Other than a fear of what my finely-honed love handles would look like under spandex and the resulting hat hair from riding helmets, I have no problem with cycling as hobby or profession. Every summer I devote a few weeks of my life to the Tour de France—from the comfort of my rocking chair, of course. On the road, however, I prefer four wheels and an engine to navigate steep hills.
OK, also to cruise along nice, comfortable flat stretches. And downhill slopes, for that matter.
Indeed, the last time I hopped on a bike, I settled comfortably into a banana seat. For those unfamiliar with the term, it describes long, narrow, tapering bicycle seats considered cool (relatively) for a very brief time back in the Nixon years. The Schwinn may have had red, white and blue strands of ribbon streaming from its handle bars, too. But that”s something I try to erase from my memory.
This weekend hundreds of hardier sorts will put pedal to the, well, other pedal for Lake County”s Konocti Challenge. The popular annual riding event is a measure of leg muscles over rolling hills, as well as the daunting volcano, drawing cycling enthusiasts from all over the west. The “Century Ride”—a 100-mile route rated extremely difficult by those who would know—is a particular draw.
The Konocti Challenge is a boon for Lake County in so many ways. The cyclists, their families and support people book hotels solid, shell out credit in area restaurants, browse through local stores and watch the county”s natural beauty blur past. Yet they also share the roads and highways with those of us relying on internal combustion to get around.
The occasional conflict over space on narrow rural routes is nothing new. For the first time, however, drivers must approach the cyclists with The Three Feet for Safety Act in mind.
The Three Feet for Safety Act went into effect a couple of weeks ago. It requires that drivers leave—you guessed it—three feet of space between their vehicles and the bicycles they speed past.
As far as safety measures go, the idea is sound. Even my lazily constructed Chrysler product would crumple the light weight machines preferred by those who pedal for pleasure or gain. Clipping a rider with the side mirror would be enough to cause end over end trauma (and make a few lawyers very happy). It is incumbent upon drivers to remember this and steer their vehicles accordingly.
Yet someone worked into law language prohibiting drivers from taking two wheels over a double yellow line to provide those three feet. That”s right, in a no passing zone, cars and trucks must slam the brakes, melt the screeching tires and form a 15 mile per hour procession until it is again legal to pass.
Most rural highways, you see, do not feature bike lanes.
Yeah, the decision makes a certain amount of sense. Far too many drivers might risk edging across the yellow lines to slip by a bicycle clogging a blind curve. On the other hand, we all know that road rage builds upon encounters with slower vehicles, stop and go conditions and so on. Sadly, it is easy to imagine how this might lead to a news item or two.
On the surface, it seems that those responsible for safety overlooked easily frayed human nature and the realities of California”s road network outside of well-funded urban areas. Until lawmakers amend the measure or taxpayers approve a little extra from their bank accounts to fund paving of an extra three feet along every stretch of asphalt in the state, this is the way things stand.
Of course, it is best to keep in mind that demand for paved roads in America first came from organizations related to cycling, all the way back around the turn of the last century. People huffing and puffing along rutted dirt on those curious, big-wheeled machines of the day believed smooth, hard surfaces would encourage more people to hit the road. And they were right, only the Model T crowd benefitted more in the long run.
From a narrow point of view (mine), the only angst I experience when slowing my ton of metal and high impact plastic behind a bike comes when I remember that bit about waiting for one more paycheck—then two more, then three going on four—before changing the worn front discs. Otherwise it costs just a moment. If the day is gorgeous, the radio rehashing oldies and the scenery stunning (as it so often is in Northern California), the slight delay hardly seems reason for tempers to rise.
As for sharing the road with Konocti Challenge riders, the financial shot they provide is deserving of a little wave of thanks as you finally pass.
