Emily -- Mass Observation

9 AM – Monday, August 31, 2009

I open my apartment door, bike in hand, and am greeted by a thick cloud of humidity. I lock my door and toss my keys in one of the pockets of my backpack. As I walk down the stairs and look out onto speedway I notice two cyclists riding by wearing helmets. I lug my bike downstairs and mount it in the parking lot. I look to my left and right and then to my left again to make sure no cars are coming. The bike lane desperately needs to be repainted. This road is dangerous for cyclists. I run over a bolt on the road. As usual, a car is using the bike lane for parking and I ride around it after making sure there is nobody behind me. Strangely there aren't any drivers, walkers, or other cyclists on the road or sidewalk today. It is eerily silent. Parked cars reflect the gleaming sunlight. I turn right and my lane of safety rapidly ends: It is not painted or marked and becomes parking. I see another cyclist on the other side of the road on a mountain bike. The girl is braving the potholes and bumps others usually avoid while riding in that lane. I come to the intersection and see no cars but copious deep, unavoidable cracks and potholes. The lines indicating the bike lane resume and I notice the city managed to patch one tiny hole while I was away for three months. I stop at a light behind another cyclist who is wearing his helmet. To the right a young man is holding onto a bike in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other, about the cross the road. We ride onto campus and again, the bike lane suddenly vanishes. I’m wedged between parked cars on my right and drivers on my left. I signal I am moving over and take the road. This is the only way to avoid getting pushed into a parked car or clipped by a driver. I pass through the stop sign, still taking up the lane. This is acceptable because the speed limit on campus is 15 and I am pedaling along at 18 MPH. The West Campus bus drives past and I turn left onto the sidewalk to lock up my bike. Once I get there, there isn’t anywhere to lock it—all of the sign poles are in use and the inadequate bike rack is almost completely full at 9:10 AM. I position my bike just right to claim a little space to lock up my front wheel. I remove my lock and cable from my backpack—I use a two-part lock because a thief could easily remove the rear wheel of my bike. I thread the cable through my rear wheel and loop it around my U-lock. With one hand full with keys and one end of the lock, and the other holding the cable and U part, I clumsily thread the U through my bike frame, front wheel, and a rod of the rack. Then I insert the key, which I have to jiggle just right in order to successfully activate the lock. I walk up the outside stairs to the second floor and look to the right into the windows of the Design lab to see if any friends are at the computers. A giant cloud of cigarette smoke confronts me as I mount the stairs. There is a large group of people sitting outside the doors at the picnic tables. I choke a little bit and hold my breath as I run through the doors into the building. I will take another route next time.

4 PM – Tuesday, September 1, 2009

I walk down the stairs at the back of the art building after sharing a laugh with friends. I open the door and clumsily drop my keys on the ground; they bounce down 3 stairs like a slinky. The odor of gasoline hangs in the air as construction workers stand around in yellow vests. A thick stack of blueprints flap in the wind on the hood of a pick-up truck. I unlock my bike and put the lock in my backpack. A postal worker with a navy blue bag full of mail approaches as I roll away. The stadium towers over everything as a hot, humid wind blows toward the north. The roads are not very busy this afternoon. I ride down San Jacinto without a bike lane, and instead follow the uneven line created by parked cars—their tails sometimes jutting hazardously into my route. A driver in a small white car is not paying attention and slams on her brakes as she exits the parking garage. Luckily I was alert. At the stoplight I avoid some cracks in the pavement and a pile of white gravel. The driver behind me honks and I look back, annoyed, to see a girl excitedly waving from her car. The glare on the windshield prevents me from seeing who this person is. I put my hand over my forehead to block the light, and the girl shouts, "It's Lisa!" The girl is my good friend, Lisa DeLosso. I shout "Hey! How are you?" as the light turns green and she chirps, "Great! See you later!" and drives past. I cross the intersection and dodge some more gravel. There is a Budweiser truck parked in the bike lane. I check for cars and then ride in the street to navigate around it. A girl with a flat tire is taking her bike into the bike shop. Cigarette smoke and the strange scent of maple syrup waft through the air as I ride past the Crown and Anchor Pub. A man and woman walk together through the parking lot, both with large upper-back tattoos peaking out of their tank tops. A group of low-hanging branches nearly swipes me across the face. A white car waits at a stop sign and lets me pass through the intersection. There are huge potholes in the bike lane so I move to the middle of the street, which also has big bumps and cracks. I turn onto speedway and ride around the third pile of gravel and glass I have seen today. There is another cyclist coming down the opposite side of the road with a white cap on. A sign in front of Fricano’s Deli reads, “Mmm good.” As I turn the corner a black Lexus waiting for a bus to turn is taking up part of my bike lane as well as the road. I squeeze past it and make the left turn into my apartment parking lot. There is a trench where the road and lot meet, so I stand on my pedals to avoid a jarring bump. I pick up my bike to carry it up two flights of aqua-painted stairs and into my apartment where cool air welcomes me as the door opens.