The Overtake

As a cyclist, there is a moment that occurs every time a car passes. It usually doesn't last more than half a second, but in that time, your life hangs in the balance. Is the car going to kill you?

For the most part, riders can fit comfortably into two camps: the first assumes the answer is usually yes, and generally switches to mountain bikes pretty quickly and forswears the road. The second set, though, has to accept this moment, which can happen hundreds of times on a single ride, is fleeting and worth the risk for the joy of the open road.

Being born to one camp doesn't mean you can't switch to the other, but I try really hard not to let fear take hold of my heart, and usually I'm able to move beyond a pass.

But some are scarier than others. In that moment, when your nerves are on fire and your heart is trying to jump through your throat, a driver holds your fate completely in their hands. A friendly honk becomes much less friendly if it makes the rider jump out of his or her skin. Certainly rolling down the window to shout obscenities isn't the kindest way to pass, either, though this is actually one of the least upsetting things a driver or passenger can do (do they have any idea how absurd their voices sound at full-chipmunk screech over the wind?).

There are the big trucks that push an air wall around them, first moving you toward a ditch and then almost sucking you into the side of them. There are trailers that drivers merge into your lane. There's the 2nd gear 7000RPM unmuffled exhaust  guy. The coal-roller. The person who sits on your wheel for half a mile while traffic backs up behind them getting angry at you before they even get to you.

All terrifying. All totally normal.

Yesterday I learned of a new foe: the police loudspeaker.

My son and I were out for a Sunday ride on quiet country roads when we encountered a particularly sharp climb. He is very (very) fond of drafting me, but knows to keep his front wheel clear of the rider ahead in case that rider pulls the bike backward to stand. So when the road goes up, he moves slightly left for safety.

Virginia code mandates that cyclists remain "as close as safely practicable to the right curb or edge of roadway", that cyclists cannot ride MORE THAN two abreast, and that riders remain single-file when being overtaken.

So we were making the climb single-file when a car passed without incident. Not pushing too hard, just rolling into power and trying to stay steady. As a second car begins to pull around us, just as the 'will I live or die' moment began to spring to life, came an unexpected loudspeaker: 'YOU NEED TO BE RIDING SINGLE FILE. NOT ABREAST.'

I nearly crashed. So did my son.

I threw up my arm in a WTF gesture before I could even turn my head to the left to see what the heck was happening, and was treated to a follow-up: 'YOU DON'T NEED TO WAVE YOUR ARM AROUND AT ME.' As I'm hearing this, I realize it's a cop, and I'm further realizing that Alastair's wheel is FIRMLY behind my own, though just slightly to the left. We are not abreast.

Cop speeds off up the hill. I asked Alastair if he was ok, he confirmed that he was spooked and angry, and I got pissed. Tried to chase the cop up the hill, but really: it's a hill and he was in a car. He was long gone by the time I got to the closest stop sign.

I titled my Strava ride with an inappropriate term for police officers, but let's break down why I'm not apologizing for that.

Every overtake is dangerous. We've already established that I accept that risk, but every single time there is that moment of not knowing if you're going to live or die.

This officer chose that exact moment--I'm sure he didn't know that, but he did it--to verbally accost us. And he did it in a way that demanded we accept his authority: over the loudspeaker with the windows up. Unannounced and disinviting of even my arm gesture in response. There was no intention of ensuring public safety. There was no goal of 'serve and protect'. There was only one goal: intimidate. And he achieved it. And from within the safety of that 4000 lb steel fortress of air-conditioning and horsepower, he did it with the impunity of not worrying if we lived or died.

There was another car behind him. If I'd crashed, Alastair would have hit me, also causing him to crash. That crash could have put us directly into the traffic that was right behind the police car. Or into the ditch.

If we'd crashed under a car, that officer would be RESPONSIBLE for the death of a 14 year old. But he'd use his badge to claim he was chiding us as wayward evil cyclists when the unforseeable happened and we swerved and crashed. Not his fault, your honor!

If we'd crashed into the ditch, would he stop the comfy car and check on us? If I yelled at him for endangering our lives in that moment, would he have decided I was belligerent and needed to cool my heels in a cell?

Nothing--not one thing--about his intimidation tactic was safe or in the public interest. In that moment, he was not a public servant. He was a pig. He used his badge and his official equipment to put exposed road-users at greater risk for his own amusement.