Buffalo & Doozerie - The mild musings of two grumpy old men!

loinnsigh wrote: »

Were you just north of Blessington at the time, or was that another banana-dropper? I swerved some lad's banana there this morning

If your incident was just before Brittas then yes that was me (though it might have been a banana minefield out there generally yesterday - cold cyclist hands and juggling food is a fraught combination at best). Thanks for sparing my food!

Mein Gott, closest pedestrian near-miss in recent history this morning. I'm still not sure how this girl didn't hit me...

Eastbound on Whitworth Road, line of car traffic, up ahead some kind soul is letting someone reverse out of his driveway, so I'm already on the brakes, slowing down. Girl on the footpath suddenly turns on her heel and steps out into me. I shout involuntarily, and I think that must have caused her to pause for the split-second I needed to clear her. She didn't hit the deck, and neither did I, and I didn't hang around for an apology.

Becoming a parent has led to my being introduced to the world of Richard Scarry through the books of his that my daughter likes. The world around me has taken on a new complexion as a result, I see characters from Busytown when I like around me.

Like one morning last week during my commute. I stopped at a red light where the road I was on was joined by a road from the right. Another cyclist stopped to my right and a little ahead. It was a strange place to stop, he had positioned himself in front of the line of stopped cars, but the fact that he had stopped at all was the focus of my attention. Few cyclists stop at those lights, apparently there is an invisible force field which prevents cars and cyclists coming from the road on the right from squishing you so most cyclists just barrel on through without any hesitation. I eyed him from the short distance away. It was a bit awkward, 'twas like being at a disco where everyone is merrily smashing the red lights on the dance floor and you spot the only other person there that doesn't seem to fit in. Should I go over and introduce myself as a kindred spirit? What do I say? "Do you fancy a green light from the bar" would just sound a but cheesy. What if I go red in the face, red means stop so that would mean we couldn't even talk. Oh, commuting is so tricky!

Anyway, he seemed to decide that being closer to the kerb was a better place to be so he started to roll his bike across in front of me. As he did so, someone else on a bike, Mr. Frumble himself, came wobbling along and tried to weave between us. Look out, Mr. Frumble! But Mr. Frumble crashed into the other cyclist. They both stayed upright, there was some muttering of apology though I'm not sure by whom, and Mr. Frumble continued on his way, through the red light.

Uncharacteristically Mr. Frumble cleared the junction without incident, but 20m ahead was another bigger junction, a crossroads, also with a red light. Watch out for the pedestrian, Mr. Frumble! But Mr. Frumble crashed into the pedestrian who was crossing the road. Mr. Frumble stayed upright, as did the pedestrian, but the pedestrian seemed cross and said something to Mr. Frumble while pointing to the red light. Mr. Frumble looked a bit dejected. He seemed to think twice about going through the crossroads, those cars were crossing left and right a bit faster than he'd like. So he waited. Well done, Mr. Frumble.

My light went green, Mr Frumble's light went green, and I passed him by a moment later as he wobbled along. He looked a bit down in the dumps. Poor Mr Frumble. Not to worry Mr. Frumble, you'll be back in your car tomorrow and you'll be safer then. If you survived the rest of your journey, that is. Good luck Mr. Frumble.

Had a long, busy, and stressful week in work this week, compounded by my daughter chirpily nominating 04h00 as "morning time" a few nights in a row. I needed a good night's sleep but for reasons that seem very dubious now I decided I'd watch The Bourne Legacy before going to bed "early". That was the plan. The plan developed a few wrinkles early on by the fact that it was nearly 22h00 when I sat down to watch the film and the film was over 2 hours long. I'll be grand, I thought, common sense having already packed itself away for its own early night.

Once the clock passed midnight I was struggling a bit, common sense roused itself briefly, had a sleepy look at the time, and muttered a "Jaysus, ya muppet!". I was anxious for the film to end, I felt like a barman at closing time - "Come on now, will ye wrap it up. Just kill each other so that we can all go home!". Ten minutes later and the main protagonists had still failed to resolve their differences. By now I was an assassin-on-the-ditch, watching proceedings and thinking things like "Feck sake, how could you miss? I'd have hit him if I were firing that gun!" and "Ah now, what's with the bar locks, just go straight for the vulcan death grip. FECK SAKE!".

It was eventually 00h30 when I got to bed. No panic, 7 hours sleep, breakfast, and out on the bike by 09h00. I went to sleep with images from the film, and the (far better) other Bourne films going through my head. It seemed like no more than 5 minutes after I'd closed my eyes than I was opening them again to a face hovering just inches from mine in the dark. CHRIST! As my brain considered its various panic options a voice much like my daughters cut through the haze. I glanced at the clock, 03h50. Feck sake! "I got a fright. I saw a monster", she said. Yeah, I know exactly how you feel, I thought. How would Jason Bourne deal with the situation I wondered. I decided he'd walk her back to her room, give her a hug, and settle her down for the night. But if he met any real monster enroute he was going to assassinate the sh1t out of them, that was for sure. Back to bed, and my brain started ruminating on the anomalies in the film. Was about an hour later that I finally fell asleep again. Feck sake!

07h45 and my daughter ran into the room, full of beans. She is clearly on drugs, I'd like some of those. I hobbled out of bed like an auld fella crippled with arthritis and limped around. My wife took pity on me and offered to sort out breakfast while I had an extra nap. My wife rocks! I eventually crowbar'ed myself out of bed, helped by a very chatty child, a little before 10h00. Over an hour later I was searching for my cycling kit. I couldn't find my base layer. It wasn't accidentally in the ironing pile. Definitely not. I checked everywhere. Twice. It wasn't in the ironing pile. Definitely not. …it was in the ironing pile. Feck sake! I left the house at 12h10. Feck!

I headed out via Enniskerry. There were loads of riders going the other way, probably almost home after their day's ride. I was nodding my head at people like a mad thing, 'tis a wonder it didn't fall off. Saw several more riders as I descended the other side of Enniskerry. The driver behind considerately held well back, bikes are quicker than cars down there. On the last downhill stretch a rider coming up the other way had a line of cars behind him. The lead car decided that overtaking uphill on a narrow road, with a rider coming straight down towards them at 50kph, was a perfectly sensible thing to do. I was left with about 1m of road to squeeze between the car and the ditch to my left. I yelled something non-complimentary at them, I can't remember exactly what, but whatever it was wasn't strong enough to convey my true feelings on the matter. I didn't have time to yell something else at the car behind it who decided to follow the overtaking car. I know you don't need a brain to drive a car, but, really, what the feck?!

The rest of the ride was largely uneventful, some other dubious demonstrations of driving and occasional lungs hanging out over the handlebars aside. I decided I hated myself so I turned up Luggala on the way home. The not so steep bit was worse today than I had anticipated, the steep bit was easier than I had expected, and I decided to make it even harder for myself to Sallygap but picking a relatively high gear for me. So it seemed like a fairly slow trudge up to the gap. As I neared it I could make out the silhouettes of cyclists stopped at the crossroads. As I got closer I was able to make out an eclectic mix of kit - various colours was all I could make out at that distance. Someone standing near one of the signposts, away from the others, had a particularly distinctive pair of shorts or tights on, they were pink at the back and black on the legs. I was tired, that's my excuse for staring until the realization hit me that I was looking at a bare arse. I was being unintentionally (I hope) mooned. It wasn't a half-arsed moon either, so to speak, both cheeks were on proud display, and by their flushed colour I'd guess that they were angry at being sat on a bike saddle for some period of time. As I passed, the female owner of the cheeks pulled her tights back up and re-joined the group. I try to blot the image from my memory, but it's annoyingly persistent.

I'm finally off to bed now, hopefully my dreams won't feature any of the more notable points of today, otherwise I may welcome a middle-of-the-night wake up from my daughter to save me from myself. In the meantime, sorry to the Internet, the length of this post has probably made it run out of ink.

Coming back from Clontarf seafront yesterday morning, stopped at the lights at the Malahide Road junction. Too lazy to trackstand, lean against a convenient lamp-post instead. This has the unintended side-effect of putting me well into the side of the road, which is not where I like to be.

Taxi pulls up just behind me, very close. He keeps moving forward, and his wing mirror close enough that I feel compelled to stick my arm out and wave a bit to make sure he's seen me. He keeps moving forward (at this point he's well past the stop line), and I have to lean in a bit to make sure his wing mirror doesn't clip me. Then he rolls down the window and tells me to get on the cycle track, amid other general abuse.

I've become so desensitised to this sort of thing that I forgot to call the Gardaí when I got home. I have his taxi plate number, debating calling today.

I was wondering though - do the taxi bodies educate their members on the rights of other road users? Was there a bulletin that said, "hey drivers, from 1st Oct 2012, cyclists can legally share the road, no matter what cycle tracks exists" ? I doubt it. Leo was on the radio this morning, talking about potholes, but never heard him publicising the above rule change.

For the umpteenth time recently a cyclist ran into the back of my bike while I was stopped, track standing, at a red traffic light. Like the previous times this was in daylight, I'd been stopped for a minute or more already, and the other cyclist had an unimpeded view of me for several metres as they approached, yet they still hit me. The most recent guy was instantly apologetic, and seemed frightened (I may have packed my DAFUQINFUQ? face that morning rather than my huh? face), fair enough, but how someone simply runs into something/someone in those circumstance defies any kind of logic that I am familiar with. It seems like the compulsion to break a red light overrides all common sense and makes people willing and able to completely ignore the information that their eyes and ears feed them.

This morning as I cycled to work, I spotted an SUV about 20m from where his side road (from a large housing estate) intersected with my main road. There was a large grassy area between us, so absolutely nothing to impede my view of him, or his view of me. I was the only traffic on my stretch of road at the time, which always makes me more wary. It was daylight though, and I was wearing a red helmet, a sky blue (not a colour commonly occurring in Irish nature!) jacket, and I was riding a white bike. Depending on your perspective I'm either very conspicuous, or a feckin' eyesore, but either way I'm far from invisible.

I passed the side road at the same time as the SUV got to it, keeping to the middle of my lane just in case (any further out and I'd have to contend with possible traffic coming round the blind corner ahead on the wrong side of their line since steering properly and staying within their lane seems such a challenge for so many on that road), and it's just as well that I did. He didn't stop, he didn't slow down, he just kept turning left as I passed within what felt like mere inches of the front of his Chelsea tractor. I had to swerve out and accelerate to avoid ending up as an ornament on his bonnet, but while that postponed the collision by a second at best it wouldn't have been enough, but thankfully he did finally hit his brakes and stopped with his SUV mostly turned onto the main road. He looked shocked and stuck his hand up to apologise, it seemed clear that he was completely oblivious to my existence until that point.

I don't actually need reminding that some people are in a bubble all of their own and choose to remain utterly unaware of everything around them no matter what the circumstances, but recent incidents have really rammed that home to me. Quite literally in some cases. I'd like to think that those people I've had the misfortune of encountering recently will have woken up a bit as a result of having caused an incident, but based on the reactions of some of them, and/or the utter stupidity of their actions to start with, I'm doubtful.

Mistakes happen, that's unfortunate but it's a fact of life, but my recent encounters or near collisions can't reasonably be described as "mistakes", I believe, they were the direct result of mindless behaviour on the part of the other other people involved - they put no mental effort in at all. In that sense the incidents fall under the mammy definition of "Mistakes don't happen, they're CAUSED!" and the mammies of the people concerned should grab them by the earlobe and flake them across the arse with a wooden spoon. In the absence of their mammies, I volunteer to do the needful next time round, and I might throw in a wedgie for good measure! I'd round off with that immortal phrase "Now go to your vehicle and think about what you've done!".

buffalo wrote: »

Was there a bulletin that said, "hey drivers, from 1st Oct 2012, cyclists can legally share the road, no matter what cycle tracks exists" ?

You are assuming they can read.

daragh_ wrote: »

You are assuming they can read.

ooh, that's a low blow! I did have a guy a few months ago who so nicely fulfilled the racist stereotype. I honestly didn't know how to react, except with stunned silence. Most drivers I have are regular folk, with some eccentricities, but this guy took the biscuit. And then smashed the biscuit into tiny pieces because it was chocolate and chocolate is black.

Anyway, I've since fired off emails to the DoT and NTA - keyboard warriors, UNITE!

dave_o_brien wrote: »

Worked for Germany...

Is this meta-racism?

buffalo wrote: »

Is this meta-racism?

Is that met-a-racist-ism?

doozerie wrote: »

Is that met-a-racist-ism?

So my point may have been made in a manner that was both tasteless, and undermined my original point, but it is surprising how quickly people adapt to unacceptable behaviour when their seniors accept it, either tacitly or by participation. I may have used an extreme, historical, and sensitive example, and for that I apologise.

dave_o_brien wrote:

So my point may have been made in a manner that was both tasteless, and undermined my original point, but it is surprising how quickly people adapt to unacceptable behaviour when their seniors accept it, either tacitly or by participation. I may have used an extreme, historical, and sensitive example, and for that I apologise.

My post wasn't having a go at you, I was just playing around with the words that buffalo used i.e. I wasn't calling you a racist, you just met one.

buffalo wrote: »

Anyway, I've since fired off emails to the DoT and NTA - keyboard warriors, UNITE!

NTA responded with a boilerplate email that I should take my complaint to the Gardaí. ...I didn't make any complaint in my original mail, just asked them if they could inform taxi drivers of the change in law.

Nice to know they care.

I had to get up earlier than usual this morning as I had an early work thing to go to. Getting to bed early last night was a good plan, I must actually try that some time just for the novelty. When I finally managed to prise my eyes open this morning, after what seemed like very little sleep, I had to crowbar myself out of bed and wandered around in a daze. On went my boxers and trousers before I settled down to the arduous task of lacing up my MTB boots. Dealing with laces has become a bit of a dying art with me, my commute (cycling) shoes close with velcro, my shoes in work have no laces, when I get home I change into other shoes with no laces. I now find laces tedious, but in very cold weather my MTB boots are a better choice than my shoes, so I have to face my fears and wrestle with their ridiculously long laces.

Laces subdued and secured I headed to the loo before leaving. I negotiated well the outer layer of trousers, well done me, but I hit an obstacle at the inner layer of boxers. There was no opening. Where's the opening? I searched for a while until I found it. At the back. *sob*

I'm not sure what's worse, being so dopey that you don't realise your are putting your boxers on back to front, or being so lace-ist that you try to figure out ways of correcting the problems without having to take your trousers, and hence your laced boots, off. In the end I had to admit defeat and undid my boots, put my boxers on the right way round, was careful to make sure my trousers went on the right way round, and fought with my boots again. Some days you are just meant to stay in bed.

As I passed through the kitchen, I noted from the radio that the AA were advising that motorists should "allow for a greater stopping distance" when the roads are icy, in addition to the usual "text us information. But not while driving". I waited for their suggestion that you should always wear a vest when going out in the cold, but there was no mention of it at all, a shocking dereliction of parental duty on their part.

After the work event I cycled on to work in lovely spring sunshine. It was great, cycling along an empty bus lane on Clanbrassil Street on a sunny day, until a lorry driver decided to pull into the bus lane to get past the queue of stopped cars in his lane. I was in his way, but he wasn't going to let a minor thing like that delay him. I hauled on the brakes as his tall and hefty wing mirror occupied the space where my head was about to be, and I swerved towards the kerb as the rest of the truck cut across me before he straightened out and belted off up the bus lane. Apparently the AA had also neglected to suggest that drivers not actually squash anyone today. Bad AA.

I caught up with him about 1km later, while he was stopped in traffic. The driver had a Chris DeBurgh hairstyle, circa 1980's, complete with mullet. It instantly brought to mind that horrible song "Lady in Red" - I was already not happy, now I was tormented too. While I attempted to convey my concerns about his driving, and before I even got to the topic of his questionable "fashion" sense, he growled something that seemed to want to be non-complimentary. He followed that up with "Shut up or I'll get out there and give you a slap!". Apparently the AA also neglected to warn drivers not to threaten someone with assault in public, which is shocking really - there are children out there, some of whose mammies still cut their hair, who simply don't know what they should and shouldn't do while driving, and the AA is failing them badly with their lack of guidance. Tut.

This morning was the first morning in a while where I felt able to wear something lighter than my thick winter lobster gloves. What a relief that was. I've been happy with their performance, when combined with merino glove liners, but they turn certain routine things into a farce. That's partly due to their lobster nature, and partly due to the fact that they have a relatively thick insulating layer that means your (paired) fingers have little feeling through them.

They pose a particular challenge when trying to open or close zips on the go. And I have bloody zips everywhere - on the neck of my base layer, on the front and both sleeves of my rain jacket, on the four pockets of my trousers. It's just a daily comedy drama just waiting to unfold really. I end up giving the appearance of someone who has never encountered a zip before, and believes it to be something harmful that is trying to attack him. That's the only thing that could explain why I'm clearly wrestling with the zipper as my fingers struggle to find it, and when they do they instantly lose it again so I launch another attack at it while muttering loudly. I look like an incompetent self-harmer.

But this morning was mild so I wore regular gloves, and I was in a good mood as I approached my left turn off the quays. As I turned on a green light a pedestrian who clearly is a more competent self-harmer than I stepped off the kerb to walk across the road just as I was turning onto. He didn't look over his shoulder, he didn't hesitate, he just walked straight on with a large "SQUISH ME!" badge on his back. I was pretty much on his shoulder and mid turn when I let out an "Oy oy oy!" yell to warn him. He didn't look at me, and he didn't stop walking either, instead he growled something at me as I passed within inches of him at a relatively slow speed. I couldn't decipher what he growled, I reckoned as he hadn't master the use of his basic senses that maybe speech was something he was still aspiring to.

I've had a pedestrian step off the kerb and directly into me before, they planted a foot down roughly under my bottom bracket and my back wheel rode over it. This time though the situation was a little different, as this time I had my spiked winter tyres on the bike. I half worried that this was going to be the day when my tyres finally drew blood (and not my own, which would be a pleasant surprise), and I half encouraged my tyre's potential blood lust with a mental yell of "Go tyres, GO!". But no, it turned out that my evasive action had swung me wide enough that I missed his apparently unstoppable feet entirely. I glanced back to see him still barging straight on, head facing firmly forward, shoulders hunched, and a turning car driver to his right hitting the brakes to avoid colliding with him. Is there a special Darwin award for someone who seems to be trying hard to win a Darwin award but failing even at that, I wonder.

It's almost a pity that I wasn't wearing my lobster gloves, I could have launched a lobster attach and finally been able to tell my daughter when I got home that yes, I had "snipped someone" with my gloves that day. Next time Mr Belligerent, next time. ...assuming that my zips don't win their war against my gloves in the meantime.

It's been a long aul' day at the office. Cycling home in high winds and rain. On the Drumcondra Road, coming up to a left-hand side-road, used as a rat run. There's a bus at the head of traffic before the yellow box. I don't know how or why drivers can make the turn with any confidence, they obviously just hope and pray there's no cyclists on the other side of the bus.

With my trademark caution, I peek out around the front of the bus. White van man has started his turn, but he's seen me now, right? I'm wearing HI-VIS, saviour of cyclists everywhere, only a flashing neon sign tops it. No, WVM continues his turn, so I stall just shy of his side panel.

Start forward, but WVM is quickly followed by not one, but two motorists who drive straight across me. In HI-VIS! Sure I'm only a cyclist... I assume the guy behind me thought I was a lunatic as I swore and gesticulated wildly. I was a lunatic for those few seconds probably.

No actually, if I was a lunatic, I would've cycled into someone's path and had them brake sharply or hit me. And then give out to them when they got angry. It's easier to vent here though, and less risk of injury.

In a feelgood story, I was waiting on O'Donovan Rossa Bridge on Monday, northbound (well, no other way to go on that bridge, but let's clarify that I'm not one to salmon). There was a gang of four older tourists wanting to cross the road, but they were obediently waiting for the elusive green man to appear. They hadn't noticed the wee button, as they chattered amongst themselves in French. I got their attention and pointed it out to them, and one gent pushed it. Lo and behold, the green man magically appeared instantly! There was much cheering and feasting, and they pottered merrily on their way, smiling and thanking me. :cool:

My dad used to do that trick - he knew the crossings where the green man didn't appear automatically, and would wiggle his magic fingers before pushing the button. I always thought it was amazing, but now I realised the whole concept is stupid. Are the council/NRA/NTA saving money on bulbs by not having pedestrian crossings showing the green man whenever possible? Damn, this was supposed to be a feelgood story... er, it's nearly the weekend, huzzah! \o/

Had good fun pedalling out to watch the Lucan GP, doing a reverse lap and taking photos as I went. Home via the back roads until I got to near Ongar, when I decided to try a different route in the hope of finding a short-cut. Turns out the short-cut was just the N3.

Joining it at this junction - http://goo.gl/maps/2575f - I'm in the middle lane, as I'm going right, but will be keeping left thereafter. Crossing over the motorway, cars moving past me in the right-hand lane, I hear a beep from behind me. I turn to see what the matter is, and the driver immediately behind me lifts his hands from the steering wheel, but I can't really tell if it's a "wtf?" gesture aimed at me, or someone who's beeping at him for not going that fast because I'm in front of him.
We make the turn, and I pull over into the hard shoulder and he comes past. His passenger winds down the window and shouts something unintelligible at me. In hindsight, I really hope it was definitely an insult (it had the tone of one), and I also need to work on my standard '**** you pal' response.

With most of my feel-good vibe now subsided, I continue merrily along the N3. Only to discover the bus lane is full of roadworks and blocked off by traffic cones. yay! Unto the breach betsy! Am wondering if it's best to stick to the gutter, and let the 100kmph traffic past, or take the lane and pray people are aware and able enough to move into the over-taking lane. After one close overtake too many in the gutter, I take the lane.

Get back into the city in one piece. Coming through Cabra, a car turns across me from the other side of the road, and I have to brake pretty sharp. He gives a friendly wave, and I realise the guy behind probably gave him a flash of the headlights. Narrow piece of road up ahead, it's going to be hard for him to overtake safely, and now I'm not in the mood to give him any help.
Van up ahead has stopped in the road, looks like he's debating parallel parking. Stick the hand out and glance behind before I start moving out to get around him... but wait, what's this? The eejit behind has decided now, with a stopped vehicle further up the road, now is the perfect time to overtake me. He's boxing me in, but there's no room for him to go around the van with oncoming traffic, so what does he do? Of course, pull back in to the left on top of me. I sprint out ahead of him, around the van, and leave the muppet behind. I may have yelled, "are you crazy?".

Also, I just remembered the large white van which cut across me to break some pedestrian lights. Took that reg down, looking forward to calling Traffic Watch amarach.

Heading to Beaumont Hospital this morning, moseying along the Swords Road. Sitting behind a bus at Griffith Avenue junction red, light goes green, he drives off, I follow. Move around his outside as he pulls in at the bus stop, slight incline, I'm riding along steadily though.

Bus comes up behind me, driver beeps once. I turn around and motion him to over take me. There's a standard traffic lane beside the bus lane, plenty of room for him to move out and around. Head back down, keep pedalling. He doesn't over take though, sitting behind me for another short while, and I realise with a sinking realisation what's coming next... he rumbles by, slowly enough, but leaves only inches to spare. I focus on not deviating from my completely straight line, let off the pedals to slow down and let him past quicker.

*sigh* ****ing hell. He gets caught straight away at the Regency lights. Up to the window, 'what was that?' "You should be using the cycle lane." "This is the bus and cycle lane." Window closes, I'm exasperated as he drives off.

Sitting behind him as he drives off? A Garda car! Oh happy days! This is going to be great! (Following conversation is paraphrased.)

"Garda, can you have a word with that guy, he just used his bus to intimidate me and perform a dangerous overtake!"
"I saw the whole thing, it was grand. He indicated and pulled out, and pulled back in when he passed you. Sure you should be in the cycle lane anyway. I could charge you for holding up traffic."
"..." "He left a few inches, that's not a safe overtake. And I'm allowed use the road here - I can show you the sign designating it a bus and cycle lane back there. And I need to make a right turn up ahead, which is hard to do from the left-side footpath."
"Look, you're clearly a sensible man, you're wearing hi-viz*, Would you not just use the cycle lane on the path? It's safer for you."
(I've realised there's no point talking to this Garda.) "So you're going to let him use his bus to threaten other people? What if he hits the next guy?"
"Well sure, if that happens we'll charge him. Take care now!"

*I was wearing a chartreuse jacket, no reflective details.

And with that, my faith in the Gardaí as ever being able to take the perspective of a cyclist died. This is exactly why there should be a 1.5m safe passing law. Time to email Leo again.