Riding down Nueces, a young man stands on the eastern sidewalk, faces the road, and moves his head to follow me down the street. A girl walks north on the other side of the street, glancing sideways at me while moving forward. At 25th Street, a bicyclist crosses in front of me without adhering to the rules of a four way stop. Luckily at least one of us had. Twenty-fourth Street is crowded with students walking to and from classes. Most use the crosswalks once the walk sign is emitted, while a minority crosses daringly between the streams of cars. The first to do so begins a domino effect as four more follow him towards the “Do Not Walk” symbol. Before passing Guadalupe, I move to the sidewalk to avoid a long stoplight and line of cars as a mass of pedestrians flow against me. Out of them, one girl nervously fluctuates her body from one side to the other, indecisive of how to avoid my slowly moving bicycle. Everyone else continues normally.
On campus, a woman wearing all black and a large black purse jaywalks with plastic shopping bags. Due to construction, other bicyclists use a large pedestrian sidewalk, weaving in and out of students cautiously. Three workers in neon yellow vests and hardhats stroll towards their site and take up the width of the seven to eight foot sidewalk. Although a bicyclist straddles the space behind them, they take no heed and discuss the first release of an item until a space for passing opens on their left. Farther down, a man and woman face each other to speak and maintain a comfortable three-foot distance; she speaks about her feelings. To my right, a male bicyclist pauses at the four-way stop, checks to his right and straight ahead, and begins to pull out as I pass through the intersection. Once he begins acceleration, his eyes shift left and notice me approaching. Within inches of my front wheel, he promptly stops and kindly apologizes as pedestrians and other bikes circle through the busy on-campus intersection. A man in a white pickup truck inches along as he tries to turn left through the mess.
Pulling across San Jacinto towards the bicycle rack, two policemen stand beside one another while blocking a student against the rack and wall. The officer farthest from the student scribbles quickly on a notepad as the other stands sternly with his arms crossed. I dismount my bicycle, watching the event, and the first pauses writing to look at me seriously. He asks, “Do you know that you have to stop at stop signs riding that bike?” I respond quickly with “yes sir, I do” and he goes back to his business with an expression that says he doesn’t believe me. Quietly, the boy in question stands with his back tightly against the wall, both hands hidden behind him. Another student walks down a set of stairs behind the policemen and awkwardly rolls around the edge of the railing with her eyes down to keep from disrupting them. On the street, a bicyclist slows down to notice both the commotion and full bicycle rack. Following behind them, I move to the rack on the front of the building. Two females walk closely by me speaking about their observations of the morning as I struggle to get my cable lock through the frame, front tire, and iron loop. One holds her books tightly and gestures with the right hand while the other student's hands sway freely back and forth at her sides. I remove my helmet and quickly join them.
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