Monday, June 30, 2003
The following is an article I wrote for a local publication out in these parts. It is exactly 1200 words......
The sun radiated warmth that atoned for the previous week of clouds and rain. It's one thing when the weather forces you to retreat inside with a damp umbrella and soggy shoes, but it's quite another when it endangers your person. Micha³ had known what awaited him the moment he’d decided to be a bike messenger. Cycling was in his blood, and today's brilliance more than redressed the preceding days of somber hues. He rose high on his pedals and pumped hard down Marsza³kowska, basking in the sheer joy of it all.
That's when the diminutive "Mr. Bean" Fiat in front of him stopped for no apparent reason; Micha³ veered for the curbside but he was too far out to reach it. Besides, this curb near Plac. Zbawaciela was fenced. He rear-ended the Fiat and somersaulted with his bike completely over it. But the bike gods were smiling that day and he walked away, dazed and peeved at Warsaw’s infrastructure....
To say that Polish roads and highways are nasty is to miss the point; they’re loathsome. Waves of tar and dead Mafioso undulate along the edges and potholes are epidemic. Sidewalks are worse, their tiny blocks jagged and pointing every which way. Bike paths swarm with pedestrians, mothers with baby strollers, bladers and parked cars. For many, the streets are the only option.
Navigating the pockmarked byways would be relatively easy if it weren't for the legions of morally destitute motorists stalking them. Consider Adam Paskowski: "Taxis U-turn without notice or cut you off when they're hailed. Buses cut me off all the time.” Even pedestrians casually stroll from the curbside across his path, without notice or heed. "Once I hit a gentleman who was so big nothing happened to him – I wasn’t so lucky... I've had 15 accidents in the past 6 months." He has the scars to prove it.
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"Froggie" always wore a helmet. That's what saved his life. One fine day in Centrum he hit a pothole and heard something snap. At the exact second he chanced a peek behind to check, the luxury car in front of him squealed to a stop. Froggy catapulted through the rear windshield and landed in the back seat amid a shower of shattered glass. Froggy survived with abrasions and a z³. 2000 bill for the windshield.
You win some, you lose some. Another cyclist, Maciek, was jaunting up Przycz?³kowa in Wilanov when a car ran the cross-street red light, slammed into Maciek, and kept on running. The driver remains at large while Maciek remains covered in plaster from his waist to his neck... Speed-demons fly at cyclists with spacecraft velocity when they go to pass the slower drivers content to maintain the speed limit. They’ll whiz by, only inches away, or come at cyclists head-on - depending on what direction they’re passing from. Even other cyclists can be treacherous, jumping out from the curbside in front of other riders or weaving wildly through pedestrians on the sidewalks.
Recently a police car cut this author off at an intersection though the author had the right-of-way. “I love to ride,” says Daniel Heinst, “But it’s too crazy here. I saw a bus force a bicyclist to the curbside and then to literally jump off his bike to keep from getting crushed.”
Bedy is a singular bike messenger, bedecked in dreadlocks and oozing charisma, and well knows what bus-drivers are like. “We call them teachers – they want to teach us (a lesson).” Once one dogged Bedy's rear as he crossed Rondo Waszyngtona. "I know bus-drivers, I know what's going on," he asserted confidentially. "So (at the next station) I asked him: 'Excuse me – what’s the problem with bus-drivers, pushing bikes to the curb and cutting us off? The driver (growled) back, 'If you'd been slower you would’ve died.' Oh yeah, he wanted to kill me."
Marta W³odarska is a casual cyclist who mostly confines her excursions to a park near Milan?wek, south of the Big City. "I don't like to ride in Warsaw anymore... too crowded and people don’t respect the bike paths." She was riding there one balmy Saturday when a dog abruptly darted in front of her. Marta went flying, coloring the ground with blood and bits of skin. The dog-owner colored the air with loud invectives against Marta for endangering her pup.
Yet amidst the mayhem there are amusing stories to inspire the most darkened soul. Messenger Bedy frequently races with his friends in the city, and one night a taxi driver impulsively decided to challenge them. Bedy broke out in front of the pack and when both were forced to stop at a busy intersection the cabby got out and grabbed Bedy by the shoulders.... Bedy's friends were close behind, all 15 of them. "What, " Bedy posed, "Are you going to fight us all? The taxi driver stomped back to his cab, yelling,. 'I smash you next time!' ” Then he continued his race with them but soon was left behind. "You should have seen him! Vroom! Eeech!," Bedy pantomimed while working an imaginary clutch. "No contest."
Kuba Baj is a former messenger who was challenged by a carload of hooligans shouting obscenities as they passed, then they stopped to pick a fight when Kuba shouted back. Though outnumbered four to one, Kuba was carrying his heavy Kryptonite bike chain and wasn't afraid to wield it, teeth grit and eyes blazing. The hooligans left. A colleague was once forced faced-down onto the sidewalk at Al. Jerozolimskie, alongside Marriott, by a grinning bus driver - only to bounce back up and obligingly remove two of the driver's front teeth. "He was a good driver after that... very polite."
Kuba, Bedy and more gather at Pl. Zamkowy the last Friday every month for the Critical Mass rally, which is a cry for much-needed respect from the citizens and government of Poland. The June rally saw no less than 1200 participants! The first thing the government should do is arrest and fine all those who put their need for speed above others' lives, and then use the money generated to fix the roads for all of us….. Hey, we're not saints. Many of us have run red lights and dashed between cars. So have most motorists. There's the tiny infractions we’re all guilty of at one time or another, and then there are the actions we take that endanger ourselves and others.
I wanted to interview some of the elderly folk I've seen tooling around the country - Babjis on their way to visit grandchildren, or indigent stiffs commuting to their z³. 5 per hour part-time job - forced to utilize the traffic lanes when even the most rudimentary dirt paths disappear. But as cyclist Arek Syrokomski says, “none of them are left 'cause they've all been run over.” He kids of course, but I would’ve liked to interview the old fieldhand I saw crawling down Route 801, gripping a long-handled hoe while eighteen-wheelers barreled past. When I pointed it out to the old man standing next to me at the roadside sklep, he shrugged as if to say that's life as it's always been.
Hopefully not for much longer.
posted by mark 2:42 PM
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