Jun
3
Critical Mass: Friday, May 30
Filed Under Cycling
Okay so I’m late, I’m late! But I rode in Critical Mass last Friday, and I still want to tell you about it.
After riding in the somber Ride of Silence a couple of weeks ago (please see my previous post) I was really looking forward to some jubilation. And it didn’t disappoint.
Somehow I got separated with about 100 other bikers from the Critical Mass for the first hour of the ride. It was great because our smaller mass broke off and biked east of Daley Plaza to Michigan Avenue. And biking along Michigan Avenue with an army of other bikers is unbelievable. For a brief moment, you can ride in the loop with no worry that your head will be snapped off by a CTA bus mirror or that you’ll get sideswiped by an over zealous taxi driver.
Although after an our I got to despairing that we’d ever find the rest of the mass again. Our string of hundred bicycles was getting more and more broken– cars were gunning intersections to avoid having to wait for all of us to pass, and the mass effect was diminishing. Those at the front of the pack wanted to catch up to the bigger mass of several hundred bicyclists– maybe even a thousand. But their hurry was making the number of stragglers in our group rise, leaving even more holes in our parade through the city.
There was a lot of cell phones being tugged out of pockets and cyclists riding with one hand as they called their buddies in the larger pack. Rumors circulated as to where the bigger mass was right now.
North on Halsted! Five more blocks!
West on Beldon! Keep going to Clark!
Critical Mass is generally a slow affair, where even the most out-of-shape biker doesn’t lose his or her breath. But catching up with the larger mass gripped our smaller group like a fever, and we pedaled furiously to catch up.
Soon we saw people hanging outside of their houses urging us on. “Just a few more blocks!” They’d shout. “Were they just here?” We’d shout back. “Keep going! You’re going the right way!” They’d assure us. “Thank You! Happy Friday!” Several people would shout back as we sped on.
At last we caught up with the rest of the pack. And it was nice, gliding along the streets, admiring the elaborate costumes some bikers were wearing. There was one couple celebrating their wedding anniversary, the woman decked out in a bridal grown, the man dressed in a tux, both holding champagne glasses filled with yellow jell-o. Two other girls had on renaissance dresses, the skirt tucked into black shorts in the back to avoid getting tangled with the wheels and gears.
Then the mass came to a stop. An SUV, stopped at a stop sign, had accelerated slowly into three bicyclists, apparently. From what I could gather– and the reports may have been wrong or exaggerated– but from the crowd of bikers gathered around the stopped SUV, I was told that the SUV had seen the bikers, didn’t think it was right for the bikers to stop up traffic flow, felt it was his turn, and so had driven on, playing a game of chicken, in effect, with the bikers, who refused to give way. Three bikes had been struck by the car, although it was going very slowly, and one bike had been run over by the front tires of the SUV. One bicyclist was shouting and arguing with the driver, who had stepped out of his vehicle and was making a call on his cell phone. Many bikers who arrived late to the scene were taunting the driver with words like “Yeah you’d better call a lawyer!” But the driver looked, to me, like he was keeping his cool, considering hundreds of bikers were swarming around and him cursing at him gleefully.
Maybe my characterization of the scene is too sympathetic to the driver. But I heard some comments that made me wonder whether some bikers weren’t delighted at this bit of drama. The bicyclists who had been struck by the car, and whose bikes were probably badly damaged, however, no doubt did not find anything exciting about the situation.
In my opinion, the reason bikers get so testy when they have a close call with a car is that the driver shows a complete carelessness for human life. In so many instances, cars that pass too closely to me when I’m biking in the city could have killed me. And for what? So they can go 30 mph instead of 25? So they can beat that light? So they can get to dinner 5 minutes faster? It’s a recklessness founded on a belief in their own infallibility to calculate your next move and how much space they have. Of course it’s not malicious. Drivers don’t cut it close because it gives them an adrenaline rush or because they want to make a political statement about how bikers shouldn’t be on the road. They cut it close because they think they won’t hit you. And occassionally, they miscalculate. And it’s this carelessness that makes bikers so upset. You could have killed me! It’s the thought that their life and health could be taken away so carelessly, I think, that really makes their blood boil.
But that was the only drama. We got through the rest of the ride just fine. I peeled off at Lawrence and Broadway, after a good bit of bloo-halooing, which always leaves you with a good high. It’s a feeling of victory and togetherness that you might get at moments when your team scores and the whole stadium cheers as one.
So, the next critical mass is June 27. Who’s coming?