May
22
I just got back from participating in the Ride of Silence. At least a hundred bicyclists gathered at Daley Plaza at 7 p.m. and headed en mass to five spots in the city where bicyclists have lost their lives in collisions with cars. Three of the deaths have happened in the past month.
We were old people and young, experienced city riders and totally innocent, in terrific shape and completely not, helmeted and unhelmeted, health nuts and smokers. The one thing that united us was that everyone there had either lost a loved one from a bike-on-car collision, or had been in a narrow shave themselves.
Looking around, you saw red or black bands around every arm and a quick sweep of the feet revealed one pant leg up, one pant leg down. It’s not our gang sign. The arm band is to honor fallen bikers, and the right pant leg up is so your jeans don’t get caught in the bike gears, tear, or cause you to have an accident.
Many of us had a sheet of paper safety-pinned to our back or backpack with a name of a fallen rider. I put a name by my rear bike wheel, so that traffic could read it. But just the thought of pinning a name of someone who is dead and died riding their bike in the city is too unnerving for me. It reminds me of war protests in which people lie down on the ground to show how many soldiers have been killed. I couldn’t do it. My imagination is just too vivid. I see myself dead, and that terrifies me. I noticed other people abstained from pinning a dead rider’s name to themselves, and I wonder if they shared my feelings.
It was called the Ride of Silence because we rode, well, in silence. The idea was to ride single-file, quietly, respecting all traffic rules, and to be a sort of funeral march to honor the memory of those who were killed while biking in the city.
Well we took up the entire lane for most of the ride, although there were points when we kept one or two abreast in the biking lane. Instead of respecting all traffic lights and stop signs, only the head of the mass would brake for red lights. Then the rest of the mass would flow on, even after the light had changed to red, disgruntling stationary cars that had the green on their side.
The vast majority of biking accidents involving cars happen in intersections. Perhaps that’s no surprise. But then it will come to you as no surprise that it was in intersections where the only altercations provoked by the ride occurred.
There were a couple of policemen on bikes that were with us to help stop traffic to let the entire mass pass. After we got north of the loop, however, the policemen were towards the back of the pack. To stop traffic toward the front of the pack, self-chosen volunteers would halt their bikes in front of drivers who were anxious to put a foot on the accelerator.
As I went through a red light with the rest of the group, I heard a man shouting from his SUV, literally foaming at the mouth. “The nerve!” More angry words poured out that were not quite coherent.
“I will have you arrested!” he shouted, revealing his police uniform. He was seething at the young bicyclist whose bike was parked directly in front of his vehicle.
“There are cops with us!” the young man said calmly. “There are cops with us,” he kept repeating. I rode on, but it didn’t seem that the police officer was about to let it go.
When we got to Ashland and Lincoln, and other busy intersections, cars were honking with impatience as we stopped the traffic flow. It took several minutes to get everyone through the intersection. The traffic on Ashland missed an entire light because of us, and they were none too pleased.
But it was empowering to be a part of it. I felt a sudden relief that I no longer had to constantly jerk my head backwards to check for cocky drivers who might try to cut it a little too close when they passed me. I was with people. I was protected. Safe.
How often can you ride your bike in the city and feel safe?
The quiet was almost erie. As a hundred bicyclists rode together, you could hear birds chirping in the trees. A few people hooted and shouted encouragements from the streets as we passed, thinking it was critical mass. But they were not greeted back with the “Happy Friday!” they were hoping for.
And although the silence was glorious, I was sad when I tried to share my awe and wonder with a fellow bicyclist, and was promptly shushed. Cyclists can be a no-fun lot sometimes. I can say that because I’m a cyclist.
For instance– one “altercation” I will say caused me slight embarrassment to be a part of the ride. This was one of the few confrontations that occurred not in an intersection. We were riding along, swallowing up an SUV that was trying to make its way without killing anybody. Eventually the driver surrendered and came to a stand-still to let us bikers pass so she wouldn’t have to worry that a slight move and her sideview mirror would clip off one of us. As we were pouring past her, I saw one rider stop at the passenger window. She rapped very hard on the window and screamed, “Get off your cell phone! It’s ILLEGAL!” she kept screaming about how it was against the law to talk on a cell phone and drive in the city of Chicago, and that it was a very irresponsible driving practice.
No doubt the rider has experienced a deep personal loss due to a negligent driver. And so she is justly upset at seeing a woman behind the wheel of an SUV jabbering away on a cell phone. But I was offended. She could have alerted the woman in a more friendly, hospitable way than a jarring rap rap rap on the window and angry words. I would not be surprised if the driver became immediately defensive at such an attack, where as calm words would have perhaps changed her behavior to the rider’s satisfaction.
Although there is nothing like riding with a large group of people, and it was a moving experience, I didn’t enjoy it half as much as Critical Mass rides.
Critical mass is an entirely different experience. It is loud, boisterous, full of noise and color. The Ride of Silence was thoughtful, reflective, with the only interruption to deep contemplation the squeak squeak of a bicycle carriage.
To read more about the Ride of Silence, check out an article in the Sun-Times.
Come on out to the next Critical Mass ride! May 30, 5:30 pm, Daley Plaza. For more information, visit Chicago Critical Mass.