Unhappy Drivers

As I ride through or near traffic, I can’t help noticing the unhappy faces of the drivers in the cars I pass.

Of course, this could be one of those cognitive bias phenomena, where I only notice examples of what I already believe, so just like the kids in my classes who think old people drive too slowly and never seem to come across senior citizens in sports cars, I might simply overlook the happy drivers, but I’m not sure; it sure seems like everyone behind the wheel is bored, impatient, worried, or otherwise halfway to all the way pissed off to be stuck in a motorized box in a long line of similarly imprisoned humans.

At any rate, I compare their state to my own which, even when I’m cold, wet, tired, or otherwise less-than-ecstatic to be on my bike, is generally positive. Sometimes I wish I were home already or didn’t have hills or headwinds to face, but I hardly ever don’t want to be riding and only very, very occasionally would I trade places with the people I see driving.

Last week on the Critical Mass ride this was especially apparent. (Admittedly, some of the frustration etched on drivers’ faces could be attributed to our blocking—or at least slowing—of their passage through ding-dong downtown.)

This isn’t, of course, an original observation. Anyone who’s ever wended their way through city (or suburban) streets has seen what I mention here. Today, I observed dozens of people in just this state of repose along Bothell Way. None of them even seemed to be enjoying the late spring snowfall we got last night.

I, on the other hand, chilly toes and all, had a big smile on my face as I rolled down the Burke-Gilman trail towards Seattle. Not that I wouldn’t have liked it better were it fifteen or twenty degrees warmer, but for sure I wasn’t wishing I were anywhere else than I was.