The Law of the Lane

Bike lanes – useful, cheap, easy, efficient and cost effective (certainly when compared to the cost of roads) and absolutely necessary in our current condition of obesity, weight related health issues, congestion, environmental issues and rising fuel costs.

Motorists and cyclists do not happily co-exist where I live. It is an openly hostile relationship with a lot of finger pointing and blame. Motorists think that bikes belong on the sidewalk and that when they are on the road they are doing something wrong, something illegal even though the website for the Ministry of Transportation in Ontario clearly states:

The Ontario Highway Traffic Act (HTA) defines the bicycle as a vehicle that belongs on the road. Riding on the road means riding with other traffic. This is only safe when all traffic uses the same rules of the road.

A bicycle is a vehicle under the Ontario Highway Traffic Act (HTA). This means that, as a bicyclist, you have the same rights and responsibilities to obey all traffic laws as other road users. Cyclists charged for disobeying traffic laws will be subject to a minimum set fine and a Victim Surcharge fine of $20.00 for most offences (please note set fines below are subject to change).

Yet I even know a cyclist who was stuck by a vehicle while riding through an intersection and the police officer who arrived on the scene told him he should have been “walking” his bike through the intersection. I have read through the sections of the HTA which relate to bicycles and no where have I read that a cyclist must walk their bike through an intersection. In fact, doing so directly contradicts the statement “a bicycle is a vehicle under the Ontario Highway Traffic Act. This meant as a bicyclist you have the same rights and responsibilities…” However even the police seem to accept the urban myth that there are different regulations for cyclists. I believe this is why, in collisions between cyclists and motorists, the motorist is rarely charged. The assumption seems to be that the collision is the cyclist’s fault for being on the road.

In my own experience I have had most of my near misses (thankfully) from drivers breaking the law. The following is a shortlist of the worst and yet most common offenses:

• Passing me on the left and then making a right hand turn directly in front of me
• Making a turn (into me) while I am traveling straight and have the right of way.
• Swerving toward me and then swerving quickly away, in an attempt to intimidate me – this one always puzzles me as, presumably the reason motorists resent my riding is that I am impeding their progress, yet it takes more time and effort to intimidate me than to just pass me.
• Crossing a solid line to pass me on a hill, while unable to see oncoming traffic
• Passing me so close that I have been hit by the vehicles side mirror
• Passing me, while I am stopped for a red light or stop sign, in order to stop directly in front of me (and partially in the intersection).

Everything I have listed is a direct contravention to the Ontario Highway Traffic Act. All of these things happen every time I ride my bike (which is pretty much daily in the summer) and all of my cycling friends report the same or similar experiences and yet when one of these illegal behaviours results in a collision, the assumption is that the cyclist is in the wrong and thus no charges are laid. This is outrageous. This is an assumption that “might equals right” and it is wrong, illegal and short sighted. Cyclists pay taxes, vote, hold high paying positions (let’s face it, cycling is not a cheap hobby) and contribute to the community as much and often more than anyone else. We are not a special interest group; we are citizens with rights and responsibilities under the law. I keep hearing about programs to educate cyclists yet I see nothing being done to educate drivers. Apparently the sentiment is that the entire onus for safety lies with the cyclist.

So why are so many motorists and politicians against bike lanes? It is absurd to state that bikes don't belong on the road and then say you don't want bike lanes, the only safe solution to getting bikes out of the way of motorists. I have heard many excuses "the roads weren't built for bikes", yet bikes and motorized vehicles co-exist in many European cities where the roads are much narrower than they are in North America. "They are too expensive" - Bogota Columbia has a completely integrated network of trails and bike lanes but Oshawa, with some of the highest property taxes in Canada, can't afford it? Dubious. "It's too cold most of the year" - two words; Copenhagen, Ottawa

Recently there was a man in his 50’s riding his bike to work in a neighbouring community, like he did every day, trying to lead a healthier, cleaner lifestyle. Anecdotal reports suggest  he wore a helmet and safety vest and had both front and rear lights on his bike. He was struck by a vehicle and died on his way to hospital. The woman who struck him had seen him cycling to work many times before. No charges were laid. 

Until the day my Utopian Dream of being able to ride safely on bike lanes in my community becomes reality, please remember the “bicycle” in front of you is not an object slowing you down or intentionally trying to provoke you or doing something wrong just by being there. There is a PERSON, a living, breathing person who is somebody’s child, somebody’s parent, somebody’s partner, somebody’s best friend, somebody’s everything. Stop thinking they are making you late, you are late because you are disorganized and didn’t give yourself enough time, not because a cyclist is in front of you for an extra 50 seconds. Stop looking at the object and see a person before you lose your humanity all together and because IT’S THE LAW!

For more information about bicycle friendly initiatives or to help this cause see the following links. Also, write your MP and MPP and let them know that bikes do belong otherwise this issue will never be on the agenda:

http://yieldtolife.org/

http://www.sharetheroad.ca/

http://www.bikesbelong.org/

Ch-ch-ch-changes

An interesting conversation about parallel universes and meeting another version of one's self (which I'm convinced would be disastrous - ever met someone of the same gender who you had everything in common with? How much did you hate them?), and another conversation about life choices have collided in my brain as I started thinking about all the things I wish I could have told younger me at different stages of my life. So here it is, the wisdom of my ages:

At 5'1 you cannot wear anything long or flowing unless you want to look like a frumpy Smurf

Shortcuts ALWAYS lead to more work

If someone truly loves and cares about you, they make you feel good about yourself. Someone who makes you nuts, self-conscious or insecure is doing so on purpose and out of self-interest (not yours)

Believe it or not, 50 lb weakling and last picked for "soccer baseball", you are going to be a black belt one day and a mighty force to be reckoned with

That haircut isn't going to work on you

What is the worst thing that can happen if you fail the test? You have to rewrite it. Yeah, that's it

If you are afraid of losing someone, you don't belong with them

Never stop playing

Don't take yourself so seriously, no one else does

Guard "Me Time" with your life

Don't worry, no one else has any idea either. Everyone is faking it

There is no such thing as a "grown up"

None of this is going to matter in 10 years

It really is NOT the end of the world. It's not a catastrophe or a disaster either. Open a dictionary or watch a documentary on earthquakes, tsunamis, avalanches, war...a little perspective, please

Fear of success is more common than fear of failure

Many of the people at countless wedding receptions asking "when is it going to be your turn?", "when are you finally going to settle down?" or "are you dating anyone?" will end up divorced

Most of the "successful" kids in high school, the one's you hate, are peaking in high school

If you are bored, do something about it

Being creative does not make you "moody" and "deep"; all those actors, guitar players and artists you find so attractive can be placed on the DSM-IV. Creativity is not an excuse for bad behaviour

If someone says to you, "I'm a bad person", listen to them and get the %^*& out of there!!!!

Potato Morality

One of the benefits of being a bicycle commuter and pedestrian is that you are more likely to come across the weird and the wonderful sights that get missed when your view of the world is through a windscreen. Sometimes I think I have an eye for the strange (see post "I Am the Ellis Island of Odd"), and other times I think the strange finds me. 

Last year, I believe it was Easter Weekend; actually, I took a train to visit family. I had hurried to catch the bus which got me to the station minutes after the train had left in a fine example of the excellence that is schedule coordination in my region. With an hour wait and hunger setting in, I went into the station store to find something to eat. It was an odd store with very little of the standard brands the usual variety store carry. I grabbed a bag of chips from a company I had never heard of before, paid and headed to the platform to sit out the hour in the sun. The chips were flaming hot (and I like it spicy) and slightly odd tasting. Out of boredom I turned over the bag and found a diary on the back: 

To think, all those years I spent training in Martial Arts when all I needed to do was  eat potato chips to learn about self-control

I later discovered that every flavour of Ray's chips tells a different story from his past. I can't tell if this is a clever marketing ploy or just plain goofy, but given that I've not been gripped with the urge to buy the other flavours in order to read Ray's entire life, I'll go with goofy.

Bike Love in the Time of Scandal

You knew my not writing much about cycling wasn't going to last forever

I far too briefly alluded to Tom Boonen’s Paris-Roubaix win in my last blog. I also failed to mention his wins in E3 Harelbeke, Gent-Wevelgem and Ronde Van Vlaanderen. We lifted many a Leffe Blond to his honour in this house. Like Philippe Gilbert last year, Tornado Tom seems unstoppable, and that makes me so very nervous. Ever since the 90’s, into the dubious Armstrong era and up until recently, dominance in cycling has usually been followed by scandals or at least implications. Let’s face it, positive results on the bike generally lead to positive results in the lab and that sucks.

I am not trying to mitigate the wonder that has been Tommeke and Phil Gil over the past two seasons. In fact watching these men has given me tremendous pleasure and I like them both as riders and sports personalities. If anything, I am pissed off that an endless parade of cheaters makes me so jaded that a good performance makes me immediately suspicious. The reason I get nervous is that I don’t want all my celebrations of their victories to come crashing down around me like so many have before (you broke my heart, Basso).

I understand that doping in sport is a complex issue, that the indoctrination of the needle starts in the junior ranks with coaches taking advantage of young, impressionable kids (don’t buy that for a second? How mature were your decision making skills at 18, 15, 12…you get the idea) that the pressure to win is crushing and the insular lifestyle of a cyclist, with days away from home and family probably more numerous than any other sport and the grounding elements of having some life away from the bike just doesn’t exist. I know there is no simple solution, that the problem isn’t going to go away even if the UCI adopts every suggestion WADA ever made. Someone who lives and breathes for the sport isn’t going to be convinced that winning isn’t everything – just look at the headlines when they lose.

I don’t know what the answer is. Better supervision in the junior ranks is probably a good start. Not making a sport’s governing body responsible for policing their own might be another. I’d really, really like to enjoy bike races without making wry comments that the results are going to be meaningless is 4 months (though probably good news for all those riders who finished just behind Ballan in each race. Get ready to move up, gentlemen).

Here’s to you, Tommeke. Faith on the line, I complement you on a wonderful spring campaign with cynicism shoved down to the pit of my stomach. I’ll try my best to watch Amstel Gold without a suspicious bone in my body….unless Ballan lines up.

Karma Police in Riot Gear

I do not, as my blog may suggest, get into trouble so I have something to write about. I write because, after years of the odd and the awkward happening to me, I have finally taken my friends advise to "write this $#!+ down!".

Easter weekend, a time to share and celebrate with family. Even better if you can celebrate with the friends you choose to replace your family with. After months of trying to coordinate schedules, I was very excited to have a firm invitation to the home of a dear friend, who happens to be half of one of my favourite married couples. I was especially looking forward to it as it was to be their first meeting with my guy.

In preparation for the day and to alleviate the trouble of cooking for pain-in-the-a$$ vegetarians, I spent all Saturday cooking and prepping. Vegetarian Moroccan stew, always a pleaser, and pre-ferment for fresh French loafs. Up early Sunday morning, take the dough out to lose its chill, coffee on and fire up the laptop to watch Paris-Roubaix, my favourite bike race (Chapeau Tommeka, great to see you back on form!). A fabulous way to spend Sunday morning. Post race, I whipped up some banana and hazelnut crepes, finished the dough and left it to rise and got started on dessert - my first attempt at strawberry and kiwi Pavlova. It was all going fine.

The Pavlova took longer than expected and so the baguettes went in late. I HATE being late, it really, really stresses me out. I composed a very apologetic message and started on the whip cream to top the Pavlova while the bread was baking. That I chose to use the old stand mixer would turn out to be my second error in judgment that day. The problem with kitchen multitasking is in the details. The big detail being that my old stand mixer, though small and so easier to use for tasks like whipping small quantities of cream, sucks and really needs to be babysat. As I turned to wash fruit I heard a shout from my guy. My shaky sunbeam was shooting unwhipped cream all over the kitchen. I thought this, combined with being late was the major disaster of the day, but later would look back on it as the golden period.

Kitchen cleaned, cream whipped, Pavlova topped, bread fresh from the oven and into a bag - we were ready to roll. The now spitting rain posed a bit of an issue with the delicate Pavlova but nothing aluminum foil couldn't save. We hit the highway and cottage country traffic but at least we were on our way. Then the car started to shimmy. This is not standard Subaru behaviour, at least not for this Subaru. My guy quickly navigated us off the highway and to the nearest plaza where the car died almost immediately. Horrible, right? It gets better.

I had to, of course, phone my dear friends and tell them the bad news. There was no possible way for us to get to their home (nearly 60 km from ours). We then had the problem of getting ourselves back home and what to do with the car. My guy called his dad who happened to be around the corner at his brother's house for a big family Easter dinner.

So, instead of barbeque with friends, we sat on the outskirts of a big family dinner with all the trimmings and relatives who I was meeting for the first time. Our hosts were incredibly gracious about welcoming us, particularly me, a complete stranger, into their homes. It was awkward though as we did crash the party uninvited and the family were not very impressed with my guy's new vegetarian lifestyle. Oh, and the fact that a few months ago, one of the members of the family had said some very disparaging things about me, not because of anything particular I had done, but because "I'm warning you, all women are like that." I don't know what I did in some past life that I must endure such retribution. I only hope that I can atone for it and move on soon.

The Ants Go Marching Round and Round

My new abode seems to have an ant infestation. I lamented to my mother, keeper of old wives tales and goofy home remedies, and she suggested I use pepper. "What kind of pepper?" "Any". Now, this seems like a simple, economical and healthy alternative to the harsh chemicals in commercial insect spray, until you come to the application. My particular ant colony seems to live in the laundry room and commute to work in the kitchen...MY kitchen. This means leaving a trail of pepper from one end of the house to the other. And if you just leave a line of pepper along, say, the trim, won't the ants just develop another route?

A few nights later, while watching a movie with my guy, I saw them. The home invaders were casually wandering about my living room, with a stray member occasionally venturing onto our legs. That was the breaking point, I strode purposefully into the kitchen and came back brandishing the pepper shaker. I started by sprinkling pepper near where we assume the nest is, then following their path to the kitchen, As I spread black pepper through my home I reflected on the importance of having a shaker as a back up to a pepper mill. I spread pepper down each side of doorways and across the thresholds. 

Much to my surprise, ants really don't like black pepper. They don't hate it enough to move out and they definitely don't die. What they do is wander aimlessly, sometimes zig-zagging across a patch of un-peppered floor, sometimes in circles. The braver among their numbers will even cross the dreaded pepper line, but most just seem to bump into it, turn and head a different way. As you can probably guess, I spent some time watching their reaction. Ok, I spent a lot of time watching them, waiting for one to escape from the pepper prison, shaker poised to dump a flurry of pepper on any who dared come too close. I may have spoken to them harshly. I may have "sounded like some sinister bad guy in an old movie" and "a little crazy". Whatever, this is my home and my instinct to protect it came to the fore. 

The ants are confined to small patches of unpeppered floor around and just outside the laundry room with only the rarest sighting in the kitchen. Confused ants aside, we now track pepper all through our house whenever we walk and the smell of pepper hits you as soon as you open the front door. We're sneezing a little more than usual and I am on my way out to buy some ant traps.


**Update**
The ants have either built up a resistance to or acquired a taste for the pepper and are marching in greater numbers. I am out-legged. Send help!

Wearing Me Down and Buying Me Off

I've been thinking a lot about the stealth co-habitation maneuver my guy pulled on me and I have come to realize that he has been slowly, steadily working me over for months! He makes jokes and little comments about "our wedding" all the time. Before you go rushing to the mailbox to see if your invitation has arrived I want to assure you there is no wedding plan, or date, or even a rough draft. At first these comments made my heart race and my flight or fight instinct kick. Now they have been occurring for so long and with such regularity that they are the familiar pattern of our patter. Their absence in our conversation would be abnormal and the more detailed the "jokes" get the less I panic.

If you've read all my posts, you know my guy is a younger man. Much younger (it's all very legal in even the most conservative parts of the world). I have a son, he's grown up and on his own. My biological clock moved out the day the boy did. I love my son dearly, I am proud of him and I learn from him constantly, but his fate as an only child was sealed loooong ago. Period. My guy thinks he wants kids. Then other days he might not. So he says, but he makes comments about having kids a lot. Not quite as much as the wedding plans, but enough that I have stopped trying to keep count. To be clear, I don't hate children. I love kids, hence the making a living teaching them karate thing. I love teaching kids. I enjoyed raising mine. I am done now. Move on. Ahhh but dogs, I grew up with them, everyone in my family has at least one and I miss mine dearly (she died in her sleep at 13, the old girl was a puppy to the end of her days). So, my guy is trying to bribe me into a "white picket house" - I insist it will be too drafty - with the promise of puppies. Two to be exact. Shepherds or labs, possibly a mix of the two. Rescued puppies because everyone should rescue an animal rather than buy boutique  pure bred dogs with all their inherent health problems, and bizarre personality traits that excessive inbreeding creates. It's working, I've already picked out names for them.

Jerry Hall once said her mother told her a woman had to be a cook in the kitchen and a whore in the bedroom, well I've become a label whore in the kitchen. We'll leave the bedroom for a later blog. This is the opposite to my outlook on fashion. I wear what is a little bit different and what flatters my frame. I refuse to wear something unflattering or outright ugly just because it is "trendy" or some celebrity who was paid to do so, wore it. I believe a sweatshirt, regardless of how expensive it was, is still a sweatshirt and is best suited to the gym (I'm looking at you BENCH), but I will absolutely drool over Kitchen Aid. It is my weakness, and my guy exploits it mercilessly!

Ok, maybe I brought it on myself by not being able to pass the kitchen appliance section of any department store without having a peak. Soon he was ogling with me, comparing stand mixers. I had secret pipe dreams of the Architect but figured it was out of my league. Then on my birthday, there it was, the mother of all stand mixers, the one I had not even dared to consider, the Professional 600. Next he brought over the Kitchen Aid spatula set he won as a tie-in promotion with laundry detergent. This morning I mentioned we needed a pair of kitchen scissors, a new Kitchen Aid knife set, including scissors, now sits on my counter.

And so slowly, using the power of suggestion, endless repetition and Kitchen Aid my acquiescence is being bought, bribed and indoctrinated. I may cave a little. I may even cave a lot, but puppies are the only creatures I'll be raising. Period.