I love cars. I own two — an old rusty Saab that I bought off a kind lady in Ipswich for way too little money in my early 20s, and a two-seater Mazda convertible that my wife and I coveted as our last gasp of freedom before starting a family. You’re just as likely to hear me railing against the loss of manual transmissions as you are to see me on a weekend bike ride out to Walden Pond.
But for the better part of 17 years, my primary mode of transportation around Boston has been a bicycle. What began out of necessity as a broke college student working a bar job long after the T shut down morphed into a passion for exploring every corner of my new home. Before long, I strapped a hammock to an old steel Univega and rode from Boston to Los Angeles. When I got back, I took a job selling and repairing bikes at a North End shop — getting my real first taste of the local cycling community — and the rest, as they say, is history.
I used to think that my experience on the road made me safe. Thousands and thousands of miles. Countless hours mapping routes. A few too many seasons in a bike shop storage room. So, so many rolled-up greasy pant legs. But the tragic death of Louisa Gag, the 36-year-old bike advocate and city worker killed by a driver in a recycling truck this month, has shaken my confidence. Are any of us really safe if one of the most experienced cyclists in the city was killed doing the thing she loved?
Gag’s death has inspired renewed calls for action as Mayor Michelle Wu rightly faces criticism for stalling road safety projects in the run up to last year’s election. But amid all the talk of truck designs, traffic-easing measures, and accountability, one thing seems to be forgotten: addressing the disdain that each group of commuters feels for the other.
Every day as a cyclist, I witness gobsmacking displays of lawlessness, road rage, and distracted driving on our streets. But you know the scariest part? All it takes is a few minutes behind the wheel for me to be the one cursing under my breath, cutting corners, and putting others in danger. Cars and traffic just have a habit of bringing out our absolute worst tendencies as humans.
Bikes, on the other hand, bring out our best. Multiple studies have shown that bike commuting has large, measurable, positive impacts on mental and physical health. Seriously, try riding on two wheels as an adult and not smiling — I dare you.
For me, bike commuting means that there’s no such thing as a bad day at work. Riding home is like getting to be a kid again, even just for a few minutes. Clearing my mind every evening makes me a better journalist, a better husband, a better father, and a better person.
Make no mistake, I know cyclists share some of the blame for the current climate. We run red lights, often ride unpredictably, and tend to look down on those of you “stuck in cages.” But as I’ve entered my mid-thirties, I’ve sworn off most of the reckless riding that dominated my youth. Having a kid — especially one that loves riding on the back of Dad’s bike — tends to crystalize things like your own mortality as a sack of meat and bones amid two-ton killing machines.
The day Gag was killed, I picked up my daughter from day care on my bike like I do most afternoons. What would have normally been the best part of my day, and hers, felt harrowing. Still, we rode to day care the next morning. And the one after that. And the one after that.
I plan to keep doing it for as long as my knees allow. While Gag’s death has removed the veil of safety, it hasn’t stopped me from riding. I just love life on two wheels too much. Instead, I’m even more determined to map new routes through the city that link protected bike paths together, choosing safety over efficiency. I already tack on an extra 5 miles to our morning ride just to keep my daughter on the Southwest Corridor longer and out of traffic, what’s a few more?
The times I’ve taken out our car recently, I’ve tried to remind myself of Louisa whenever I feel inclined to respond to a text or tap the gas to make it through that pesky yellow light. But it’s hard. The separation from your surroundings. All those bright, flashy screens. The feeling of constantly being late to everything. I get it, folks, I really do. Driving in this city sucks sometimes, and our roads were not designed for the variety or quantity of vehicles currently occupying them. But until you can find a time machine that gets us that promised 2024 Boston Olympics cycle loop, there is no silver bullet that is going to solve this mess.
We can, and should, demand better of our leaders and city planners to keep us safe. But we can also all afford to slow down and treat one another with a little bit of grace, patience, and compassion. At the end of the day we’re all just trying to put food on the table and get home in one piece. So from one car lover to another, stop trying to kill me. And please, check your blind spots.
This is an excerpt from Are we there yet?, a Globe Opinion newsletter about the future of transportation in the region. Sign up to get it in your inbox early.
Rami Abou-Sabe is Globe Opinion’s digital editor. He can be reached at rami.abousabe@globe.com.