16 Reasons I'm Riding My Bicycle In Your Traffic Lane
By Rachel Cromidas in News on Sep 20, 2016 5:09PM
This is a letter to the driver who yelled at me to "use the sidewalk" as I passed him on Clark Street the other day. It's a letter to all the drivers who have yelled this at me over the years.
Hello there. You've noticed that I'm in the street, on a bicycle—my primary mode of transportation since I first moved to Chicago. Why does this surprise you? Are you possibly John Kass?
You're probably wondering what on earth I'm doing in your lane, the place where you are trying to drive. You are not an asshole, and you don't want to hit me. You're trying to give me good advice, and you didn't realize it's illegal for me to ride on the sidewalks. I really appreciate your concern, but there are good reasons I'm riding in your lane. Please let me explain.
Here are 16 common reasons you've seen me riding in your lane of traffic instead of a bike lane:
Because the city's repaving a big stretch of Dearborn and the bike lane is closed.
Because a delivery truck is being unloaded in the Washington Street protected bike lane, and I will run into a man pushing a dolly if I don't swerve.
Because a charter bus is inexplicably parked in the two-way bike lane on Clinton.
Because a tourist is jaywalking across Wabash with her child, and I don't want to hit them.
Because a taxi just pulled in front of me and came to a dead stop, but I would still like to make it through this green light.
Because someone just pulled over and flung open their driver-side door, and this is Milwaukee Avenue, for fucks sake. There is no room for this.
Because a line of taxis is always waiting for passengers in the Wells Street bike lane on Saturday nights.
Because Loop Link is open, but the city still hasn't built a new westbound bike lane to replace the one it removed from Madison Street, and I need to get across town.
Because I too would like to make a left turn, please.
Because some couples who just finished brunch are saying goodbye to each other in the middle of the Damen Avenue bike lane.
Because I can't accelerate after a red light as quickly as you can, and I don't want the cars coming up behind us to hit me.
Because potholes.
Because broken glass.
Because snow.
Because four cyclists were killed in Chicago this year by commercial vehicles—semi-trucks, double decker tour buses, etc. Their drivers have terrible visibility and might not see me if I bike to their right.
But here's the only reason that should even matter: Because I have the right to be here. (And I do pay taxes, damnit! I live in Chicago—I pay so many taxes.)
Nobody's perfect—you text and drive, a lot. And I've been known to treat red lights as mere suggestions on quiet, late-evening rides through the West Side (Edit: As readers have already pointed out, the concept is known as the Idaho Stop. It's controversial, but not insane). We should both be better at following the rules of the road, but think of the scale: Your car weighs over 3,000 lbs and can travel over 100 miles an hour. There are hundreds of you, streaming past me in a relentless current of potential ways to die. My ride weighs about 20 lbs and reaches breakneck speeds of 15 miles an hour. Bike commuting in Chicago may be at an all-time high, but we're still a small fraction of the people on the road.
I promise I don't think I'm better than you. I think I am easy to kill, even with a helmet, and I don't want to make you upset. It isn't bikes vs. cars to me, because if it was, I would lose.
You wouldn't believe it, but Chicago was just named America's most bike-friendly city. The mayor accepted an award for it and he couldn't be more thrilled; bike lanes are like catnip for tech entrepreneurs, or something. We stole the top honor from San Francisco, Portland and New York City, and you can help our city stay on top of something for a change. Here's all you have to do: The next time you see me take the lane, take a deep breath, and give me a few seconds to move out of your way.
This bike means I am one less car on the road, clogging up your commute, and that's not a bad thing. Can we be friends now?