more specifically, one finger in particular) could communicate nuance that no brass, aluminum or plastic device ever could. Plus, I could yell some version of "On Your Left!" in about four or five languages.
Ray Keener, who's close to my age, is wondering, "Ou sont le OYL d'antan?" As he notes, back "in our 52-42/13-21 days", we passed other cyclists (many, I admit, older than ourselves) rather frequently. Whether we were on secluded paths or in city traffic, shouting "On Your Left!" was a common courtesy. More important, it kept riders from being spooked and making sudden moves when approached.
Now, those of us who are "of a certain age" find that we are passed more frequently. But that verbal custom seems to have gone by the wayside. A few cyclists use horns, bells or other signaling devices. As often as not, however, younger and faster cyclists silently slip by us. Worse, some of those passers are on electric cycles, which are even quieter than most regular bicycles.
Interestingly, pedestrians seem more baffled than anything else when they hear a bike bell. I guess that, if anything, they expect us to howl, "Watch out!" or something less suited to a blog intended for general audiences.
I think the trend Mr. Keener and I have noted is part of a larger phenomenon. (I hate that last clause, but it works.) It seems that, at least in large US cities, people are less aurally attuned to their surroundings in general. Today, you see lots of people, especially the young, walking, running, cycling or skateboarding with earbuds.
This trend began, I believe, with the widespread use of the Walkman. When those devices first came to market, they were a way to hear your favorite music wherever you were, whatever you were doing. They soon turned into a way to shut out the environment: Not only could you listen to Culture Club or whoever while you were running; you didn't have to listen to traffic or parents yelling at their kids.
So, I think Ray Keener is right in noting that "On Your Left!" is a common courtesy that, well, isn't so common anymore. He doesn't blame the Walkman or technology in general. Rather, as he observes, "riders going 8MPH faster than me aren't in my space long enough for a verbal cue to work." His solution: "Get a bell." You know, I rather like them: The brass ones from Japan are as pretty as they sound. Of course, if you're a weight weenie, there are titanium bells.
Then again, if you're a real weight weenie, just remember that you already have built-in signaling devices!
In my youth (Yes, I once had that!), a couple of my poems were published in a small magazine. It was a big deal to me, and I thought it would lead to fame, if not fortune. Still, I was surprised when a stranger on the street recognized me as “the poet.” I blushed. “I’m not the only one,” I demurred.
“But you’re going to be The One. You’re going to be famous—and rich.”
He even said something about becoming a millionaire. “Well, not many people become millionaires from poetry. Or even thousandaires.” At that point in my life, I wasn’t even a hundredaire.
These days, I am just as surprised as I was then when a total stranger recognizes me. If anything, I reassure myself that the statute of limitations has run out for anything I did—and I am a different person, literally, from the one I was—in my wayward, footloose days.
Such concern, however, we’re unwarranted yesterday, as I was spinning along the Rockaway Boardwalk, when a young man pedaled up to me. “I read your blog!”
Turns out, Luca was on the return leg of a ride to Point Lookout. So was I. He had a bit further to go, though: to Jersey City, where he manages Jersey Cycles. He’s an “alumnus,” if you will, of a few area bike shops I’ve frequented.
Some of those shops have been taken over by Danny’s, a regional chain. We talked a bit about the business: It’s tougher than most people realize. And it’s changed in all sorts of ways. It occurred to me later that it might account for his, and my, tastes in bikes—and blogs. In particular, he mentioned “The Retrogrouch.”
You might say that my encounter with Luca was a momentary brush with fame. Ironically, he revealed a way I might’ve attained fortune. One of the shops in which he worked was part of the Metro chain, which became part of Danny’s. The entrepreneur who started those shops, Luca said, “was all about real estate. He didn’t care about bikes.” Hmm...Had I understood that when I had opportunities to open up a bike or book store, I might have retired by now.
Still, I’m glad I didn’t. Although I wouldn’t mind having more money, I’m not sure about having a fortune. As for fame—moments of it are fine, at least if the recognition comes from someone as cool as Luca.
You're a law student in your home country. You sign up for a "work and travel" program so you can experience life in another land. In your case, that land is the US.
You find yourself working in a Dunkin' Donuts. Pretty typical American experience, right? (Hey, I did it!) But unlike many other Americans, you don't drive. So you get to work on your bicycle. You also explore the city in which you're spending your American sojourn on two wheels.
That is, until you can't--because you've had an all-too-typical American experience: Your bike was stolen.
What happened next to Nichcha "Ziggy" Tansakul is something she probably could no more have imagined than the theft of her bike when she was studying in her native Thailand.
She and her fellow Dunkin' Donuts workers called the police in Wareham, Massachusetts, the town where she's living and working. Traffic enforcement officer Jamie White took the call. He made a few calls, and soon he was buying her a new bike, and School Resource Officer picked up a locking device that is, hopefully, more secure than whatever she had been using.
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Later, other police officers gathered at the Dunkin' Donuts with some of Tansakul's co-workers. Officer White brought her to the shop to present her with the new bike, lock and good wishes.
I've cycled around la ronde of the Place de la Bastille more than a few times. The first time, I did it because, well, it's the Place de la Bastille: As I circled around la Colonne de Juillet (July Column), several years before the Bastille Opera house was constructed, I tried to imagine a mob storming a prison and leveling it--and the Marquis de Sade escaping, even if that part of the story isn't true.
So it's not hard for me to associate bicycles with Bastille Day. But a chihuahua?
Hmm...Chihuahuas bark in Spanish, right? So it couldn't be too hard to get this fellow to bark, "Joyeuse Bastille, mes amis!"
Thank Billie Valentine for that adorable image. Bikes and chihuahuas: at least they aren't tanks.
