When one of my house mates asked if I drink cola, I said no. When he asked if someone in my office drinks cola, I said no, mostly coffee plus one die-hard Diet Dr. Pepper loyalist. "Oh, you hippies", was the response.
As a designated hippie I thought it's time to get myself a bike to spite the car-loving non-hippie rest. I had a bike before in cozy Athens, Ohio but apparently it's a different story around here.
First, the bike in the shop came naked. A frame -- check; two wheels -- check; a chain with gears -- check; a handlebar with brakes -- check.
No kickstand.
No fenders.
No rack.
No lights.
What happened to functioning normal bikes that stand on their own, won't produce a mud straight and offer space to transport organic produce from the farmer's market as a proper hippies needs to do? Okay, they threw a few reflectors on the bike. But that still doesn't prevent mud and carries kohlrabi and apples.
I don't know the current German bike market very well. In Leipzig I rode my brother's teenage bike, convenient for my size, until it fell apart. Not knowing what proper brakes felt like any more the one-time ride on a friend's bike threw me over the handlebars. No permanent damage though.
Fenders, I hear, are rare now and supposedly a special item in the U.S. But talking to a more experienced and older biker, turns out there used to be proper bikes in this country, too. Now they have turned into sleek racing machines.
Second, people fear for your safety. Not having a lock, yet, I brought my bike baby into the office to safe it from notorious bike stealing in the region. Several students and one professor insisted on me getting a helmet. Something I've never worn before. Nor did my friends in bike-city Leipzig. Indeed, I observed many bike riders with helmets now that I paid attention.
It has nothing to do with the law but apparently cars are careless. Not far-fetched. On campus, a sacred zone for innocent, absent-mindedly meandering students, cars regularly ignore me on the Zebrastreifen, the crossing designed for people. They swoosh by without a blink when you are already on the street. Usually I throw a German curse in their direction. If I get them to stop last second I walk by very close to their car so they know what it means to hit a pedestrian or get their precious piece damaged.
Outside campus, it's worse. You're fair game. I was bicycling home from the supermarket last week with some heavy groceries on the back. There is just one light for pedestrians across a six lane road. Luckily, the button for crossing worked. Not always the case either. On two separate occasions, I had to stop in the middle of the crossing: while the countdown was ticking away nervously in its orange flashing fashion I had to motion and yell at drivers to move their four wheels back so that I could cross. They thought I was crazy. But they blocked a gap in a cement barrier that divides opposite lanes. They spread their vehicle across three thick white lines -- none of which they should have crossed during a stop signal in the first place. Still, they ignored me. I stayed. Let the seconds tick away. Finally, after a few seconds, discerningly irritated and with a lack of understanding, they both shoved their metal boxes back.
I am running out of German curses.
Maybe I am just living in the wrong city. Portlandia might have the solution (given that I don't wear earrings regularly.
It has nothing to do with the law but apparently cars are careless. Not far-fetched. On campus, a sacred zone for innocent, absent-mindedly meandering students, cars regularly ignore me on the Zebrastreifen, the crossing designed for people. They swoosh by without a blink when you are already on the street. Usually I throw a German curse in their direction. If I get them to stop last second I walk by very close to their car so they know what it means to hit a pedestrian or get their precious piece damaged.
Outside campus, it's worse. You're fair game. I was bicycling home from the supermarket last week with some heavy groceries on the back. There is just one light for pedestrians across a six lane road. Luckily, the button for crossing worked. Not always the case either. On two separate occasions, I had to stop in the middle of the crossing: while the countdown was ticking away nervously in its orange flashing fashion I had to motion and yell at drivers to move their four wheels back so that I could cross. They thought I was crazy. But they blocked a gap in a cement barrier that divides opposite lanes. They spread their vehicle across three thick white lines -- none of which they should have crossed during a stop signal in the first place. Still, they ignored me. I stayed. Let the seconds tick away. Finally, after a few seconds, discerningly irritated and with a lack of understanding, they both shoved their metal boxes back.
I am running out of German curses.
Maybe I am just living in the wrong city. Portlandia might have the solution (given that I don't wear earrings regularly.
Addendum
One of my readers just spoke to my theory that moving West, people in this country become increasingly relaxed. This reader said such behavior would barely happen in Nebraska. Indeed, this triggered an experience I meant to include but forgot because it is geographically so far away. When going for runs in Washington state, in a community maybe about the size of the small town I am residing in, I approached the streets to cross with care. The burnt kid shies from the fire. But amazingly in several instances cars stopped just seeing me near the street even when there wasn't a crossing. Maybe all that coffee over there makes them more alert?
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