Publisher's Statement

The other morning I left the house and raced down the street. I leaned around the corner with no heed for the stop sign, leaving behind my relatively quiet residential street and entering the bike lane that parallels a busy, high-speed thoroughfare. I stood up on the pedals and looked over my shoulder as I crossed over two lanes to hang a left onto another busy street, albeit one with shared use markings dotting the right lane.

I raced around the circle, grunted up the first little hill and dipped into the quiet neighborhood on the left to traverse the side streets. As I cruised along the tree lined avenue a rather welcome feeling of serenity came over me. Maybe it was the scenery, or the cool morning air, but I found myself pondering, “What’s the hurry?”

Finding myself at a loss for a justification, I proceeded to ride the way I imagine John Lennon, Jesus or Siddhartha might commute to work. Cool, calm, polite. I stopped at all of the stop signs. I waited at red lights. I let cars pull out in front of me, and I pulled over to let a few pass. I stopped for food. I said hello to an old friend. I kept on riding, and the funniest thing happened...

Nothing.

I didn’t get buzzed by any cars. I didn’t hear any horns honking. No close calls with pedestrians. No angry bus drivers. No menacing taxi cabs. I cruised through downtown unmolested, and I linked up with the riverside bike path without even breaking a sweat. It was one of the best commutes I’ve ever had.

I’m not going to suggest that any sort of karmic forces were at work, nor do I intend on riding like I’m on tranquilizers on a regular basis. But the experiment was undoubtedly interesting, and quite possibly worth repeating.

VP