Rains but pours

And yet another opportunity to examine my boundaries – someone I know, one of the first people I met here in fact, has just gone through a long and painful breakup, and has been away for several months working, and is now back in town for a few weeks and wants to camp out in our back field for "one or two weeks." There are a number of reasons why I don't want this person staying here, but really all I want to record here is that it took me several days to return his call, because I was so nervous about telling him how I felt. Finally today I realized that the very fact I was feeling that nervous was proof that I was doing the right thing by saying "no." So I called and told him, and it was actually fine.

I also realized that the primary reason I was feeling so anxious about talking to him was not because I necessarily thought he would argue with me and insist on staying even though I don't want him to, but more because refusing "shelter" (the word he used in his voicemail) to someone who thinks of me as a friend clashes with my view of myself as a generous, compassionate friend. Which in turn forced me to acknowledge to myself that I don't really think of this person as a close friend, and in fact many of his actions over the years have made me want to avoid getting any closer.

That kind of thing isn't pleasant for me to admit. If I'm really a good person, shouldn't I like everyone the same? And shouldn't I be willing to help everyone I can, whether I really like them a lot, or not?

Hogwash, of course. But these are the channels my mind finds its way back to when it's under stress. And receiving messages day after day and feeling too guilty and conflicted to return them has been very stressful!

Several other cool things happened this weekend. It rained again and everything is still very lush and green – beautiful. Yesterday we drove a couple of hours north to look at a vintage handbuilt mountain bike Mr. A found on Craig's List or somewhere. He knows quite a lot about these things and thought it sounded like a pretty rare find, and as it turns out it was built by somebody who later became famous for his handbuilt frames, though of course I have no idea what his name is.

Last night I made a lot of progress on my current freelance project, which is turning out kind of better than I had been picturing it. I've worked most of the last two weekends on it and I'm happy. There are still a couple of technical things to figure out but so far no major glitches.

And today we went to a mall down in Marin and I found the pants that are going to be the cornerstone of my spring uniform! Totally unexpected to find them there – I was actually looking for jeans to replace my fat jeans that don't fit anymore – but I happened to notice a sale rack next to the door and there they were, and they are the most perfect fitting pants I've had in many, many years. They're a variation on my habitual green canvas cargo pants, if you must know, but these have a lighter, slightly stretchy fabric and a skinny cut and lots of zippers. Perfect color, perfect fabric, perfect pockets, perfect rise. I would've bought several pairs if they'd had them.

Finally, when we got back to town I dropped off Mr. A at home and went shopping for dinner, and by the time I got home he'd made a new rustic wood top for the new little outdoor breakfast table I picked up at a yard sale a few weeks ago. It came with a round glass top, which is sitting on its side, wrapped in a towel, in the space between the back of the washing machine and the garage wall, for fear I'll manage to crack it in half before it's warm enough outside to eat breakfast on it. Which I plan to do first thing in the morning, if I can drag myself away from the computer long enough to get a little sleep.

Again with the yelling

There are an awful lot of people driving pickup trucks around here who think bicycles are supposed to be ridden only on the sidewalk. A few days ago, in almost the same spot where last week's "incident" took place, a guy in an orange pickup rolled down his window and leaned all the way across his front seat while driving by in order to shout at me, "GET ON THE SIDEWALK!"

As soon as he was clear of me, he steered to the right until he was driving right on top of the white line on the edge of the pavement, and zoomed away glaring at me in his rear view mirror.

Ever since it happened, the image of last week's Mr. Road Rage screaming at me has been burned into my brain. Maybe that's why I was able to stay relatively calm with the orange truck, instead of flooding with adrenaline and having the rest of the day poisoned by leftover anger and anxiety. Inside I felt a little blast of fear, but I let it pass. Outwardly I was able to just keep my lane and ignore the guy, which I think is a much better response than the one I had last week.

About that incident, several people have congratulated me on being "brave" enough to stand up for myself and confront the guy. I have not been feeling that way. Mostly, I've felt two things: 1) retroactive fear, once I realized how stupid it was to put myself in such close proximity to someone who'd just shown himself to be very dangerous, and 2) disappointment that in a moment when I had a chance to practice what I preach, I totally lost sight of my better self and reacted in a way that only amplified the violence and anger.

There's a slogan in the tradition I've been studying, "Be grateful to everyone." It's been on my mind a lot this week as I've been coming down from the adrenaline high and trying to clarify exactly what I would like to do the next time something like that happens. Which of course it will, in one way or another, eventually. Anyone who has any contact with other humans is going to experience conflict, and that guy in a way did me a favor by reminding me that it really doesn't work to stake my entire peace of mind on my ability to never clash with anyone. The result of that strategy is that my "dealing with it" skills have become so weak as to be next to useless when I need them most.

That guy could've flattened me. Whether he's a jerk or a psychopath or just a regular guy having a really bad day doesn't matter – a person driving in that state of mind is just as dangerous as a two-ton wild grizzly bear, and from now on I'm going to treat them the same. I've re-routed my commute to roads where that kind of encounter is less likely, and if it happens anyway, my plan is to get out of the way and off the road immediately, and stay there until it's safe to go on.

I'm choosing to think of this as "self-preservation" rather than "avoidance." Whatever you want to call it, the goal is to stay alive and safe and whole for as long as possible.

Which, if I'm able to achieve it, will mean I'll have future opportunities to practice dealing more constructively with anger – my own and other people's.

Shaking

This morning a giant scary guy in an enormous white truck tried to run me off the road on my bike, not once but twice.

The first time he came within about a foot of my handlebar and I yelled, "HEY!" and kept riding. Traffic was stopped at a light, and I passed him on my way to the front – not saying another word, but taking note of the vehicle and the guy in it.

A few minutes later he swerved toward me again, this time even closer. I saw him pull into the parking lot of the auto parts store, and was angry enough or stupid enough to follow him in. In retrospect, I probably shouldn't have done that. But I wanted to tell him ... I don't know what. I wanted him to know I was NOT intimidated by him, and that it's not OK to drive that way. I also thought I might get his license plate number, just in case.

The second he saw me he started screaming at me. He was just the kind of person you might expect to see in that kind of truck – a huge, burly construction worker type of guy, about 6'3" (taller than Mr. A, anyway, who is 6'2"), with a red face, a shaved head, sunglasses and clenched fat fists, screaming threats, obscenities, insults. The gist of it was that bikes don't belong on the road, that I should be riding on the sidewalk, and that I oughtta be run over.

I started to tell him that actually, it's not legal for bikes to be on the sidewalk, that bikes are required to stay on the road – but he wasn't listening. Then I said, "Think about how much your life is going to suck if you really hurt someone." To which his reply was, "YOUR life is gonna suck WHEN YOU'RE DEAD, you $&#*@$."

Not wanting to hear any more of that kind of talk, I left.

And only realized how upset I really was when I was unable to stop shaking enough to punch the code to get into my building.

After calming down a bit and at the insistence of my coworkers, I went ahead and filed a police report. The first thing they said was that the license plate number doesn't match the vehicle – the plate is registered in town, but it's coded for a passenger sedan, not a commercial grade truck. So it appears he's got more going wrong with him than just a murderous temper.

And even if they can find him, what will they do? Probably nothing. Maybe I shouldn't have called them at all, since I've been riding the same route every day for several years and am not that hard to spot ... if the guy should decide he really does want to run me over someday, instead of just scaring the shit out of me.

Well. I've read many similar stories on bike blogs, and now I've experienced it for myself. This was not just a careless driver in a truck that's way too big for him. It was an angry, hostile asshole who thinks the road is his personal property, who deliberately set out to make sure I know he has no intention of sharing it with anyone on a bike.

I don't know what I would like to see happen from this, except for this guy to be moved by what I had to say, and stop terrorizing people. Like THAT's going to happen.

Part of me would really love to see his truck impounded and his sorry ass forced to ride a bike for awhile. Maybe it would be good for him to slow down a bit, and see how many – most – drivers go out of their way to be safe, polite, and careful on the road.

Part of me would love to see some serious violence done to him, see him hurt and suffering and begging for mercy. Funny how an experience like this brings out my worst impulses, though I would never follow through on them. Makes me wonder what sort of experiences he must have had, to make him into a person who actually acts on his.

Ugh. Must set this aside and get back to my life.