Amateur hour

Amateur hour

It was just about freezing when I drove in today (in a warm car with heated seats). Yes, I’ve ridden in the cold and sounded like Axle Olson from the Great Waldo Pepper about it – “I didn’t like it much!”

Came up behind a cyclist. It was dark, yet not only was he not showing lights, he was wearing all-black pants and parka. He had his hands off the bars, tucked into his pockets. But the thing that really took my breath away was when he got to the red light I was slowing for. With his hood obscuring any peripheral vision, without looking left nor right, he rode right through it.

Look, you might be dressed like a ninja, and are as hard to see as a ninja, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be killed by a motorist flying though the intersection on a green.

I caught up to him at 17-92, which he did stop for (that’s not one I’d try to blow either, kiddo). I pulled up slightly behind him, giving plenty of room (we cyclists share a certain empathy). That’s when I saw that he did have a battery powered rear light, just not on. I run mine most days, but I wouldn’t go out of my driveway in the dark without it, especially not in a stealth-elf costume.

As the light went green and I went wide around him, I could only shake my head. Five points for commitment, three for style, and minus one thousand points for common sense.