A Ride in the Park

Friday is here, bringing with it the opportunity to join another group commute. Six riders today; alas, we will never rival SF2G in size, but we turn heads nonetheless. For most cyclists, commuting by bike is a lonely affair.

One of the guys probably wished he was alone today, after a rather spectacular crash. I think he took a turn too wide, clipping a pedal on the curb. His bike landed on the sidewalk; miraculously, he disengaged and stayed upright, carrying his momentum across some grass and into the shrubbery. (No bushes, bicycles, or bodies were harmed in the process.)

Now, that's a hand signal!

one of the guys exclaimed, after I stopped a Mercedes in its tracks. Approaching an intersection where we would follow the straight-through lane, this driver was accelerating to overtake us on the left—with his right turn signal flashing. Never mind that we were taking the lane. Never mind that the traffic light was red, anyway.

It is prudent to send a clear message to an errant motorist. I held my ground, firmly thrust out my left arm to telegraph "STOP," and twisted left to stare him down. The dark lenses in my sunglasses shielded him from the full force of my disdain, but he got the memo. He yielded, then took his proper place in the right lane.

Since the pre-dawn sky had treated me to a view of Venus rising, I was surprised when we rode into the fog zone. Blue skies reappeared, though, at the end of our route, and lingered through the day.

Having managed a respectable pace on my return route, I chose to deviate through a scenic county park instead of skirting along its border. As I dawdled on a bridge over the lake to watch some egrets and a black-crowned night heron, the resident flock of Canada geese took flight above me.

I am confident that the commuters idling in the Friday-evening freeway-jam had a less rewarding trip home.