Own the lane
I had a close shave today. And it didn’t come from Gillette.
I thought the one last week was enough to hold my attention. I was first in line waiting for the stoplight so I could turn left onto University Ave. The light changed, I pulled out and a woman in a 15 year-old Corolla, bluish-gray, kept coming from my right, straight through her red light. I didn’t notice she hadn’t stopped until we were each halfway through the intersection.
Fortunately, we were in different halves.
I stopped and watched her roll through at no more than 10 mph, ugly little fucking dog in the back seat yapping at me through the window. Ugly enough that a team of world class groomers would throw up their arms and run screaming from the room in search of medication.
She finally stopped, just past the intersection. What had distracted her from the stoplight was An On-Street Parking Spot. The driver across the intersection who’d waited with me to make his left, looked at me and shook his head. We all went our ways as if nothing had ever happened.
Except the dog, who was by then, clawing and snapping at the window.
The lesson there being that old ladies in ancient Corollas aren’t watching out for me, so I have to watch out for them.
And that ugly dogs have ugly dispositions.
Today, I was on Culver Rd waiting behind a long line of cars for the light at Park Ave. Culver is narrow enough that it’s impossible to share the lane if there’s oncoming traffic. I have to use it to cross I-490. From downtown to the suburbs, all the other choices to get me across it are, at best, just as bad, and some are worse.
I was behind a teal Caravan who had swung around me with enough room to drive the Queen Mary II between us. You could have fit an entire bicycling club between her and curb. It’s not good form to pass cars on the right—even when traffic isn’t moving, so I kept my place.
Unfortunately, given how respectful she and all the cars ahead of her had been, the place I chose was too far to the right.
A gray Astro minivan crept up behind me on my left and, when we could move, she shot forward. Close enough that I flinched as the mirror passed my head. Any lower and it would have hit my arm.
Lesson: Own the lane.
I already knew that and employ it whenever conditions are such that sharing the lane is dangerous—like on Culver Rd or when I’m waiting to turn left at a light. What caused me to forget today? I have no clue. Thining about it, I was probably lulled into a false sense of security by the preceeding cars, or patting myself on the back for not passing the eight or ten of them on the right while they waited.
You can bet that from here on out, I’ll be two or three feet from the curb on Culver Rd.
Own the lane.
