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the worst kind of cyclist

the journal of Michael Werneburg

twenty-seven years and one million words

Today I encountered the worst kind of cyclist: he passed me in an intersection by ignoring a stop sign. Not content with just one, he then ran the next two stop signs – despite fair traffic coming from the side streets. Over the next kilometer or two I saw him partially stop at three red lights, only to proceed when it suited him. On the final occasion, this meant plowing through a big wodge of pedestrians in a cross-walk.

How did I see all of this without blowing through all those stops myself? The secret about the worst cyclists is that they're crap on the straights as well: they don't learn to feel for the road and wind up dodging and weaving through potholes and interactions with emerging cars or those making right turns; they also have low top speeds. Despite behaving like they own the road, these strangers don't even know it.

In short: the worst.

But I have hope for him. From time to time, he'll hit a pedestrian or get knocked about by a driver or caught by a cop and through that series of events he'll learn. Like a violent two-year old, learning to socialize.