Bully on Bedford Street

Draft saved on October 25, 2014; Publlihed on December 26, 2024.

I’m riding Bedford Street in Waltham, heading toward where it ends at Prospect Street. Bedford Street runs slightly downhill. Its too narrow for cars to pass me safely  if there is oncoming traffic. I’m going about 20 miles per hour. That’s about as fast as it’s safe for anyone to go on this street. I’ll be turning left at Prospect Street. I put out my left hand to signal my left turn. I look in my rear-view mirror to see if there’s anyone to signal to. There is.

The motorist behind me is tailgating me, front bumper about 10 feet off my rear wheel. I switch to a slow signal. Sometimes that works. Then I put both hands on the handlebar for full control of my bicycle. If I fell, the tailgater wouldn’t be able to stop before running me over, and he doesn’t appear to care if he does.

My tailgater will have to turn either right, or left at the T intersection. No turn signal is on.

We get to stop sign at the end of the block. I turn around, look down and call out the license number.

I go back next to the vehicle, a black pickup truck, to talk with the driver.

He is 60-ish, a bit heavy-set, clean-shaven, actually rather distinguished-looking, with white, wavy hair.

“You were tailgating. If I fell, you couldn’t stop in time.”

“You’re not a f***ing car. You should get over to the right, where you should be.”

So much for the distinguished appearance.

We exchange a few more unpleasantries. Then he drives off, turning left. I notice that on the back of the truck, there are two, count’em, “motorcycles are everywhere” bumper stickers. Would he also tailgate a motorcyclist?

Actually in one way, he was right in what he said. I’m not a car. Neither am I a bicycle. Nor is he a motorcycle, or a pickup truck. We are human beings, and the remainder of my years of life are probably more precious than the 15 seconds of his time which he might have had to spend following me legally and safely, and which he spent anyway trying to bully me off the street.

I go to the police station, identify the driver, give the license number and speak with Officer Collins, who says that he couldn’t do much about this because no officer witnessed the incident.

I think that I’ll start wearing my helmet camera more of the time. Then I will have evidence when this kind of thing happens again.

I’ll also repeat what I said in the previous post. More and more drivers have been informed that bicyclists should always stay at the edge of the street, by the dozens of miles of door zone bike lanes which cities and towns in the Boston area have been installing.

I’ll add something else: if I’m going to be treated like this, why would I want to ride a bicycle any more at all? While 995 out of 1000 drivers I share the roads with are courteous and safe, the number of incidents like this is rising.

I also extend my sympathies to people who have no choice but to ride a bicycle, or who have swallowed the notion that the best they can do is to hug the edge of the road and invite motorists to pass whether it is safe or not. It ain’t so, but if cycling becomes too stressful, I’ll be cycling less. The aggravation, I don’t need.