Wednesday 20 November 2013

Is A Dog Owner

Normally I try to post these entries from a cyclist's point of view, but cycling season is over for me, and running season has started.  I still video record my runs because . . . well, you never know when something might happen.

Something that "happens" whether cycling or running is dogs.  I find barking dogs annoying, but bearable.  When I'm running, I even carry liver treats with me so I can make friends with the canines along my routes, so that they will look forward to seeing me instead of howling like I'm the Devil incarnate.

I've had a few unleashed dogs run at me when I've been cycling, but I was always moving too quickly to be seriously threatened. As a pedestrian, though, unleashed dogs are another whole level of threat.  I understand that sometimes a dog will unintentionally get loose . . . well, unintentionally from the owner's viewpoint, anyway, but walking your dog without a leash? 

That's stupid. 

And illegal. 

We have a law because it's stupid thing to do. 

There are designated off-leash parks in Winnipeg where owners can slip the collars off and allow their dogs to run free . . . but on a multi-use path or sidewalk?  What kind of selfish, stupid, irresponsible pet owner does that?

Cue today's idiot:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nb1Hrhk9TlQ&feature=youtu.be


Yes, I "unleashed" a bad word - and I'm not proud of that - but I'm relieved to be safe and sound.

I don't care how well-trained your dog is: they are hunting animals.  They will chase things: birds . . . rodents . . . cats . . . small children . . . and, apparently, pedestrians, not because they're bad dogs, but  because it's just the doggy thing to do.  I don't believe that there really is any such thing as bad dogs, anyway; there are only bad dog-owners - otherwise known on this blog as idiots.

Tuesday 8 October 2013

Gets It

Friday, September 13, 2013

Readers who suffer from triskaidekaphobia would tell me that I shouldn't even have been riding on this day, but I am neither cowardly nor superstitious.

At 6:28PM, I was about to cross King at James with the green light when a car zoomed through the intersection against the red light on King - This Idiot #1.  I yelled an imprecation, and then another at the car behind him, who did the EXACT SAME thing - This Idiot #2.

I shook my head and took a deep breath to help clear the adrenaline rush from my narrow escapes.  I was about to continue on my way, thankful to be alive and in one piece when I thought: "No."

I decided, instead, to change course and see if I could catch up to them, if for no other reason than to record their license plates.  Sure enough, I could and I did, but I'm not going to publish them, for reasons I will make clear later.  What I will provide, however, is a transcript of the conversation that followed.

They both turned into the parking lot of a Chinese restaurant on the corner of Logan and King, and I waited for them to disembark.  Five women in dresses emerged from both sides of each vehicle until the young, male drivers made their appearance.

I asked: "So what do red lights mean to you guys?"

This Idiot #2: "Yeah, I'm sorry - I didn't notice it."

Me: "You didn't notice a red.  Light?"

TI2: "I'm sorry."

Me: "Thank you."

This Idiot #1: "I'm sorry, sir."

Me: "Thank you for your apology."

TI1: (motioning with his arm) "Yeah, because the sun-"

Me: "Please be more careful in the future."

TI1: "Yeah, sorry, sir."

Me: "Have a nice evening."

TH1: "(unintelligible)  I saw you."

Me: "Fortunately, I saw you, too."

That was it; a 20-second conversation with no histrionics, no name-calling, no yelling, no violence - actual or implied - on my part or theirs.

They were wrong; I confronted them; they apologized, and there was no need to take it any further, so I'm not editing and uploading a video or publishing their license plates for all to see.

We can't help being idiots.  Everyone will slip into a state of idiocy at some point, but we can all choose whether we are going to be polite or rude about it.

These guys got it.

Friday 27 September 2013

Has No Respect

Cyclists don't belong on sidewalks (although some bike riders will ride on them anyway).

Cyclists belong on the road if they can't find a suitable bike path (always my preference).

This rankles some drivers and scares the heebie-jeebies out of some cyclists, but that's the Highway Traffic Act.

I don't have a problem being on the road, but that's because I bother to follow the rules of the road.  I think other, true cyclists also tend to obey the traffic laws, whereas your average garden-variety bike rider will do so only when convenient, because REAL cyclists know that following the rules engenders respect.

Motorists HATE it when bike riders sidle up beside them at red lights.  It's unsafe, it's illegal - it's disrespectful.

Motorists HATE it when bike riders run red lights and stop signs.  It's unsafe, it's illegal - it's disrespectful.

Which brings us to today's idiot:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sd8RuAG12GA&feature=youtu.be

Motorists do not respect bike riders, and by extension, cyclists, in this city.  Why should they?  By and large, bike riders and cyclists don't respect the rules of the road.

All it will take to reduce the friction is for bike riders and cyclists alike who ride on the road is to show some respect for the rules.

This seems so simple to me that anyone who can't grasp it seems like an idiot.

Tuesday 24 September 2013

This Idiot is a Motorist

My first blog entry with a video featured cyclists, and the second pedestrians.  Since then I have logged hundred of kilometres on my bicycle, most of those rides captured on video.  Upon review, it would seem that my main concern with Winnipeg drivers is their apparent and total disregard for using turn signals.

I`ll post a clip montage on that topic another time.

Today`s entry is reserved for one special driver I encountered last summer.  She . . . she just . . . well, see for yourself:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EwFmYaUoT_4

What are the options here?  Clearly, she found herself somewhere she didn't want to be, but instead of going with the flow of traffic and looping around, she deliberately flouted the rules of the road.  Did she think they didn't apply to her?  That it would be all right "just this once"?  That apologizing would make everything okay?

Fortunately, the rest of us on the road that morning were driving defensively, and no one was hurt.

This time.

Friday 16 August 2013

The True Nature of the Orange Mist



“I’m gonna tear you apart, you little f___er!”  That’s what I yelled at the bike thief I caught red-handed last night.

I’d been watching T.V. when I heard some thumping outside.  “What is that?” I asked my wife as I went to the door.  Upon opening it, a teenaged punk dropped the new trailer bike I’d bought for my son and took off out the carport down the back lane.  I took off too, hot on his trail, barefoot in my Superman pyjamas.

I think he’d hoped a quick sprint would dissuade pursuit, but I’ve already had two bikes stolen off my patio.  I was mad – really mad - and when he looked back I was still coming.

And catching up.

Suddenly there was a can in his hand as he ran and an orange spray wafted in my direction.  My first thought was that this punk moonlighted as a graffiti artist and was using whatever was at his disposal to get away.  “Spray paint?  Lame!  I can handle being orange!” I thought.

Astute readers will, of course, by this point be aware that it was NOT spray paint, but pepper spray.  Having never used it nor had it used on me before, I was completely unaware of the true nature of the orange mist.  

And kept running.

I think this made him panic, and he sprayed me again.

And again.

Until he went to spray me and there was none left.  He tossed the can aside and kept running.

I almost had him, and . . . 

He dropped his backpack.  I don’t know if he was trying to lighten his load to get more speed or if he hoped it would trip me up, but I stopped and grabbed it.  That was all I needed: surely there would be identification in here which I could then turn over to the police.  I started back down the alley towards home, when his girlfriend got in on the action.

Didn’t I mention the girlfriend?  Sorry!  When I took off after him, his girlfriend was trailing behind us and now it was HER turn to panic as I made off with the backpack.

“Hey, that’s mine!”  she yelled.  “Don’t take my backpack!  Gimme back my backpack!”

“No,” I said as I kept it out of her reach.  I had intended to say, “It’s going back to my house and I’m going to call your mother,” but my eyes started burning.  “Must’ve got some paint in them,” I thought.

While I was distracted, she managed to grab hold of the backpack and instead of playing tug-of-war over the backpack, I grabbed her by the lapels and thrust her against a garage wall.  Boyfriend / bike thief was nowhere to be seen.  “Why are you taking my backpack?” she wailed.

Seriously?

“Why are you stealing my bikes?” I growled back.

Suddenly boyfriend / bike thief reappeared from around the garage, yelling, as something in his right hand glinted in the streetlight.

I backed off, thinking this turkey might have a knife.  As he stepped into the full purview of the streetlight, I was CERTAIN he had knife.  As he advanced on me, he was yelling imprecations about me laying hands on his girlfriend.

Seriously?!

I kept two arm-lengths away from him and now I began to panic.  I was in my PYJAMAS for goodness’ sake!  I had no weapon, there was nothing in immediate reach, and my eyes were really starting to sting like the dickens (I still hadn’t divined the true nature of the orange mist).  Paint in my eyes, okay, but a stab wound?  Heck, no - I had work tomorrow!

Backing away apparently gave him the space he needed and he fled, gathering both backpack and girlfriend as he went.  I turned for home, intending to determine what had been taken / damaged, call the police to give descriptions, and wash the paint off.  Except, as the burning increased with every step, I finally consciously realized what my unconscious brain had been telling me all along: it wasn’t paint.

“Call an ambulance,” I told my wife as I crumpled on the patio.  “I’ve been pepper-sprayed.”

I was protected only by the tank-top and loose pants comprising my pyjamas, so the spray hit my face, neck, upper chest, shoulders, arms, hands, and . . . groin.

If there’s a place you do NOT want to get pepper-sprayed, that’s it.

My wife was already on the phone with the police and an ambulance had been dispatched, BUT . . .

The ambulance couldn’t arrive until the police did.  My wife sensibly did not let me go back into the house, but brought out a chair (which is now in the garbage) and towels to pat myself down: “Don’t rub!”  She Googled how to treat pepper-spray burns and it turned out that milk products, particularly whole fat ones, are the home remedy of choice so when the police arrived I was sitting outside on a computer chair in my Superman pyjamas, wrapped in towels, eyes swollen shut, clutching a kitchen cloth soaked in 3% milk to my crotch.

Get THAT image out of your mind . . . 

Within minutes of their arrival and obtaining the descriptions – I’m serious, minutes! – the police notified me that the “assailants” had been detained.  Now the ambulance could come.   The EMT’s first words echoed my own to the police when they arrived and noted I’d been pepper-sprayed: “That sucks, eh?”   I laughed and momentarily forgot my pain until they took my blood pressure and pulse.  The simple warmth of the EMT’s two fingers on my wrist was excruciating.  Finally, they told me the treatment: get in the shower.

SERIOUSLY?!!  I could have done that an hour ago!

As I hosed off (and off, and off, and off, and off, and off, ad infinitum) under lukewarm water, the police waited to take my statement.  Fourty minutes later, I gave it to them wrapped in nothing but a towel while standing in front of an oscillating fan, the burning now reduced to that of a bad sunburn (I think the painkillers helped, too).  Four pages later I signed off on it, and it was time for bed.
 
With all that adrenaline, it took me another few hours to fall asleep.

But I made it to work today.

And I still have all my bikes.