In 1993 I joined the Gainesville Cycling Club. This was about two years after I had begun to ride in a fairly serious way. I did not ride with other cyclists; I rode solo, so all I knew about bike courtesy I learned from reading various bike magazines, which wasn't much.
For about the first six months of those 2 years I rode without a helmet, as I debated the real need for such a thing. After all, I had ridden my bike for many years as a child and crashed many times and never injured my head; lots of scuffed knees, torn hands, ravaged elbows and other road rash, but no head injuries. Finally, having read a number of brochures from the local bike shops about accident statistics, I became convinced that it was probably a good idea. The recent fact that I had slipped in sand on the road and had gotten thrown over the handlebars might have had something to do with it too. In that accident I received only a badly jammed big toe, but it got me to thinking, how much worse such an accident could have been, particularly since I seemed to have so little control during the crash over the orientation of my body when I finally met the pavement. Since so many other cyclists I saw riding in Gainesville seemed to be wearing helmets too, it was a lot easier to get past the dork factor, so I got a helmet. I joined the dork group, and left the ‘worrying about what other people think' group (also known as the ‘fashion' group). It occurred to me at the time that the bike world is really divided into two segments, the dorks and the dummies. It's not easy to willfully become a dork, but what is the alternative. Besides, you get used to being regarded as a dork after you've managed to avoid the hospital emergency room a few times.
As I rode my bike I passed many other riders who rode slower than me, I always rode around giving them plenty of space. It never occurred to me to call out a warning, after all, barking at strangers is considered to be rather rude. And I wasn't particularly keen on striking up a ‘conversation' with complete strangers anyway. At least that's how it seemed to me at the time.
Then one evening as I headed up the bike path that runs east and west from Shand's Hospital to the area where the Harn Museum now resides, I noticed a dude on a beater bike with dreadlocks sauntering along, moving in the same direction, ahead of me. As I approached him I took stock of the situation, though riding very slowly he was well to the right in the bike lane and following a straight path, so I knew I could safely pass him without a problem. I slowed down and moved to the extreme left in the bike path. Just as I moved in to a position where my front tire was about 5 feet to the rear of his, he cocked his head to the left and spit. Imagine my shock, suffice it to say his mouth had an exceptional volume, and I was square in the path of delivery. Fortunate it was, that day, that I wore glasses. As I continued to pass with my eyes wide in shock, I saw his shocked expression too, and as I pulled ahead I heard him call out. "Sorry, Mon." I wished for rain, but none came. This incident was clearly my fault, and clearly I had paid for it. It would however take a later incident to cement the need for some warning to the rider ahead.
One evening as I rode up SW 34th street approaching the Doyle Conner building, on the sidewalk, I approached a jogger running in the same direction I was traveling. When I was about 50 feet back he looked back over his shoulder just after I had shifted gears. I made the assumption that he had heard my shifting and was acknowledging my approach, particularly since he also moved from the center to the right half of the sidewalk. So I attempted to go around him on the left. This is a wide sidewalk and can easily and safely accommodate such a passing. But as I moved around to pass on his left side, we approached a water sprinkler on the right side of the sidewalk that was spraying a stream of water into the sidewalk. The stream was about 8 inches above the sidewalk, falling in to the center. Just as I moved in to position on the joggers left, he bounded to the left side of the sidewalk to avoid the sprinkler. As I abruptly turned my handlebars to avoid collision with him, I lost control of my bike and was thrown in to the road. Fortunately, no cars were in the right lane at that time. As I slid along the pavement on my right side, listening to the asphalt crunching on my helmet, I remember thinking, "It sure was a good thing I was wearing this dorky helmet!"
The jogger stopped and helped me up from the road, I was pretty shaken, but other than some huge bruises on my right hip and shoulder and several days of being sore I suffered no serious injury. The jogger was genuinely sincere when he said " I wish I had known that you were coming up behind me." He really didn't know that I was there. I had read all the wrong things in to his movements. He had looked to the left because he was about to cross the road that enters in to the Doyle Conner parking lot and was watching for cars. He moved to the right because you have a tendency to lose your track if you are not looking ahead. He probably never heard my shifting over the rumble of traffic. He didn't know I was there. This was my fault and I paid for it. Again.
I had never heard the expression "on your left" before the Horse Farm Hundred in 1993. While riding, several people passing me called out to me, some said ‘on your left", some just said ‘hello'. At first I was startled that these strangers were calling out to me, but then the glorious simplicity of their purpose hit me. It wasn't just smart to warn someone as you passed, it was downright friendly and courteous.
So after the ride I got a bell, then a horn (ask Rocke Hill and Bill Boyett about my horn). But it finally occurred to me that there is no simpler, more reliable way to be courteous than to utter a familiar and customary warning with the human voice. Now I call it out so automatically I don't even think about it. Half the time the rider or pedestrian being passed will actually respond with a "thank you", and the other half appreciate it too, even if they don't acknowledge it verbally. And you can be comfortable in your bike skills, knowing that you have acquired what is undoubtedly one of the most important pieces of bicycling protocol that this sport has developed.
And that's the end of the story about how the President got his courtesy. If you are all very good and start using "on your left" regularly maybe someday I will tell you another story. ‘How the President got over being embarrassed about wearing those tight bike shorts'. But perhaps some stories are best left untold.
"On your left!"
Rob