The People You Meet at a Traffic Light

Life in the Bike Lane

Tom Frady

Cyclists spend a lot of time waiting at traffic lights. We don't like to admit it because we're always talking about freedom, open roads and headwinds. But the truth is much of today’s cycling consists of staring at a red light while balancing awkwardly on one foot.

There’s plenty of rural riding around here, but most of us live in a town and need to get out, which means traffic lights.

The good news is that red lights might introduce us to people we'd never otherwise meet.

There's the Serious Commuter. He's wearing enough reflective gear to be seen from space. He's studying the traffic signal like he's preparing for a graduate exam. The instant the light turns green, he's gone—accelerating so quickly you'd swear someone had secretly attached a rocket.

Then there's the Casual Cruiser. He's wearing cargo shorts, flip-flops, and a faded Hawaiian shirt. His bike has a basket carrying groceries, a fishing pole, or perhaps a Heinz 57 mutt wearing goggles. He's in no hurry whatsoever. In fact, I'm never entirely convinced he knows where he's going.

Occasionally, you'll meet the Fitness Fanatic. While the rest of us are grateful for a brief chance to rest our legs, this rider spends the entire red light doing a track stand, balancing motionless without unclipping. I admire the skill, but after watching someone wobble for 90 consecutive seconds, I'm tempted to hand them a kickstand.

Traffic lights also become temporary support groups.

"How far are you riding today?"

"About forty."

"Nice."

"Watch out for the road construction on McCourtney."

"Thanks."

That's the entire conversation. Two complete strangers exchange exactly eighteen words and part as old friends who will never see each other again.

Sometimes motorists join the conversation.

Years ago, most comments shouted from car windows weren't exactly Hallmark material. (I’m referencing you:  young males in white pickups). Fortunately, times have changed. These days I often hear, "Nice jersey.!" or "Love your bike!"

“I could see your tail lights a mile back.” was a welcome remark.

One gentleman rolled down his window simply to ask where the nearest coffee shop was because he figured cyclists always know where the good coffee is. Oh, we KNOW coffee shops

It can take years off your life when a dog barks in your ear from the back seat of Hyundai Sonata.

Then there’s the elderly gentleman (I’m a “senior”, not “elderly”) who gives a knowing nod because he remembers when he rode.  One fellow commented, “Good for you.  On a regular bike.”

Kids are my favorites.

They wave enthusiastically as though you've just completed the Tour de France instead of pedaling to the grocery store. Every bicycle, no matter how ordinary, becomes the coolest vehicle they've ever seen. If adults greeted one another with half the enthusiasm of six-year-olds at stoplights, the evening news would be much shorter.

A traffic light is one of the few places where everyone is temporarily equal. Doesn't matter whether you arrived in a pickup truck, on a carbon-fiber racing bike, or pushing a stroller. The red light doesn't care. For a brief moment, we're all simply waiting our turn.

It's funny how often we're in a hurry to get somewhere, yet life keeps handing us these little pauses.

Most of us see a red light as an inconvenience. Maybe it's actually an invitation—to look around, exchange a smile, admire someone else's bike, compliment a child's helmet decorated with a shark fin, or simply remember that we're all traveling the same roads together.

Green lights get us where we're going.

Red lights remind us who we're going there with.

And that's not a bad way to spend a few seconds.