Nothing says, “Happy Holidays,” like …Photo: Mikey Wally

“A big SUV came by and the asshole in the front seat barked at me like a dog out the window. I gave him the finger at close range, and turned and looked just in time to see that the guy in the front seat was … a dog. A big, slobbery, loving golden retriever. Sounded so much like a drunk frat boy, you wouldn’t believe it.”

Road rage is something we all succumb to. Even mild-mannered transportation wonks. Even Zen Buddhists. But the middle finger is a force multiplier — deploying it can ruin your day, not to mention that of its recipient, no matter how deserving he or she may have been.

It always seems to get worse during the winter holidays, when everyone on the road is more preoccupied, hurried, distracted, drunk, or just plain angry than usual. December is a quantifiably stressful time of year. Families are getting together. Relationships are breaking up. Events, shopping, and schedules mean time management is strained to the breaking point. And alcohol is flowing freely. It shows on the road.

When tempers flare on the streets, people on bicycles are inarguably more vulnerable than those in cars. But though we have every incentive to keep road rage incidents from escalating, we’re still human and thus still prone to the kind of fear that spurs angry actions and reactions.

I’m certainly no angel when I decide someone is driving thoughtlessly or aggressively near me. Other people probably handle it better, I figured, so I put out a call to see how other two-wheeled travelers preserve their calm and sanity in a pinch. I got a lot of shrugged shoulders and responses like “I just get mad.”

There were some creative variants on the middle finger, though: “I’m not sure if this is constructive or not, but I like to give the thumbs down so they know they need to do something different,” tweeted Angela Dube, a graduate student who relies on her bicycle to get around San Jose, Calif.

Others go for the glib approach, perhaps bordering on sarcasm. “Peace sign and ‘I love you anyway’ always work great,” responded Paul Jeffrey, a cheerful fixture of Portland’s bike fun scene.

The best strategy of all seems to be not engaging. But it can take a Herculean effort — or perhaps the right incentives.

Zak Schwank, a full-time dad in Temecula, Calif., a small city that he describes as “not the most bike friendly,” has the ultimate reason to not succumb to road rage — he rides with his three kids, ages 1 to 8, on his cargo bike.

“When I bike solo,” he told me in an email, “I usually lose my cool quite quick.” But when he rides with his kids, he feels compelled to do things differently.

“Obviously when something happens with a motorist it can be quite scary,” he says. “The first thing I do is make sure that we are all safe. I try my best to remain calm. The blood gets flowing, but in reality this is a huge teaching moment for my family. I want my kids to grow up and be responsible, respectable adults. Cursing and yelling at motorists isn’t something I want to teach them … they’ll learn that on their own, I’m sure.”

In these situations, Schwank tries not to engage, even politely, he says. “I’ve found that talking to people only leads to more aggression.”

I find it embarrassingly difficult to follow Schwank’s lead and not participate in road rage. But on days when I’m determined to not react and to simply go about my day no matter what, my road calm seems to have a multiplying effect as well, bringing out the best in everyone, as though the world were full of friendly golden retrievers instead of the drunk frat boys of my pessimistic imagination.

Photo: Adams Carroll

No-budget gifts

I’m a fan of these. If you’ve got wrenching skills, offer to fix your pal’s basic bike problems, like flat tires or out-of-whack derailleurs. If they’re interested in bike commuting but are feeling some trepidation about the idea, offer to be their riding buddy, advise them on clothes and basic riding skills, or go for a weekend test ride.

The little things

Wool socks: A cozier — and sexier — way to bike through the winter.Looking for stocking stuffers, presents for your three dozen cousins, or something for all the days of Hanukkah? Check out your local bike shop for these sure bets:

It’s difficult to have too many bike lights. They’re always getting lost or loaned to a friend to ride home from a late dinner party. There’s an unbelievable variety out there, but you can find some of the better representatives of each type here.

Wool socks are nicer for riding in the rain and cold than synthetic performance bicycling socks. Start your search here and continue into the uncharted reaches of woolen underlayers here.

If you are getting a gift for someone who regularly uses a cable lock to “secure” their bicycle, the most valuable gift you can give them is the gift of keeping their bicycle un-stolen — with a far more theft-proof u-lock.

Made right here

A handy u-lock holster, made locally in Philly.There’s a growing cottage industry in homegrown bike craft in this country — and it’s not relegated to Oregon, Seattle, the Bay Area, and Brooklyn. You can now buy custom messenger bags in Ohio, cycling caps in Nebraska, u-lock holsters in Philadelphia, and lots more. Check out this listing of bike crafters all over the world.

And if your gift recipient knows how to work a sewing machine, why not empower them to make some gear at home? Pair this cycling cap sewing pattern with a yard of cool fabric. You might help launch the next basement bike start-up.

Get your fix

Does your giftee have a bike that they might ride more often (or at least more joyously) if the squeaks and bumps were ironed out? Give them a gift certificate to a local shop for a tune-up. Better yet, give them a book on bike maintenance so they can do repairs on their own. I learned from Zinn and the Art of Road Bike Maintenance and The Chainbreaker Bike Book, but there are many other good options.

The gift of adventure

Do you dream of going on a bike tour with your bestie or significant other? Warm them up to the idea with Barbara Savage’s classic travelogue, Miles from Nowhere, the inspiring story of a two-year, around-the-world bike tour Savage took with her husband. Or maybe your friend is ready to start poring over these cross-country U.S. bike maps and rounding up his touring gear.

Support the cause

Give your favorite biker a membership with her local bicycle advocacy organization or activist group — or make a donation in their name to their favorite bike blogger. If there is none, choose a national organization like the lobbying group Transportation for America or Streetfilms, an outfit that has created an advocacy toolbox of short movies from around the world.

The ultimate bike-related gift

Noting says “I love you” like a custom bike.Photo: WickedVTYou got it — a bike.

If your loved one is new to biking, proceed with caution and sensitivity. The nation’s garages already hold plenty of dusty bikes that either represent the dreams of the spouse they don’t belong to or the fears of the one to whom they do.

My suggestion: Take them on a weekend getaway where you can rent bikes and cruise around on mellow streets and trails. It’s a thoughtful gift, you’ll both have a blast, and the experience will help them figure out what they do and do not want out of a bike.

Then, go down to your friendly local bike shop. Steer clear of the big box stores. A true parable of the American Dream, the bikes they tout are irresistibly affordable yet tend to fall apart faster than they can be maintained.

If your giftee is an old hand at cycling, that’s another story. Just ask them to describe their dream bike — and be ready with a pen to write down the detailed description. Then head for the afore-mentioned local shop.

If you have several thousand dollars to spare, thrill them beyond reason by commissioning them a custom bike from your local frame builder. If your budget is more modest, find a local outfit that will powder coat their beloved but rusty old ride to whatever fresh new color scheme they desire.

“Balance bikes” help little kids practice for the real thing.Bikes for kids

If you think adult bikes on the big box market are bad, kids’ bikes are worse, even at regular bike shops. The exception is “balance bikes” for toddlers — pedal-less alternatives to trikes or training wheels. Younguns push themselves along with their feet and learn to balance on two wheels, saving a lot of scraped knees when they make the transition to a pedal bike.

You tell me

What bikey gifts do you recommend? Is there a burgeoning bike craft scene near you? Tell us all about it in the comments section below.

Photo: iamos

1. I’m thankful for the power of bikes to enable people-powered protest movements. Bicycles have been playing a supporting role in the Occupy movement, and seem to be bringing out the best in everyone, whether used by protesters or police.

2. Free bicycles are on the rise, thanks to an international network of bike collectives. Chances are there’s one near you — find out on this list — where you can build yourself a bike and learn to do your own repairs. Or, to see an economic multiplier at work, donate money, parts, or time to a bike collective that provides free bicycles to teens or adults with low incomes.

3. Hooray for fenders! Riding through a light drizzle is a secret pleasure of mine, and if I had to choose between a raincoat and fenders, I’d choose fenders every time. After all, the rain is far cleaner coming down than it is when it’s tossed back up by your tires.

4. I love the energy of small cities with big visions. As the giants like New York and Seattle wrangle over relatively small amounts of bike infrastructure, people in smaller cities around the country, from Oklahoma City to Newton, Mass., are seeing the appeal of bicycle transportation — and can have a much quicker road to revising their infrastructure and habits.

5. There is a 325-mile continuous paved trail on which you can bike, hike, or ski between Washington, D.C., and Pittsburgh. It’s called the Great Allegheny Passage. How cool is that?

6. Let’s hear it for sharrows and bike lanes. Cycling advocates argue fiercely about what kind of bike infrastructure is most effective, but the truth is that every time any kind of bike markings go down it’s a giant, sometimes bright green billboard reminding all of us that bicycles belong on the road.

7. Sure, we need paint on the roads and slower speed limits, but art is what makes life worth living. That’s why I appreciate Artcrank, a Minneapolis-based group that travels from city to city commissioning bike-themed posters from local artists and selling them at fun, beery parties that build community and micro-boost the local economy.

8. I still get a little swoony every time I see someone ride past on a cargo bike, chatting with their kids or balancing a lopsided load of lumber. And I love that the cargo bike options in North America are expanding fast. You can buy an expensive imported box bike or an artisanal, U.S.-made variant for less than the price of a cheap car. You can go budget and convert your bike into an Xtracycle longtail. Or you can hunker down in your garage and build the franken-cargo bike of your dreams out of cast-off parts.

9. The bicycle industry has been slow to turn its gaze from sports to transportation, and even slower to take up advocating for safer streets. But here are exceptions, and many are local bike shop owners like Matt Feiner of The Devil’s Gear in New Haven, Conn. On the big business end, industry titans Trek and SRAM lead the charge, throwing their considerable weight behind the advocacy, research, and infrastructure-building efforts of powerhouse nonprofit Bikes Belong.

10. What’s not to love about food carts? They’re the ideal bike fuel stop. No need to lock up your bike, wrestle with your raingear, bags, and blinky lights — just roll up to the window and order your burrito, pho, or hot chai. They’re more convenient than a fast food drive-thru, but owned by someone who probably lives down the street from you and is buying food from local sources.

11. I’m thankful that Critical Mass and similar rides are still regularly bringing people together to occupy some of the worlds’ most hostile and exclusive public spaces by bike — like this 5,000 person-strong ride in Guadalajara.

12. There’s an uptick in the number of people out there bicycling long distances in search of adventure or to promote a cause. I’m extra inspired by two enthusiastic gals named Sarah and Toni recently completed their Sustainable Cycles Bike Tour down the West Coast, giving out a whole bunch of reusable menstrual cups (the existence of which are also worth a healthy dose of thankfulness) along the way.

13. To the guy sweeping glass out of the bike lane in front of his house as I rode past the other day: Thank you!

A sharrow in Baltimore. Photo: Elly Blue

A “sharrow” — the word is an amalgamation of “arrow” and “share the road” — is a larger-than-life thermoplastic symbol of a bicycle topped by two chevrons pointing the way forward. More technically known as “shared lane markings,” they’re intended to remind two-wheeled and four-wheeled road users alike to share with each other, and also to encourage people on bikes to take the lane when it’s too narrow to ride side-by-side with car traffic.

Sharrows have been increasing in popularity nationwide, and got a boost in 2009 when they were officially entered into the federal transportation engineering canon. Seattle got a head start, writing them into its 2007 Bike Master Plan. Other cities began earlier, but I’ve never seen such a profusion as in the Emerald City.

Like many experts on transportation bicycling, Fucoloro wasn’t enthusiastic about them. Sharrows are spread so indiscriminately on Seattle streets, he said, that “they mean nothing now.” He has noticed that there seems to be “slightly less aggression” from drivers when they’re in place. “But does that mean all the streets without sharrows are worse?”

In other words, with sharrows everywhere, do drivers assume that cyclists don’t belong on streets without them?

Fucoloro is not the only one to express that concern, but he and others seem to be watching and waiting as cities feel out how best to use them. Some early adopters, including Sacramento and Baltimore, initially put sharrows on busy roads all the way to the right, where riders would be squeezed between fast car traffic and parked cars — right in the dreaded “door zone.” Federal regs now say that sharrows must be at least four feet from the curb if there’s no parking, 11 feet from the curb if there is.

Seattle has its own brand of sharrow growing pains. Riding and walking around town, it’s hard to see a logic to the streets chosen for sharrow treatment. Some are on relatively quiet back streets, others are on breathtakingly fast arterials where the symbols are worn and rutted by the daily flow of cars and trucks speeding over them.

Sharrows are popular because they are politically easy — you can almost hear city officials sigh with relief when sharrows are mentioned. On the surface, they seem like a way to please the increasingly vocal bike lobby without ruffling feathers by putting in a bike lane at the expense of car parking or traffic lanes, which are often perceived as being for cars only. And they’re cheap: Sharrows cost only $229 each to install, including labor and materials, while a full-blown bike lane can cost between $5,000 and $60,000 per mile.

But do sharrows work? One recent study says sharrows slow car traffic slightly, and make bicyclists a little safer. But they are even better at keeping drivers at a distance from parked cars — once again, bike infrastructure benefits more than just people on bikes.

Fucoloro’s conclusion about sharrows: “They’re better as wayfinding signs” rather than safety tools.

Portland’s take on the sharrow meme bears this theory out. Last summer, my hometown experienced a sudden sharrow explosion, as an influx of federal stimulus money was used in part to paste them en masse on an extensive network of low-traffic, neighborhood streets in our northeast quadrant. Laid out smack in the middle of the road, they’re meant to show all road users where people on bikes can ride most safely — but in practice their main usefulness has been to map out bikeable routes across town.

And this, Fucoloro said, points the way to sharrow’s ultimate future, at least in Seattle. They are helping pave the way, politically and on the ground, for the next big thing: neighborhood greenways — designated networks of residential streets that ease walking and biking by discouraging fast car traffic and calming areas where pedestrians cross streets.

“We have a lot of busy streets separating schools and parks, and there’s a need for families and kids to have a safe way to get around,” Fucoloro explained. Greenways fulfill this need. Neighborhood groups have been demanding them, he said, and “lots of them aren’t bikers at all.”

A recent ballot measure in Seattle would have raised car registration fees by $60 per year to fund active transportation projects, including thousands of dollars a year in neighborhood greenways, Fucoloro said. But the initiative was defeated.

“I think the city was going to take bike infrastructure to the next level, and Prop 1 was going to give us a push,” Fucoloro said. “Now I don’t know what we’re going to do — we’ll just keep half-assing it, I guess.”

Half-assed or not, sharrows are a feasible right-now hack for Seattle’s — or any other city’s — streets in a time when the mere mention of bicycle transportation in a public forum can produce an upswell of anti-bike grumbling and threats of vehicular violence. Done wrong or inconsistently, they can make streets slightly more dangerous for bicycling. Done right, they can point the way to the future.

David from Eugene passes a decaying farmouse on the Verboort Populaire.Photo: Elly Blue

As someone who’s used to seeing bicycling in the rain as a necessary evil, I was less philosophical about my choice to spend this November Saturday out in the elements. I didn’t know what to expect from the ride — or, more accurately, the randonée — except that it was not a race, that we would each be on our own, and that I was not in any kind of physical condition to pedal for six and a half hours straight. In the rain. My secret plan was to skip half the route.

Randonneuring is a good-natured, old-world tradition from the early days of cycling. Its deep roots are proudly evident in participants’ allegiance to French terminology and the metric system and an intensely detailed structure of rules and organization. Randonées are about camaraderie, not competition. They are strictly timed, though, with various checkpoints, called controls, along the route. Riders must complete each section of the course by the cutoff time, or their cards are not stamped and their results are not entered into the randonneuring recordbooks that have been kept in Paris since the 1920s.

Saturday’s outing was just for fun, a “populaire,” intended to introduce the sport to new suckers like me. The shortest rides that earn you a place in the Parisian books are twice as long, 200-kilometer (124-mile) “brevets” that take from eight to 12 hours to complete. Once you complete a brevet, you’re officially a randonneur, and are free to enjoy the 300-, 400-, 600-, and ultimately the big 1200-kilometer (746-mile), 90-hour rides such as the famous Paris-Brest-Paris.

On this day, 59 hopefuls started out, over twice the number of people expected turned out to give the art of randonneuring a try. It was a chatty, ragtag bunch, sporting every degree of cycling apparel from old and rugged to slick and new. The event was organized by volunteers, and the total cost to participate was $2.

Photo: Elly BlueAt 9 a.m., we were let loose into the chilly drizzle. For the first 10 kilometers (6.2 miles), a steady stream of yellow-rainjacketed riders passed me with friendly chimes and hellos. With each, I felt the edges of my ego fray a little. Race or not, I was acutely aware of my need to prove myself. I contemplated my slow bike, my slow body, the years it had been since I rode more than 20 or 30 miles in a day. I decided that I would finish the ride no matter what. I decided what to call this column.

At the end of those first 10 kilometers was a checkpoint at a coffee shop. Its keeper was Theo Roffe, one of the ride organizers, who rubberstamped my ride card to prove I’d been there. I confided my working title to him. “I’d like to interview that person,” I said, “but it will probably be me.”

“In France they say la lanterne rouge,” he said. “The caboose.” (The literal translation is “the red lantern,” and it was, for years, an honor bestowed upon the last-place finisher in the Tour de France.)

“That’s me!” I pointed to my bright red saddlebag.

“Naw.” He shook his head. “There are a ton of people behind you. You won’t be last.”

Thus reassured, I was free to accept that being last would be okay. Mostly. And I finally noticed the world outside my head: the giant Vs of migrating birds, the farms and mountains receding into the fog, the occasional truck zooming past, the clean smell of the air.

For the next 84 kilometers (52 miles), I just rode. Mostly, I was alone. The rain intensified. My left foot went numb and then my right. People passed me, but not as many as early on. A few slowed down to chat for a kilometer before disappearing around a bend. My legs were turning to Jell-O, albeit frozen Jell-O, and I felt increasingly obliged to stop and take photos of every sheep and horse.

Our cue sheets warned us that this was our last chance to fill up our water bottles.Photo: Elly BlueI hit the final checkpoint, an empty crossroads that had once been the town of Snoozeville, just at the cutoff time, to be met by a friendly high five from Ed Groth, another of the day’s organizers. He poured me a cup of hot chocolate, initialed my card, and started packing up. (The next day I learned that he had ridden all the way there from Portland with a canopy, table, propane stove, coffee pots, vegan sausage fixings, and plentiful snacks in his cargo bike. It took him five hours each way.)

My friend April Wiza rolled up around the same time. As she gulped down coffee, we decided to continue together. We chatted and joked on the flat stretches, soaring down the hills silently and cursing our way up the next ones. Soon I forgot to feel tired and uncomfortable.

I might just finish this, I thought, as we ground up a particularly long and steep hill 10 kilometers from the finish. April was dropping behind — was I getting my second wind? No, she had a puncture and a slow leak. She pumped up her tire, we rode for another kilometer, and she stopped again. “Go on, you don’t have to wait for me,” she said.

The cutoff was creeping up on us. I thought about jumping back on my bike and making a go of the final stretch. But all those frayed bits of my competitive soul had been lathed away somewhere on the road behind us. I leaned my bike against a mailbox and stood there feeling appreciative that the rain had stopped and enjoying the way the grey mist around us brought out the yellows in the fields.

The small crew still waiting for us at the finish ran out with hugs and congratulations. I felt elatedly victorious, thrilled just to be done. Then came the unexpected news that we were just under the wire — “You made it by three minutes!” said Theo Roffe, who had told me about la lanterne rouge at the first check point.

The red lantern was ours, as were red, white, and blue lapel pins celebrating our timely finish.

Photo: Metrofiets

To an outsider, such a vision must seem like a sketch right out of Portlandia, the television show that spoofs my hometown’s supposedly eccentric ways. Here in real-world Portland, however, it’s a normal sight. The farm from which I get most of my vegetables, aptly named Sidewalk’s End, is one of several local examples of something called “dispersed urban agriculture.” Rather than farming all in one place, the two young farmers who run Sidewalk’s End, Holly Mills and Caitlin Arnold, cultivate five urban backyards around southeast Portland. To get from one to the next, they often use bikes.

I subscribed to their CSA (community-supported agriculture) program this summer because the pickup point is an easy one-mile bike ride from my house. I paid an annual fee for my share of the farm’s harvest. Other CSA members get their food in exchange for letting Mills and Arnold farm in their yards. One yard is entirely planted with garlic; another is a seed testing site.

It would be easy to take farming by bike as a sign that dear old Portland has jumped the (locavore) shark. I called up Mills to ask about the hows and whys of bike farming.

It turns out that being green is, as I suspected, behind every decision made at Sidewalk’s End, Mills said, from their dispersed urban model to the sturdy “apocalypticrops” they grow.

Biking is no exception. Strictly eating food from 100 or 50 miles away, as many in Portland’s burgeoning local food movement do, “is a lot more awesome than shipping it from another hemisphere,” Mills said. “But even shipping it 50 miles in a truck every week — that’s a lot of fuel.” 

Sidewalk’s End’s unconventional methods have proven to make good economic sense, and not just from a marketing perspective.

“If I was going to start a farm in the traditional way,” Mills explained, “I probably would have started with a saved-up nest egg and spent a year building the infrastructure.” Instead, the farmers launched their operations with $1,000 — not even enough to invest in a reliable truck. 

“We looked at the resources we already had,” Mills said. “We’re scrappy and have a lot of energy and ride bikes and are already good at moving a lot of stuff around by bike. We get things for free on Craigslist or from dumpsters or for trade. As young farmers with very few resources, it made sense to start where we lived” — in the city rather than the country — “and with the infrastructure we already had.”

Their skimping has paid off. Sidewalk’s End has “totally broken even” both years, Mills said, with the farmers earning enough to cover all their expenses for the season and having the same amount saved up to cover the next season. These costs don’t include labor — both farmers work other jobs for money. But if all goes as planned, they’ll be able to pay themselves sooner than if they’d started out with a lot of debt.

That isn’t to say that the path they’ve chosen is easy. “The transportation is definitely a logistical work in progress,” Mills said, requiring high levels of organization and efficiency. To organize it all, she said, “I do lists. Lots of lists. I have a map in my head — it’s kind of like a video game. This garden is on the way to this other garden, and I need to get here early to water and then on to another place to prune and then another one to weed. It’s very thrilling.”

Even so, Sidewalk’s End is in the market for a truck. “This fall, we are starting a new garden, which means building a sheet mulch, which means a lot of manure,” Mills said. “I don’t know how I would do that without a truck unless we were able to generate all our own compost — which we don’t have room for yet.”

Mills and Arnold are not giving up on their bikes, though. Mills plans to attend a bike building workshop this year so she can craft a bamboo cargo bike better suited to carrying loads of tools and compost.

They’ve learned a lot in two years and plan to ease their logistics by making their operations even more local. Mills hopes that extra outreach efforts will enable them to consolidate their plots to a more neighborhood scale, closer to their home. Their operations are very much a work in progress. “There are other farmers that have done the bike farming more efficiently than we do,” Mills said, “and I’m really curious about how they do that.”

Mills and Arnold are among those working out an alternative agricultural model, one that relies on backyards instead of mega-corporations. The strength of this big vision, though, is in its small scale and slow growth. “We can’t try and act like we’re a big farm, ’cause we aren’t,” Mills said. “We move slowly and can only carry so many things and can’t buy and build a lot of infrastructure.

“In a good way, it keeps us humble.”

Photo: mad drivers

You know, the ones who are giving us all a bad name, the ones who think we’re above the law, who regularly pass through stop signs without stopping — even without slowing down very much. I even ran a red light or two in my younger, brasher days.

Well, scofflaw that I am, I do get yelled at plenty. Drivers hate me! And they have every right to — after all, as they are careful to roll down their windows and snarl or shout, with some degree of profanity — I am *not on the sidewalk.*

Yep, that’s right. It’s not running stop signs that gets me yelled at. I raise public ire — at least once a week, even in bike-friendly Portland — only when I do something that’s totally, mundanely legal. I’ll explain.

My egregious behavior at intersections, despite its openness, regularity, and the potential expense of racking up $242 tickets, is largely ignored by fellow road users, including the ones with flashing lights on their cars. Until a recent mini-media-flurry surrounding running red lights, the issue hadn’t come up in the local media in over a year. I was beginning to think I was off the hook for good.

But since it’s back, How do I get away with this unruly behavior? Because, let’s face, it, it’s unremarkable. I ride my bike in the same way that I drive a car, and that most people drive, ride, or walk: predictably, considerately, and holding safety as a higher priority than the law.

More specifically, I take Gandhi’s exhortation to “be the change you want to see” to heart and behave as though the Idaho stop law, that paragon of reasonability that allows people on bicycles to treat stop signs as though they were yield signs, already existed in Oregon. I prefer to focus on the action rather than the inaction, the positive rather than the negative, so I simply call it “yielding.”

Here is what intelligent yielding means: At any given intersection, regardless of signage, I slow down and look around. If there is someone waiting to cross the street on foot, or if another bicycle or a car has the right of way, I come to a complete stop with my foot on the ground. If none of these things is happening, I go on ahead. This video describes it well.

Rolling through stop signs is something each of you dear readers does every day, whether you drive, bike, walk, or jog. Pay attention tonight when you’re out and about — you’ll notice that you don’t stop completely and count to three before proceeding, like you were taught in driver’s ed.

But your yielding behavior works. Yes, there are people out there — in cars or on bikes — who yield badly or not at all. And there are streets where yielding conventions are broken. (Many busy arterials, for instance, fail to provide cues for people in cars to yield to people walking or biking, leading to situations like the one in which a Georgia woman was blamed when a driver struck and killed her 4-year-old son while they were trying to walk across a dangerous street.) But by and large, we manage to navigate intersections peacefully, even though we often don’t come to a complete stop.

So when do I get yelled at, if not for stop sign violations? Another part of riding predictably and safely means “taking the lane” — riding right down the middle whenever possible, and merging right to let faster traffic pass whenever that is safe and necessary. But that’s when I get yelled at and swerved around. That is when I get lectured while stopped at a stoplight about “all you” cyclists or sworn at and told to get on the sidewalk.

It’s understandable — these drivers have learned to expect cyclists to ride unsafely, hugging the line of parked cars, in danger of being “doored” whenever not swerving unpredictably to the right at intersections. Or they expect us to be on the sidewalk — the least safe place you can possibly ride a bike, and in many places illegal.

That’s right — despite my crimes (well, technically they’re misdemeanors), I only seem to cause a PR problem for cycling when I am behaving with perfect, obnoxious compliance with both the letter and the spirit of the law.

Yet there’s a persistent meme out there, spread by bike advocates and bike haters alike, that we two-wheeled travelers need to earn our right to the road by absolute adherence to stop sign laws. This is smoke and mirrors. What we really need are streets that bring out the best in us — streets that are slow and safe enough that we can intelligently negotiate our interactions in traffic with each other.

We’re not only capable of yielding to each other in a polite, safe, and orderly way that happens to be illegal, we already do it every day.

Photo: Madame de Pe

This is typical of Meghan, a proud non-driver whose job as a social worker requires her to look presentable every day. So her appearance didn’t really register until she revealed she’d just spent the night in a damp park downtown with the Occupy Portland protesters. “I came straight here,” she said matter-of-factly.

What really made my jaw drop, though, was realizing after we’d parted ways that she didn’t even have a raincoat with her.

A few days later, I demanded that she tell me her secrets. She obliged. Here are Meghan’s expert kung fu wardrobe tips for those of you who want to stay fashionable — or at least workplace-presentable — while riding in the rain.

First and foremost, Meghan says, “suck it up and get some fenders.” She’s right. Far worse than any downpour is the rain and road muck that your tires heave up onto your legs, face, and back as you ride — not to mention into the face of anyone unlucky enough to find themselves riding behind you.

Planning your wardrobe is just as important. Judicious investments are key. Wearing technical rain gear can mean getting just as damp from sweat as you would from a light rain, but it can save you from getting drenched in a downpour. Here are Meghan’s suggestions as you find that wardrobe balance:

• Wear black. Or brown. Or dark colors and patterns. Black bottoms don’t show rain and mud and a black top doesn’t show sweat when you get overheated wearing a rain jacket.
• Wear wool if you can. I love my wool tights. They’re not cheap, but you can get them in the off-season on sale, and they’re totally worth it. Guys, go for wool pants. They’re sexier than khakis anyway. Seriously.
• Don’t ever wear cotton in the rain. You’ll regret it for hours. (The stuff takes forever to dry!) Even synthetics are better than cotton if you can’t or don’t wear wool.
• If it’s truly pouring, I accept that I’m going to get wet and go bare legged. I wear shoes that dry quickly (like Crocs or Melissa brand shoes). I dry off MUCH quicker than everyone else! (If you decide to fight it, try some rainboots. I like the Tretorn ones because they’re lined, but you can get any ol’ boots and put some sealant on them and they’ll do the job.)
• A tight cap under your helmet will sop up rain and keep water from trickling through your hair and down your face.
• Invest in a good-lookin’ raincoat! Like the kind you’d wear to walk down the street. You don’t have to look like you’re mountaineering every day.

Once you’ve got the wardrobe, you need to maintain it. “When you get home at night, it’s totally worth hanging your stuff so that it dries properly,” Meghan says, and adds this gem for the olfactorily challenged: “If you’ve worn something for three months and you don’t think it stinks, you’re wrong. Wash it.”

A little TLC for your bike will also help keep you looking good. Nothing will keep your hands clean if you have to deal with a mid-commute chain malfunction. (Nothing, that is, but a pair of rubber gloves tucked away with your bike tools.) But you can prevent such mishaps by storing your bike inside and wiping and re-greasing your chain after riding in the rain.

I think Meghan was as surprised as I was by how much she knows about the subject. Years of experience will do that for you.

And that’s my biggest tip to would-be year-round bike commuters — whether you’re an office worker who has to show up for work looking pressed and starched or a student whose most urgent need is to keep a bag full of library books dry, your best bet for figuring out bicycling quandaries is to look around at what other people are doing. And then ask them about it.

I’ll leave you with this last bit of wisdom from Meghan: She says she always has bus fare with her, just in case it’s that kind of day and she doesn’t feel like swimming home.

For some, it’s hard to go with the flow and cycle during the cycle.Photo: OMARPHOTOWORLD

But every month I get blindsided by the reminder that there is one issue that really is ours and ours alone.

Menstruation, while it’s something most women deal with for many years of their life, is hardly a singular, universal experience, though.

Many of the women I spoke with for this piece bike right through their periods with no problems. They were surprised that I was even asking. I was surprised that they were surprised. Clearly this is a topic we don’t talk about enough. When I pitched the story to Grist’s managing editor, Ted Alvarez, he loved the idea. “We like to publish edgy stories,” he said.

“I don’t think it’s that edgy to talk about having your period,” I responded. It’s an issue, after all, that half of us can relate to directly and the other half can only gain a better understanding of humanity by hearing about. But he has a point: For some reason it’s taboo to discuss menstruation in public.

So in the interest of getting the conversation started, I will tell you that for the past 21 years of my life, everything has slowed down to a crawl for two days a month. Heavy flow, exhaustion, hideous cramps, sore muscles, and a brain-sucking sense of doom mean that getting on a bike, much less off the couch, can be a real struggle. This is often when I do my best thinking and writing, but going anywhere is a pure drag.

Apparently I should listen to these signals, says Dr. Andrea Seiffertt, a health practitioner in Santa Barbara, Calif., who combines Western and Ayurvedic medicine:

Your cycle is when your body is purifying and “re-booting,” so taking it easy is the most important thing … While light exercise and movement makes things flow better and definitely helps with muscle cramping and aches, pushing against or ignoring your body’s messages to rest isn’t healthy. If possible I’d suggest public transport or carpool on those days, or if you work from home like I do, permission to chill more than a normal day.

While I heard from women who have similar experiences to mine, many other women I spoke with said that they have more energy than usual during the heaviest days of their periods and actively seek longer rides as a way to manage the discomfort of cramps and bloating.

“Definitely listen to your own body,” responds Seiffertt.

Some issues are more universally frustrating. “I have a white saddle,” says my friend Maria Schur, who works at a local bike shop and races bikes in her free time. “Sometimes it gets red.” 

Schur is admirably unflappable, but for those of us who do most of our riding in street clothes rather than easily-changed Lycra, a lack of functional menstrual products can be a messy problem. Pads bunch and chafe — and reusable ones are worse than thin disposables. Tampons, for those unfazed by getting intimate with nasty toxins, can leak — and oh, that uncomfortable string.

Writer and bicycling mom Marion Rice voiced this frustration in an article a few years ago, and dozens of responses rolled in giving accolades to silicon cups for use by the menstruating pedalers of the world. The two widely available brands are the Diva Cup and the Keeper. Word to the wise: Several women said the bottom tabs of these cups can chafe unless they are cut short.

For every woman whose period poses a transportation problem — or at least a wake-up call — there seem to be several for whom it is just one more minor logistical detail when getting ready to ride out into the world.

One thing that is clear, though — we don’t talk about this stuff enough. And when we do, we all seem to learn something.

For Gristy reviews of sustainable options, check out this two-part series that you and your little friend will love:

• Pad your pad knowledge
• A review of a few organic cotton tampons, reusable menstrual cups, and sea sponges

Photo: Montague

It turns out that bicycles can take down bigger threats than a shadowy figure in a dark alley. “We perform well against the tanks,” explained one Swiss soldier, vexed at the imminent dismantling of his bicycle-mounted military unit.

But let me back up. Back in the 1880s, when two wheeled steeds with pneumatic tires were state-of-the-art technology, the military saw their usefulness in traveling quickly and silently over rugged terrain. Over the years, armies worldwide, from Allied to Axis, adopted such innovations as folding bicycles that could be conveniently strapped to your back or delivered via parachute behind enemy lines. Bicycles eventually replaced horses, even as they were in turn superseded by their motorized counterparts.

Italian bicycle troops during World War I.

Switzerland’s bicycle regiment lasted the longest. Begun in 1891, it was dismantled only a decade ago. This Bicycling Magazine video from the 1980s shows the Swiss troops in action. One soldier describes them as excellent for defending a small country — they’re cheaper than heavier vehicles and can move undetected at relatively high speeds: “At night, you can’t hear them.”

Bicycles were particularly effective because Switzerland is mountainous and forested — a singletrack riders’ paradise, but perhaps not as copacetic for maneuvering a tank or helicopter. And as any mountain bike enthusiast can imagine, the Swiss bicycle brigade seems to have been particularly good for morale.

The Swiss Army, though, hasn’t seen combat since World War II. Its sole purpose is militia-style defense of the country’s borders. It was in response to the 2001 news that the Swiss bicycle brigade would be abolished (it was finally phased out in 2003), that the soldier complained: “It is stupid. Over short distances we are very fast, much faster than the motorized units. We can be very discreet, we are well armed and we perform well against the tanks.”

Rumor has it, though, that the Dutch — already world-famous for their embrace of the bicycle for all conceivable transportation purposes — may be bringing bikes back into official military use. A photo in this slideshow (brace yourself for the soundtrack) shows Dutch troops in Uruzgan province in Afghanistan who have traded their armored vehicles for bicycles in some patrols more in the spirit of community policing than combat — in order to “make better contact with the population.” Dutch deployment in that country ended in late 2010 and with it, presumably, once again the modern military use of bicycles.

As bicycles become more mainstream in U.S. cities, it stands to reason that members of the military are embracing them in their personal lives. Its obvious benefits in cost, health, and flexibility may see bike transportation trickling back up into official operations.

The bicycle, though it’s increasingly branded with progressive politics, is after all only a machine, and its possibilities are starting to be seen all over again. New technologies, from carbon fiber to belt drives to electric assists, may be the pneumatic tires of their day, and — it’s only for us civilians to guess — may already be catching on as a new way to conduct ground warfare.