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Ended up doing another short bicycle versus bus race this morning, as the Oxford Tube was already between me and my stop when I left my flat. I'm not sure why, in recent days, I keep coming in so close to the coach that I have to race. This time, however, I ended up making it to my usual stop before the bus, so no need to chase it on to the next one[*].
Ensuring that I beat the bus to the stop did require a bit of weaving about through different traffic lanes... though I did not have to run any stoplights (this time). When the driver pulled into the stop, he hopped out of the bus to unlock the luggage compartment where I store my cycle during the journey. The first words out of his mouth to me?
Perhaps I am just deranged, but this amused me a great deal[**]. Maybe because it was actually quite sweet to see that the bus driver cared about my health and safety? Maybe because I only learned to ride a bicycle at the age of twenty-nine and didn't ride in real traffic until less than two years ago -- thus, being skilled and confident enough to ride recklessly[***] is a milestone? Maybe just adrenaline pumping from having successfully raced the bus, mixed with relief that I didn't have to chase it to the next stop yet again? Maybe some combination of all these reasons?
Ah, the world may never know... but sitting here on the bus into London, I am still grinning!
[*] Ergo, no increase in the official Nomad vs. Bus score.
[**] Indeed, enough to enshrine it for posterity in a LiveJournal post!
[***] At least in Oxford. Whilst cycling in London, I am significantly more nervous and careful.
Ensuring that I beat the bus to the stop did require a bit of weaving about through different traffic lanes... though I did not have to run any stoplights (this time). When the driver pulled into the stop, he hopped out of the bus to unlock the luggage compartment where I store my cycle during the journey. The first words out of his mouth to me?
You have to be more careful riding that bike! You could get killed!I assured him that I don't normally ride so recklessly, that I only did it to make sure that he didn't miss me. He was, however, unswayed... insisting that it did me no good if I got killed in the process.
Perhaps I am just deranged, but this amused me a great deal[**]. Maybe because it was actually quite sweet to see that the bus driver cared about my health and safety? Maybe because I only learned to ride a bicycle at the age of twenty-nine and didn't ride in real traffic until less than two years ago -- thus, being skilled and confident enough to ride recklessly[***] is a milestone? Maybe just adrenaline pumping from having successfully raced the bus, mixed with relief that I didn't have to chase it to the next stop yet again? Maybe some combination of all these reasons?
Ah, the world may never know... but sitting here on the bus into London, I am still grinning!
[*] Ergo, no increase in the official Nomad vs. Bus score.
[**] Indeed, enough to enshrine it for posterity in a LiveJournal post!
[***] At least in Oxford. Whilst cycling in London, I am significantly more nervous and careful.
