I don’t know what’s inspired the sudden “we hate bike riders” kick sweeping the state.
The Denver Police Department’s selective enforcement of traffic rules regarding bikes is obnoxious, while Black Hawk’s flat-out ban of bikes is an idea that only could come from a place where the economy is based on bilking dullards.
The Onion headlines practically write themselves: “Having solved all other problems, Coloradans to tackle thorny issue of fixed-gear bikes.”
Together, my bike and I weigh roughly 180 pounds but somehow constitute some malicious threat, right up there with nuclear swine flu and flaming underwear on airliners. Cars burst into flames when I pedal past, achievements tests at nearby schools are inexplicably lowered, candy is yanked from the eager hands of babies.
“I beheld Death, and he rode a pale Trek 21-speed with grip shifts.”
What Denver and, to a far, far, stupider extent, Black Hawk have done is put the extra burden on the group mostly likely to get the wrong end of the stick if things go sour.
The mentality of most people who ride is “whatever happens to you is going to happen a lot worse to me.” This is true whether we’re talking about a car, pedestrian, stick in the ground or pothole. There’s a whole lot of boring physics involved, but it breaks down to whoever is in the seat gets chucked around like a rag doll and lands usually in a not very comfortable position — under the wheels of a Buick, for instance.
We like to ride visible. When drivers are buzzing us and trying to run us from the shoulder to the ditch, we sometimes hop into the middle of the lane. Bottom line: If I can hear you back there, laying on the horn, inferring that my parents were never marriedetc., I know that you see me and won’t run me over — even if you reeeeeeeaaaaallly want to.
If you’ve never ridden down Lincoln or Broadway in rush hour, particularly up around Capitol Hill where the construction begins, you probably don’t understand. To make that left turn, I can either try to shuck and jive my way across three lanes of traffic, squeak through that red light to give myself some breathing space, or hop on a sidewalk and wait for the crosswalk.
Now Denver law enforcement has limited me to only the first. Gee, thanks. I’ll hold my breath to see if drivers who crowd bikers out of traffic and bike lanes get the same treatment.
Bike riders get a raw rap, and a good deal of it, admittedly, is the fault of a few putzes who ride like the world is their half-pipe or those who strike out like the righteously wheeled version of the Spanish Inquisition. Somehow, everyone who encounters this small subset of the bike riding population can recall the day, time, weather, what they were wearing, what the biker was wearing, which Bronco had been arrested the night before and what the Final Jeopardy solution was that day. It’s an anti-religious awakening — a moment of realization.
No one remembers these encounters with other drivers. I could make a choreographed montage of every rude gesture and hard cussing I’ve been given in the 14 years since I’ve been driving and set the whole thing to music from the world’s longest and worst opera. It would be a useful reminder, since none of them really stand out in my mind.
So let’s just park whatever prompted this sudden deluge of hate toward the city’s bikers. We’re a lot more concerned about not dying and a lot less concerned about making life difficult for the people around us.
The city is really getting its bike together, and the next time gas starts nudging up to the $3.50 a gallon mark, a lot more of you will be joining us in getting your bike on.
Jonas Hogg (jonas.wright@gmail.com) Denver is a writer/photographer in Denver.
