August 2006

Zeigeist Postcard

Two Wheels Good; Four Wheels Bad: A Lawyer Joins the Chain Gang

by Steven Reisler

Clothing defines the lawyer. Suits are mandatory in court. When meeting clients in the office, although the attire can be relaxed, there is still a dress protocol that affirms the formality of the practice: dark colors, clean collars and neat creases, black shoes, and black pens.

These days, however, a large portion of my practice is handled remotely by computer. After the initial meeting, my clients and adverse counsel might retain that mental image of the Pin-Striped Me, but, courtesy of the Internet, I could be dressed in cut-offs and flip-flops while negotiating the deal of the century. And whereas the traditional lawyer's costume requires traditional vehicular transportation to drive to the office, the computer has given us other ways to commute. Some of the time, anyway.

So when the price of gasoline nudged above $2 a gallon, I took my trusty old bicycle down from its rack in the garage. When the price of gas inched above $2.25, I pumped up the tires and lubricated the derailleurs. When the price rose another quarter at the pump, to $2.50 a gallon, I finally bit the bullet: I was going to join the chain gang and try commuting to work by bicycle.

Fortunately, my law offices are only a few level miles from home, more or less. Most of the trip is on the Burke-Gilman Trail. Unfortunately, it had been so long since I had last ridden my bike that I had to buy all the accessories: new helmet, new tires, front and rear lights and batteries, a new saddle, and the de rigueur over-the-shoulder messenger bag big enough to hold a laptop computer, water bottle, cell phone, and 500 pages of courtroom pleadings.

Then there was the question of clothing again. Either I could opt for pedal-fashion-wear, the skin tight polypropylene fabrics that look like you're moving fast even when standing still, or the tutti frutti abstract art of the urban bicycle messenger. When you're more than 30, skin-tight anything can constitute a gross misdemeanor, so I chose the messenger look: low fashion and attention-getting high visibility. I stash a suit, white shirt, dress shoes, and silk tie at the office. I have learned to become a quick-change artist, when necessary.

Week One. The few more-or-less level miles seem a whole lot less level than more level. I am ... really ... really ... out ... of ... condition. But after a few days, the trip got easier. My legs lost that springy feeling after riding. It was warm, sunny weather. I quickly decided to leave out the cell phone from my shoulder bag. Who wants to stay in touch while bicycling anyway? I felt pretty good about myself, almost smug. The commute took only about 10 minutes longer than if I were traveling by car, including stopping at all the traffic lights, and I feel healthier for the effort. I figured that I have saved about 10 dollars in gasoline, almost enough to buy a small cup of coffee. Better still, I do not need to find or pay for parking. The score after the first seven days of the alternative commuting experiment: Two wheels good; four wheels bad.

Week Five. Cars are a cyclist's nemeses. Unlike in European cities where the bike paths are often completely separate lanes adjacent to the streets, in Seattle — more often than not — you have to share the road with automobiles. I quickly decided not to get too philosophical about road-sharing and who has the legal right of way. In a contest between 30 pounds of aluminum versus two tons of steel, the greater weight and mass always win. I decided to yield to every car at every crossing. Around this time, the folks at www.ghostcycle.org started placing their white, mangled bike carcasses around Seattle as memento mori of car-bicycle collisions. I heed the message and take it to heart.

On the whole, Seattle drivers do make special allowances for bicyclers. Some drivers, however, are simply in another planetary system. After a few close calls with drivers who barely stop before making a right on red or who stop at the traffic lights with their hoods intruding halfway into the cross-walks, I learn to exercise extra caution at road-crossings. I thought about flying a bike pennant that advertised "This Bicycle Is Ridden by a Lawyer" — so drivers beware! On reflection, however, I concluded that this was like painting a target on my back. Strike that idea.

Cars turn out not to be the only obstacles on the commute. One morning a tree fell across the Burke-Gilman Trail, its roots rotted out from prolonged dry weather. Fortunately, it didn't fall on me or a runner. Also fortunately, it had fallen after daybreak. For those who bike at night, like I do, a tree lying across the trail can be deadly. This particular dead tree was too heavy to heave out of the path myself, so with the help of a few other passersby, I dragged it out of the way. I later called the City Parks Department and by the evening the fallen tree had been sawed up and taken away. Two wheels OK; four wheels bad.

Week Nine. More hazardous than the occasional fallen tree are other bicyclers and pedestrians. There are the lollygaggers, people who tend to walk three and four and five abreast in the center of the trail, obliviously socializing like they've never seen a bicycle using the trail. There are also the super-distracted cell-phonees, people whose lives are so incredibly busy that they cannot even take a walk without talking to somebody. Equally hazardous are the bikers who pedal and yak on the telephone or cyclers who ride two abreast carrying on a conversation. More hazardous still are the Husky fans during football season who straddle the entire Burke-Gilman pathway in purple gangs of human bowling pins 10 abreast or more. (I know, I know, what all you Wazzu Cougars and Oregon Ducks are cruelly thinking to yourselves, but who wants to spend the money re-truing my wheels after bowling a strike with my bicycle?) And then there are the long-line pet walkers. These are the people who walk their dogs, especially the little, practically invisible ones. They let their animals walk behind them on lengthy, retractable leashes, bounding randomly from north to south and east to west like dogs do. I like dogs, but who wants one wound around my front axle?

Also hazardous are the family bikers: usually the mother duck leading a meandering line of gosling bicyclers, some with training wheels and all wearing bubble-gum colored over-sized helmets, wobbling and weaving all over the path. Sure, they are entitled to use the trail, and I encourage more to do so. But you learn to just slow down until you have the chance to pass the kiddie convoy. It may slow down the commute a little, but so what. Commuting by bicycle is not just about getting somewhere. It is also about how you get there and how you feel about yourself when you arrive. Four wheels OK; two wheels better.

Week 14. I witness my first bike accident. A head-down rider who must have imagined himself riding at the Tour de France pedaled right through a stop sign into the side of a Mercedes. Miraculously, the bicycle and cyclist were not badly damaged — only a slightly bent front wheel and very bent pride. However, this proved that one of the biggest hazards on the Burke-Gilman Trail is the small handful of bikers who try to pedal faster than the speed of light. Usually dressed in Mardi Gras-colored composite plastic and Teflon tights with bug-eyed sunglasses, these two-wheeled Hell-on-Wheels barrel past slower bikers like BMW drivers passing Volkswagen Beetles on the autobahn. Sometimes, these folks agglomerate into a peloton, blindly drafting one behind the other seeking a slower man, woman, or squirrel to run over.

On the other hand, there are knuckleheads who drive cars the same way, so there really is no greater danger riding the trail than driving the freeway. Comparing speeds and masses of potential impact, I think I am relatively safer biking than driving. Two wheels OK; four wheels OK.

Week 18. The days have gotten shorter, the weather colder. I have added several additional layers of clothing, a hat under my helmet, and gloves. It still feels cold until I have pedaled the first mile. My lights are adequate for night riding, but late at night I can barely see 10 feet in front of me. I purchase a more powerful halogen headlight and, to boot, an array of side and rear-facing red lights that flash like strobes. I probably look like a Christmas tree rolling down the road. Better that than the folks who persist in riding at night without any lights at all: you hear them before you see them, but sometimes an impact is only barely avoidable.

Now it is not only colder, but wetter. I buy the latest high-tech rain gear. I still get soaked.

I also learn that, even with pannier and shoulder bags, there is a limit to how much stuff you can carry on a bicycle. As the weather turns nasty and I start carrying more gear, the saddle bags grow fatter and heavier. I have added a massive bicycle chain to my baggage to prevent horse theft. I cram it onto the panniers along with extra clothes, bike batteries, two F.2ds, three reply briefs, an AmJur and a set of interrogatories. On occasion, I can concede the utility of driving a car. Four wheels OK; two wheels better.

Week 22. Cold. Rain. Wet. Wind. My first inner tube blow out. Of course, my car's tires could blow out, too. Still, the automobile looks like an occasional winner. Four wheels good; two wheels so-so.

Week 26. January 2006. Rain. More rain. Still more rain. The diehards are still biking on the trail, especially the recumbent riders wrapped in their bubble windshields and sealed plastic shells. I am no diehard, however. The bike stays in the garage as does my wetsuit, snorkel, and flippers. Water is, in fact, intruding into the garage. The roads are flooding. The traffic lights have gone out. No way that I am going to even drive a car through this stuff. Traffic is horrendous. The surface roads, the bridges, and the freeway are all barely moving. Everyone has the flu. Rain falls in buckets. I think I'll stay home for a while. Two wheels bad; four wheels bad; Metro bus better.

Week 30. Spring beckons. That strange yellow orb is back in the sky. There are new sights to be appreciated: flowering plants, svelte young bikers, roller-bladers, and barely clad runners. Ahh, youth and athleticism, whichever sex orients you. The commute to work has become something to look forward to, rather than an unavoidable hassle.

I have evolved into a two-wheeled pedal-powered commuter. I am part of the chain gang. I will still occasionally drive to work, but it now seems like a hassle. I recognize other bicycling commuters, and they recognize me. Unlike car drivers who try to avoid eye contact for fear of provoking road rage, everyone you pass on the trail, whether a runner, walker, skater, or biker, looks at you and acknowledges you. There is a camaraderie in bicycle commuting. It's like the camaraderie at the bar.

The price of fuel at my local gas station has started to rise again. It's well past three dollars a gallon. I bike on by.

Two wheels good; four wheels bad.

Steven Reisler practices civil and commercial law at his micro mini-boutique in Northeast Seattle near Children's Hospital just off the Burke-Gilman Trail. Reisler is a past member of the WSBA Board of Governors and edited Bar News from 1980 to 1985. He commutes by bicycle.