Bicycling in Idaho

The “Idaho Stop”

Back in 1988 a progressive law was enacted in, of all places, Idaho.  (This should serve as the basis for another argument: conservative states ARE capable of progressive thinking!)  But back to the law… which is part of the vehicle code and deals with bicycles and human powered vehicles.

This law, which is not understood by a big margin of motorists and cyclists alike, is relatively straightforward.  Bicyclists may treat a stop sign like a yield sign, and a red light like a stop sign.  This law generates a lot of controversy; cyclists herald it as being common sense while motorists (who often don’t understand the law) decry it as being special treatment for a class of vehicles that keep lobbying to be treated on equal footing.

Bicycling is not necessarily an “easy” form of transportation.  Few people will deny the health benefits it offers.  But in a populated area where stop signs abound, it gets a little tiring having to start and stop repeatedly, rather than getting a steady rhythm going.  Non-cyclists don’t get annoyance of having to stop, dismount, push off and remount to continue riding.  If there’s no cross traffic, why not just keep pedaling?  No harm, no foul… no total loss of momentum.

Motorists don’t experience the same degree of disengagement when they come to a stop sign.  You move your foot from the accelerator to the brake, and then it’s back to the gas and off you go.  Try this the next time you come to a stop sign; shift the transmission to park, turn off the ignition and remove the key.  When it’s your turn to go put the key back in, fire up the engine, shift to “drive” and hit the gas.  “What a waste of time and effort” I hear you say.  It’s the same thing to a bicyclist when they come to a stop sign with no immediate cross traffic, and yet they still need to come to a full stop.

Frankly, it’s my opinion that this law should be standard fare in all 50 states.  This is a good law for cyclists, and it should have no effect on motorists one way or another.  Okay, at least in a perfect world.  One of the arguments against this law is that bicyclists should be as predictable as motorized traffic.  For the bicyclists that obey this law as it is intended, and use good judgement when crossing an intersection, a motorist shouldn’t find any issues of predictability.  Sadly, there are jackasses that feel that if they put the hammer down, they can beat the oncoming traffic.

This mentality gets people injured or killed daily.  However, it’s rarely the bicyclists at issue here.  It’s a driver that punches the gas and turns in front of you because they just can’t wait a few seconds more… even though the roadway behind you is clear.  It’s the driver who enters an intersection when the yellow light has been displayed, knowing full well the red will come out as he enters the intersection.  It’s the idiot who ignores the lowered gates at a railroad crossing and tries to drive around them, only to get creamed by an oncoming train.  Need I go on? 

It’s motorists that you really need to worry about when it comes to bad behavior and unpredictability.  They are encased inside a vehicle that has weight and mass working in its favor that will cause you damage, injury or death depending on how severe the impact is.  There are many more motorists than bicyclists on the road each day, and whenever you climb behind the wheel you will witness some boneheaded, thoughtless or just plain dangerous drivers showing why perhaps they should become a nominee for the Darwin Awards.

In the near future, I’ll talk about the stupid things bicyclist do that serve as arguments (albeit poor ones) against enacting the “Idaho Stop” laws in other states.

‘Tis The Season…

…For My Addiction

Why, imagine that!  Another blog post that has little or nothing to do with tandem bicycling!  You’d think that there might be some kind of pattern forming, wouldn’t you?  And… you’d be right.

I haven’t given bicycling much thought since we returned from Florida almost a month ago.  The initial excuse was cold weather, the standard for this time of year.  Because my wife and I both work outside delivering mail, we tend to get our fill of the crisp autumn and winter weather.  Office dwellers might find it a nice change to bundle up and take their bike out for a frosty ride (just for the sake of getting outside), but after we’ve done our eight (or more) hours of mail-mushing… going back outside has no appeal to us!

However, on Veteran’s Day I had a little bit o’ surgery, so I no longer have to rely on the weather for an alibi when asked whether we’re still riding.  I had a PVP(photo-vaporization of the prostate) that normally has very little downtime.  This procedure was supposed to be “in on Wednesday, back to work the following Monday”.  Let’s just say that things didn’t go according to plan.

On the Monday in question, I was back at the clinic having my second catheter removed.  Some clotting blocked the urethra after the first catheter came out, and I learned a whole new definition of being up to my eyeballs in… well… you know.  After the second time around, I was able to urinate for a while… and then things started slowing down.  Fear crept in as this seemed remarkably similar to the previous episode, and I had NO desire to repeat that ever again.

It was then that my wife suggested I take one of the pain pills that were prescribed after the surgery.  “It might help relax your bladder, stopping the spasms and hurting so much.”  She was right, and any hint of trouble faded over the next day.  The drug helped me relax, sleep, and ultimately… pee.  Not like a racehorse, but maybe like a Shetland pony.  Which is MUCH better than the “not at all” scenario.

With good drugs come the risk of addictive behaviors, and while I thought I could dodge this bullet, I wasn’t strong enough.  Because I’m a lightweight when it comes to the “fun-drugs”, a little goes a long way.  I slipped into a stupor, and when I became aware of my surroundings a couple of days later I was horrified to learn that I had been binge-watching Christmas movies on the Hallmark Channel!

Every year this train-wreck of Yuletide programming starts up around Halloween and runs non-stop right through Christmas.  Every year I resolve to be strong and not tune into the non-stop schmaltz-fest because I know that once I start watching, I can’t stop.  The “off” button could be my salvation, but I’m powerless to push it.  “Just say no?”  Not when there’s 24 hours of “Ho, Ho, Ho!”

I haven’t shaved in a week… my eyes look like roadmaps.  I can’t stop watching, even though I’ve seen all these movies before.  What’s even more diabolical is that there’s also the Hallmark Movies and Mysteries channel, so if you’ve seen the show on the Hallmark channel 20 times, there’s a chance that they’re running a movie on their sister station that you’ve maybe only seen 10 times!  Oh, sweet mercy under the mistletoe!

Sadly, I’ve got to get ahold of myself and get “de-programmed” by this coming Friday.  I’m supposed to go back to work… finally… and I need to go back clean and sober.  That means no more Hallmark Channel Christmas movie bingeing.  It also means not setting the DVR to record every jingle-belling movie that is playing during the day.

Perhaps with the help of friends, family and co-workers I’ll be able to keep my sights set on what is important, and leave the glow of the wide-screen behind.  All I’ve got to do is remain strong until Christmas… and then my potential for backsliding will be behind me.  Oh, I know… some of you are worried about me crumbling when the next big programming push comes, but trust me – I am nowhere nearly as susceptible to the non-stop Valentine’s Day dreck as I am to the Hallmark Holiday Hooey! 

My Never-Ending Bitching about Drivers, Part 2

(A continuation from an earlier post.)

I never knew the Wienermobile had a trunk!

I have a pet peeve – well, perhaps a small herd of peeves – and I feel compelled to share a couple of them with you.  I have been living in a rural area of Idaho for the last fifteen years, commuting to Boise for work daily.  The traffic is usually quite light in the mornings; the evening traffic is more of a challenge until we’re heading north on Highway 55, when things become a little more peaceful.

There are some occasions when Highway 55 becomes a nightmare.  Holiday weekends in the summer cause a massive exodus of campers heading to the woods, towing travel trailers or boat trailers (sometimes both in tandem, which looks a little odd and is a bit unnerving).  In the winter you’ll find people heading out of town with their snowmobiles in tow for a weekend of adventure in the snow.

We know when there will be an influx in traffic, and we live with it.  Our drive still beats the daily bumper-to-bumper commute along Interstate 84, and as we get closer to home the sight of pine trees and the Payette River flowing alongside the road works wonders at erasing the stresses of the workday.

Regardless of the volume of traffic, there are two drivers out there that get me riled up something fierce!  And this rant is dedicated to them.

Along Highway 55, as in other parts of the state, are signs that state that if you’re holding up three or more cars, to use a turnout and let them pass.  A nice idea, and a good practice when you’ve got someone who doesn’t know the road driving a little more conservatively than the guy who’s right behind riding his bumper.  Many of these pullouts aren’t much bigger in length than a couple of vehicles long – or a vehicle towing a travel trailer.  Just a wide spot in the road with a white line indicating which side you should be on when you pull out.

What really sets me off are the people who merge into this pullout lane without so much as hitting the brake, treating it like it’s another lane on the road – and then with no reduction in speed or concern for the people behind them pull right back into the road and keep on driving!  They don’t seem to grasp the concept that when they pull out, they have technically left the road and must yield to the traffic that was behind them, waiting until it’s safe to merge back into the lane.  Just once I’d like to see someone pull that lame trick with a State Trooper driving behind him or her!

The other jackass that tries my patience is the person that drives under the posted speed limit on the single land roads.  I get that if you’re unfamiliar with the road driving like a bat-out-of-hell isn’t an ideal choice.  But as with many of these mountain roads there are level stretches where that two lane road becomes a four lane road (a.k.a. passing lanes), allowing traffic to pass for a decent amount of space before it narrows back down to a two lane mountain road once again.

This is the scene:  you’re driving on a two-lane mountain road with a posted speed limit of 55mph.  The person at the front of the ever-growing procession is unfamiliar with the road and is only driving at 45mph.  Arguably if they would just drive at the posted speed the odds are reallygood they’d live to tell about it.  (Even the suggested speeds for corners are posted lower than the actual safe speed one needs to maintain through the turn.)  And then, miracle upon miracle, a sign appears:  “Passing Lane in 1 Mile”.

The excitement mounts!  FINALLY… we’ll be able to get around this coward and at least do the speed limit once again!  Drivers in the queue behind “the coward” prepare to come up to passing speed at the very first moment they can.  The road suddenly widens as the passing lane begins, and suddenly the race is on!  “The coward” turns into Mario Andretti, pushing the accelerator all the way to the floorboard, racing the line of traffic to the end of the passing lane, at which time the motoring Mr. Hyde turns back into the slow-driving Dr. Jekyll, holding up a line of even angrier motorists than before.

Here’s a helpful hint:  if you’re driving slow, because you’re unfamiliar with the road or for any other reason, when you hit the passing lane – maintain that same speed and allow the people you’ve been holding up to go around you.  It’s the courteous thing to do.  Once you’ve let the people who know the road better than you go around, there’s an added bonus; you can follow them at a quicker pace than you’ve previously been driving.  Or you can go back to driving like a cowardly snail… either way, you won’t have me behind you wishing that I had remembered to install my soon to be patented bumper-to-bumper missile system!

My Never-Ending Bitching about Drivers, Part 1

One of many fine works of rolling art at
"Cruising Grand" in Escondido, CA

The American public has been long touted as having a love affair with their cars.  Yes, I’ve heard that many young folks have recently become blaséabout getting their learner’s permit – something that the youth of my generation were keen on getting their hands on the very first day they were of the legal age to hit the road.  That, of course, is a new phenomenon and perhaps a good one… unless it’s just an excuse to live at home with mom and dad well into their forties.  “Well, gee… I’d like to move out into my own place, and so would Sweetie-Face and the kids.  But you know I can’t drive, and need a ride to work daily!”

he American public has been long touted as having a love affair with their cars.  Yes, I’ve heard that many young folks have recently become

But before the detour in the above paragraph, the love affair of the car has been evident over the years.  The love affair of good judgment when driving hasn’t been nearly as close to the forefront.  People use their cars when a bicycle (or even a pair of feet) would be ideal.

I would suspect that a lot of us are guilty of some of these infractions.  Driving a block to a local convenience store when a few minutes spent walking would have been of much more benefit.  How many of you are guilty of that, or something close to it?  How about a show of hands – let’s be honest now… ah, yes.  I thought so!  Most of you (and that includes me) are guilty of this.

Then there’s the story of the genuinely lazy person who opens the garage door (using the remote, of course), fires up the auto, pops it into reverse and then backs down to the foot of the driveway.  They back out into the road and then pull up with the driver’s window next to their mailbox.  After removing any checks from the stack and throwing the bills back in the mailbox they reverse the cycle and pull back into their garage and then go back into their home.

If you have a genuine disability that prevents you from walking down to your mailbox, contact the post office.  There are exceptions that sometimes can be made for people with a genuine handicap where a box can be mounted by the front door and mail placed there as a courtesy, when delivery is usually at the curb.  If you’re driving to the mailbox because you’re too out of shape to make the walk… it’s time to put down your 64oz soda and Krispy Kreme lunch, grab a carrot stick and start training to go get your damned mail on foot!

Again, I’ve detoured.  This particular rant is dedicated to people who can’t judge distances when driving.  This is something I’ve observed both from the driver’s seat and from my bicycle seat.  The results from bad decisions about distance may very well serve up consequences that could be injurious or deadly.

Take, for instance, the driver that is waiting to turn onto the road you’re travelling on.  You see him looking for an opportunity to punch the accelerator and jump out in the traffic stream, and he decides that the space between you and the car in front of you is the ideal spot.  Sometimes this is a move of necessity, but when I’m the last car in the line and behind me is nothing but open, unoccupied highway – he could wait just a few more seconds and join the road with nobody bearing down on him.

I love having to hit the brakes when a jackass turns in front of me, only to check my rear-view mirror and see NO cars behind me anywhere.  Dude… what were you thinking?  That if you didn’t risk your life and mine to jump onto the road in front of me that you’d die of boredom from the lack of a challenge to merge with all the open space behind me?  Or are you just stupid?

It’s that kind of lack of patience – or brain waves – that get people sent to the morgue. 

To Be Continued in a Later Post…

The Ambassador of Horizon Drive

Ben Glen with the City of Boise as a backdrop.

 In Idaho’s capital city lies a street named Horizon Drive, aptly named (one might suppose) because from the top part of the hill this street climbs one can look westward and see the state of Oregon on the horizon.  Or maybe not… what do I know?  I’m just the mailman on that street…

Horizon drive is not a gentle incline.  It is a steep hill, and can be a menace in the wintertime – many a winter people have parked their cars at the base of the hill and walked home, only to retrieve their vehicles the following day once the road had been plowed and sanded. I’ve also heard tales of the lure of a fast downhill descent on a bicycle claiming the life of one of the neighborhood kids many, many years ago.

Delivering mail on this particular street in the winter can be challenging, or if one isn’t cautious it can be just plain treacherous.  But then comes the spring, and from the top of Horizon Drive you can watch as Boise comes back to life, as the city turns from drab to green as the trees shoot forth new leaves.  The people are out tending their yards, and the neighborhood goes through its yearly rebirth.

Sadly, one of my favorite residents is forever missing.  Ben Glen, as his “parents” called him, has gone on to where all of our beloved pets ultimately go.  Ben gave the appearance of being an unremarkable dog, and yet he was one of the finest I have ever met.

He didn’t bark when I’d arrive with the mail, nor would he run up and act frantic – like nobody had paid any attention to him in years.  He didn’t have ulterior motives, such as being friendly with the hope of receiving a treat, nor would he try and play the “pathetic card” to where a person would feel sorry for him and pet him out of pity.

Ben would calmly walk up to me, and lean into me as he received his attention.  Some days it was hard for him to get up from his spot in the sun, and I’d have to make a slight detour over to where he lay.  The tail would wag, but that nasty old sun sometimes just saps the energy out of a yellow dog.  Getting up could sometimes be so exhausting!

I began referring to Ben as “The Ambassador of Horizon Drive” because of his demeanor.  Anytime I would be off of the route, the substitute carriers would tell me about this “wonderful yellow dog” on Horizon Drive.  Ben was able to tame even the most canine-skeptical carriers, and the bona fide dog lovers looked forward to carrying this part of the route just for the chance to say “hello” to Ben.

Then there’ the neighborhood itself.  Everybody knows everybody and (in case you were wondering) this is a good thing.  It seems that people also know which pet is at which house, who has the friendly dogs and which mutts are best left alone.  Ben was at the top of every resident dog lover’s list on Horizon Drive.

Waiting for some attention.
Photos courtesy of M. Glen

For an “unremarkable dog”, Ben had a lot of admirers.  He was my favorite on this street, and I still look to the spot where he would be waiting as I arrive with the mail.  Even though his physical presence has ceased, Ben was one of those dogs that I will remember long after my letter carrying days are through.  Pretty remarkable for an “unremarkable dog”, don’t you think?