The City on Two Wheels: A Bicycle Messenger’s Testimony

James Temple Berg

It’s a world of sharks out there and cyclists are the bait. Heartless machines of chrome and steel scurry amongst one another with little concern for their two-wheeled counterparts. The only way cyclists can compete in the city is to ride just as aggressively as the automobiles.

I ended up with my job as a bicycle messenger because I was new to Chicago and because it seemed like an exciting way to spend my time. It also helped that they didn’t ask for references. I had to provide my own bike and helmet (if I chose to wear one). Medical benefits were not included. My salary depended upon the deliveries that I could complete each day. Every service charge was split 50/50 between the company and me. I was given a radio and a T-shirt and told I’d figure everything out along the way. So I watched carefully. All that I know about riding in the city I learned from following other couriers.

On a bicycle you ride between two worlds, that of the driver and that of the pedestrian. You can follow the rules of one or the other, and you can switch whenever you like. You can jump from the street to the sidewalk and back again. The Illinois Rules of the Road say that “a bicyclist may choose to turn as a vehicle does” or the cyclist may choose a “pedestrian... left turn, in which he or she will proceed through the intersection and then cross the roadway in the new direction.”

I take to the sidewalks only when I have to. Nothing is more tragic than finding myself stuck behind a pack of pedestrians. Keeping up with the Michigan Avenue traffic was my most challenging adventure, especially on the bridge crossing over the Chicago River. When I could conquer this one, I knew I could do anything.

I’ve been ordered off the road on Michigan Avenue. I’ve been ordered off the sidewalk on LaSalle. The police just don’t know what to do with cyclists in the city. I don’t listen to the police any more. Cyclists have a right to ride anywhere, so I never bother myself with what police or drivers or anyone else has to say about it.

The key to riding in the city is in getting the jump on traffic. The couriers I followed liked to ride the dotted line between lanes. They maneuvered between stopped cars at the lights and positioned themselves ahead of the crosswalk. This is important. A city cyclist has got to get himself out there in the intersection. That way, the flow of pedestrians crossing the street can form a barrier between him and the automobiles behind. And when the light turns green, he’s standing on the pedals and pumping his legs, cursing and sweating - anything it takes to get himself across that intersection before the cars and buses behind have a chance to catch up. They won’t think twice about passing, no matter how tight the squeeze, and a cyclist does not want to get caught on the dotted white line between two passing vehicles. Trust me on this.

Finding my way across the intersection quickly was an important milestone in my development as a city cyclist. I learned to get ahead and choose a lane, and to keep myself there. Drivers will pass without a second thought if the cyclist isn’t in the dead center of his lane.

I don’t worry about the lady riding my tail or the taxi driver honking and screaming at me. I have just as much right to the road as they do. I say, let them change lanes if they’re so anxious to pass me. Battles like this are going on in every city every day. Cars are vulgar animals. With horns blaring and mufflers snarling, they stink up the city. They think they own the roads. They are mechanical bullies on an asphalt playground. Biking in the city is a fight for control. What a cyclist lacks in power, he compensates with maneuverability.

I will choose different lanes after stoplights, just to let the cars stuck behind me get ahead. I do this only as a matter of survival. All bullies have their limits. Bicycling in the city is about testing limits, but it’s also about living to do it all again the next day.

Nick is a Chicago courier who has worked at my company. Nick’s biked for a half a dozen different messenger services. He says it’s good to get around and see what the competition is offering. “Never tell a new company that you’ve worked as a messenger before,” Nick tells me. “They like to feel they’ve found somebody who hasn’t developed that messenger mentality yet.”

Nick drifts in and out of the city now and then. When he returns, he starts riding again. Nick wears his keys on a strap around his neck so he can lock and unlock his bicycle more easily. “The most important thing to know about riding in the city,” Nick says, “is to always stay out of the far right lane.”

The right lane is where the buses drive. It’s where the cars will line up waiting for the crosswalk to clear to turn right. It’s where parked cars seem to spring out from nowhere and force the city cyclist to swerve left into the flow of traffic. I stay clear from the right lane. There’s just too much there to slow me down.

A quick head check is all that’s needed to change lanes. Sure, I’ll cut somebody off. There’s always somebody in the next lane, but even the meanest bully on the street will have to let me in if I’m pushy enough. I like to hold an arm out, one finger pointing down to the spot on the road I’ll be taking. This is enough to let everyone know what I’m about to do.

A good deal of trust is involved when cycling in the city. Some may say I trust in the readiness of strangers, that I’m putting my life in their hands. I say I trust in myself. A city cyclist must have a confidence, and arrogance even, that he will part a river of traffic by the force of sheer will alone.

On Accidents: Yes, they happen. I can pretty much expect at least one serious tumble per year. So I wear a helmet and I learn to take pride in my battle scars. And when accidents happen, I deal with them as best I can. I bring up my arms to protect my head. I try to land on my forearms. I have learned to tuck and roll.

I was riding on the sidewalk, heading away from the loop at the end of the day. I was crossing the street with the light, with the walk signal even, the first time I got hit. A woman had decided to make a right turn without stopping, without looking, without even slowing down. She drove a nice car. She was talking on the phone. She wasn’t paying any attention. She hit me as I was on the crosswalk. She sent my flying. I landed on my side. Most of the force hit me on my right forearm just below the elbow. That’s where I hit the street. I sprung up, dazed, and stared at her through the windshield. She stared back at me, never moving. Her expression looked to me to be one more of annoyance than concern. She watched as I picked up my bike and finished my way across the street. Then she drove away.

Stories circle around occasionally about bike messengers who have received phone calls from insurance companies offering hundreds or even thousands of dollars if the victim will agree to waive all rights to filing charges. The fact is that city cyclists are going to get hit once in a while and there’s usually nothing they can do about it before or after the fact. If that woman’s insurance company had called me, I would have taken the money without a moment’s hesitation. It’s a sweet deal if you can get it.

I like to think there are some newbies out there watching me. We cyclists have got to stick together. It’s important for the city cyclist to show no fear. Confidence will take him anywhere he needs to go. When I’m riding, I obey no rules but my own. Rules are for those who choose to view life from behind a plate of glass. The thrill of riding in the city is that I can go anywhere, do anything. The city cyclist must never slow down. If he knows what he’s doing, the city cyclist will never have to stop for anyone.

*********************************************

BACK