SeeTimBlog Explainer: Why People Hate Bikers in NYC [UPDATED]

Everyone hates everyone in New York at one time or another, often for good reason. Because in this sea of selfish humanity, let’s face it, there’s plenty to hate: hipsters with their idiotic carnie wardrobes and artisanal organic eyeglass frames; tourists with their snail’s pace and their girth; jerkwads who insist on pushing onto a subway train as soon as the doors open without first letting folks off; cabbies who don't want to go to Brooklyn; hosts/hostesses at nice restaurants who treat you like the trash you are; hot, well-dressed dynamos with their great clothes, luscious hair, chiseled features, smoldering sex appeal, fat wallets, and shiny shoes; rats; hipster rats with their fedoras and Animal Collective T-shirts. They are all the worst. But do you know who’s even worse than the worst? Bikers.

By day I'm an undercover photographer

Everyone hates bikers. HATES them. I know because I am one. I bike every day from Greenpoint, Brooklyn to my office a few blocks north of the Empire State Building. As a biker, you can feel the seething, sizzling hatred coming at you from all sides—from pedestrians, minivan drivers, school children, nannies, French bulldogs, pigeons, hipster pigeons, and, especially, cabbies. More than once I’ve seen a taxi intentionally swerve to scare a cyclist. Once I was honked at and loudly scolded by an old bat in an Escalade for not staying in the bike lane on Avenue A—even though the bike lane was currently blocked due to construction, so I had no choice in the matter. Another time I barely missed getting doored by a guy in a parked car—and I know he saw me because I made eye contact with him in his sideview mirror before he opened his door (and saw him laughing when I pulled off to the side and turned around). It’s not totally rational, this hatred of bikers. But it’s there and it’s kind of breathtaking.

But here’s the thing: this hatred of bikers isn't totally irrational, either. A lot of the time, I hate bicyclists, too. They are constantly and brazenly doing idiotic, life-threatening, and completely unnecessary things—like, say, going the wrong way when getting off the Manhattan side of the Williamsburg Bridge instead of just being reasonable and waiting for the light (see the photos). See, that part of the bridge was redesigned about a year ago to encourage bikes to slow down and wait for the signal before entering traffic or crossing over to the north side of Delancey Street—too many of us, including myself, were deciding they couldn’t wait and that they were just going to elegantly slip into traffic so they wouldn’t have to stop. Most of the time this was fine—you could judge that a gap between cars was emerging and go for it. But I’m sure sometimes it was gnarly, and people got hurt. Hence the redesign, with a much narrower point of entry onto the street and a steep decline to encourage slower speeds. The city also put up not just one but two “WRONG WAY” signs so that folks would know that, though there was another narrow passageway one could take to avoid having to wait for the light, one should not take that path because it is reserved for folks coming from the other direction and that if one did do that, one was being kind of an asshole. 

Yet bikers continually just ignore the signs and do whatever the fuck they want because fuck it. (Should the city have put up a third sign? One saying "STOP being an asshole"?) Now, I’m not typically a scold, and some rules for bikers are dumb—I don’t tend to come to a full stop at every stoplight on any old one-way street, for example. But some rules aren’t. And while, sure, we can all be dumb assholes at times--like when we get pissed on the bridge when we are overtaken on the uphill climb by an elementary schooler so we make it our one goal in life to overtake that little f*cker if it kills us--eat my dust, pipsqueak! Who among us hasn't done that? But still, on balance, one's behavior on a city bicycle must reflect one's sanity and good judgment if one is not to be wished dead by one's fellow cityzens.

Another dipshit who can't read

And it’s not just the constant breaking of clearly expressed—and, again, reasonable—rules that makes bikers so loathsome to their fellow New Yorkers. It’s also the plain-Jane, workaday reckless douchiness of the way folks ride. I take First Avenue up to Twenty-Ninth Street, and, sadly, the bike lane is on the left—this is the east side, which means that the vast majority of folks are turning left, making for a constant clusterfuck at every intersection. Yet so many of my fellow cyclists bike as if they’re in a race to the damn Apple Store. It’s not a fucking race, nerds. Bikers must constantly slow down, swerve out of the way to avoid parked cars in the bike lane or left-turners crowding it, and, yes, sometimes stop at lights so that they don’t go splat. You are not on the West Side bike path and you are not going to win a prize if you get to work five minutes earlier, probably. You are in freaking New York traffic. I’m all for going a decent speed, and there are definitely slowpokes who need to get the lead out sometimes (though I cut them some slack because sometimes they’re old and sometimes they’re probably just newbies at city bike commuting), but there’s absolutely no need for the kinds of speeds I see bikers going on this street every day—especially since I often end up reuniting with folks who whipped past me ten blocks ago at the light at Fourteenth or Twenty-Third, because that’s just how it goes. The hare and the tortoise, together again! (The hare and the tortoise will probably get to their jobs within minutes of each other.)

In conclusion, I’ll just say that one morning a few years ago I was stopping at a light that had just turned red at Houston Street and Avenue A, and a cyclist whipped past me on the right to speed across the (massive) intersection. He managed to clear it without dying and then, on the opposite side of the street, ran smack into the back of a delivery truck like a cartoon character. He fell off his bike and got the stink eye from the delivery guy as he was getting out of the vehicle. Once the biker got up and I saw that he was okay, I was able to admit to myself that that was the most satisfying thing I’d seen since Akasha got eliminated in the first season of RuPaul’s Drag Race. 

I’m not proud to say that. But it’s true.

Be nice out there. Practice your "not being an asshole" skills. And as RuPaul herself says, don't f*ck it up. Because guess what: bikeshare stations are imminent, so the number of idiots on bikes is only going to increase...

UPDATE
This little blog essay was apropos! Looks like the city is moving to crack down on bikers being assholes by stationing guards on high-traffic bridges and bike paths with signs saying "Just F**king Stop and Wait a Second, Would You?". Look here and here.

Poignant Short Films: "Doored"

I've been commuting by velocipede in NYC for about four years now had surprisingly few injuries! I've (knock wood) never been brained by an out-of-control cab, I've (knock wood) never been decapitated by a random piece of renegade construction equipment, and I've (knock wood) never been successfully chased down and feasted upon by gangs of bloodthirsty teenage werewolves who live under the Williamsburg Bridge.

But one injury I've always known I was bound to sustain at one point or another, dear readers, is the one that results from being "doored." To be "doored" is to have a car door open right in your path, sending you scrambling to swerve out of the way or, alternatively, bounding into the gaping maw of an Escalade (or whatever). I've had a few close calls but have always managed to avoid the terrible doors constantly trying to eat me as I ride through the city. My luck ended last night.

I was riding on Houston Street, which no human should do. Houston Street is a series of hellmouths and gnarled protuberances whose only purpose is to make you die. I should have known better. But I needed to get to Ludlow and I was only going to have to be on Houston for a minute, so even though I knew better, I took the plunge.

It was regrettable.

I was trying to reach Ludlow and approaching the corner where stupid Katz Deli sits all smugly. I stupidly decided to ride on the right-hand side of a cab that was idling rather than go around it to the left and be devoured by an oncoming vehicle. As I thought ahead to where I should park my bike, the right-hand-side passenger door of the cab opens right in front of me. This door could not have been opened at a more perfect/tragic moment. I had nowhere to go; no choice but to scream "Whoa!" as I smashed left-arm first into the cab's jaws.

It hurt.

The girl getting out of the cab looked horrified and apologized and I quickly just tried to get out of the road and onto the sidewalk, where I could weep without getting hit again. I walked my bike up the sidewalk and turned down the kickstand so I could fix the brake lever that had been smashed. As I messed with the lever, a young black man walking with his friends passed me and, with a look of concern on his face, said, "Boy, you got slammed."

It was my destiny.

Looking down at my arm now I see there's a good-looking bruise coming in that is sure to be pretty sexy by tomorrow. Hot pics forthcoming once it turns the right shade of blue...

The point is, watch the above movie because it tells an important story.

Editorial: All Bicyclists Are Not Crusty

Hoo, boy, this Williamsburg Hasidic Jew-Hipster Cyclist turf war is the culture clash of our time, and it has something for everyone (or at least two types of people). Do you hate hipsters who ride bikes? Also, do you kinda hate Hasidic Jews? Congratulations! You now have more reasons to do so.

Further, do you really hate hipsters who ride bikes? Do you like to conjure false and hackneyed equivalencies between the two "religions" represented by this epic struggle? And is your name Tunku Varadarajan? Well, then, you should certainly type up a column and upload it to Tina Brown's online kitchen-sink clearinghouse of cloying claptrap The Daily Beast, because you are obviously a deeply thinking human.

Here's a condensed version of the hot war currently being waged: Williamsburg Hasids recently prevailed on the city of New York to remove the bike lane on Bedford Avenue for safety and religious reasons: not only did the lanes make a narrow street even narrower for cars, but the presence of young ladies on bicycles in various states of undress was rendering some Hasids unable to read their holy book while also driving a minivan because of boobs and such. Then a few Williamsburg bike riders cheekily repainted the lane one night and then got arrested.

Here's how Master Sensei Tunku lays out the case against bikers:

Cyclists . . . pursue a form of zealotry of their own. They have quasi-religious garments (Day-Glo jackets), they follow austere codes of discipline (exercise and low fat), they think they know the one and true way (cycling), and they demand special treatment for the Church of Lycra (bike lanes). Also, they trail a frightful whiff of sweat in their wake. (But the same can be observed, sometimes, on a sweltering summer’s day, of those who dress as if for a winter in Vilna.) More broadly, is it entirely surprising that respect for a religious community is often a challenge to hipsters who have been raised outside any religious tradition?

Ugh, has there ever been a more tortured effort at equating two sides in a debate? Yeah, and he also says that many cyclists "are eco-bombastic crusaders with an ungovernable contempt for non-cycling scum." (Mr. Varadarajan, I do indeed have contempt for you, but not because you don't ride a bicycle.)

As airtight as Tunku's logic is, I must point out the tiniest of gaping holes in it: some people who ride bikes actually aren't hipsters—even in crusty, crunchy, skinny-jeaned Williamsburg and its best gay friend Greenpoint (where I live)! I know this goes against Tunku's science, but it's true. And many people ride bikes simply because they prefer to commute that way, not because they are smug, dirty hippies who calculate their carbon footprint every evening before alphabetizing their Kashi cereal boxes.

Let's get something straight: bicyclists are often assholes. I say this as a bicyclist. At least once a day I see a fellow cyclist do something really irritating and dangerous. I myself have no doubt done things that are irritating and dangerous. One reason bicyclists are assholes is because people are constantly trying to kill them, even when they aren't doing things that are irritating and dangerous. If you've ever biked in this city you are familiar with the intense and naked hatred many drivers around you feel toward you. But whatever, I'm perfectly fine being called an asshole. But don't you dare call me a hippy.

I don't bike to save the Earth. I don't bike to feel superior to others. I sure as hell don't bike to show off my body's way with lycra or day-glo jackets, neither of which I've ever worn.

Here's why I bike: so I don't have to pay for a monthly MTA card, so I don't have to ride the terrible L train, and so I can start my day by having a good 45-minute workout before sitting down at a computer for 8-9 goddamn hours.

I don't give a crap if you drive a Prius, a BMW, or a freaking Hummer. As long as you don't hit me with it.