Mass Observations: One man, Two journeys

September 15th 10:27

Before opening my truck door I scan the parking for anyone else who is about to depart from the apartments. The parking lot consists of two parallel rows of parking slots, and it seems like only half of them are being used. I place my car in reverse, being aware of the maintenance truck that is illegally parked behind me in the fire lane as I pull out. I am cautious as I turn around the corner heading toward South Congress. The construction crates and trees make it hard to see cars entering the lot. The speed bumps toward the exit reduce my speed significantly; hitting them hard causes my truck’s frame to shake. Breaching the edge of South Congress, I check both ways before crossing into the bike line.

The morning rush hour is over so the turn onto South Congress is hassle-free. Making my way toward Oltorf, I notice several people waiting for the bus. By association of their accessories, most of the people waiting for the bus were shoppers at the nearby H.E.B. Walking toward the Oltorf light was a woman pushing an elderly woman in a chrome wheelchair. Two fixed gear bikers pass between me and several commercial work trucks to get at the front of the right hand lane. This makes me happy, I’m in the left hand lane and won’t have to wait for the bikes to pick up speed.

Continuing down hill on South Congress, most of the cars in the same traveling pack are doing 40 on the 35 mile per hour road. There is less anxiety at this time because the side of the street parking is nearly vacant. This alleviates the stress that comes from anticipating any cars suddenly pulling out onto the street and any pedestrians making a dash across the road. Approaching the condominiums on South Congress, I start to see a lot more people jogging. Watching their stride forces me to notice the condition of the roads - cracked and tar laced. The slight increase and decrease in the elevation of these ground faults are just enough to interrupt the smoothness of my ride. Passing Barton Springs Street I am now traveling over the bridge and coming face to face with the wall of high-rise condominiums, hotels, and office buildings that make up downtown.

Through multiple trial and errors it has become habit for me to switch into the middle lane because it is most of all three lanes. The left lane has no green arrow, so one car needing to make a left hand turn at Ceasar Chaves Street could hold up the entire lane for one traffic light session. The right lane seems optimal due to its emptiness but is also a mainstream lane for buses: at some point you will be inconvenienced. Driving through downtown most of the automobiles obey the speed limit. This is most likely due to the abrasive increase in sources of tension such as cyclist, pedestrians, oversized buses and massive buildings that distort your peripherals. As I watch a black homeless male wave his arms in the air by a bus bench, I nearly run into the side of a trolley. Observing others’ interactions with the city can be very distracting. I come to the light at 11th Street and watch as several Sigway riders cross the street. The lady in the car next to me smiles at them as they pass. I check for oncoming traffic and proceed to make a right hand turn on a red light. Immediately I forget that between the hours of 7a.m. to 7p.m. you are not allowed to make turns on a red light. My awareness for cops is heightened, wanting to spot them before they spot me, as if it would save me from a citation.
The lack of traffic makes my traveling through 11th and onto Trinity effortless. I make a complete stop at the first stop sign on Trinity due to its history of police surveillance. I notice a homeless man is riding his bike in the opposite direction of the street but still in a bicycle lane. While trying to question the legality of his path I realize there is a bag of cans strapped to his back that is twice the size of him.
Confused by the isolation of the right hand lane, I make an illegal lane change to the left by crossing two solid lane dividers. Waiting for the light change to drive through campus, I notice peculiar acts of human behavior. A man who is jogging straightens his posture as he crosses the street. A girl exchanges nasty looks with two boys that blatantly check her out as they cross paths. Continuing into campus, I am waved through by the guard without effort. I am sure he probably mistakes me for a construction worker (I am a Mexican male in a scratched up pick-up truck). There are a small amount of students walking through campus – I must have arrived during a class period.
I am patient at the crosswalk intersection of 21st and San Jacinto Blvd. I wait as many of the pedestrians on both sides of the road carelessly walk past the waiting cars. I congenially press forward slowly pass the crosswalks. I want to be respectfully but at the same time feel the pressure of traffic behind me. Similar to the street parking off of South Congress, the parking along San Jacinto is an area of risk as students and cyclists spontaneously pop out from behind vehicles. Approaching the intersection of 23rd and San Jacinto I play the same traffic game as I did at 21st. Now looping around toward the back of the Art building I significantly reduce my speed as a reaction to the neon colors of the construction area. I pull up the loading dock slope and throw on my blinkers as instructed by the sign. I have a pending parking ticket and cannot afford another boot on my truck.

September 19 3:45 pm

It is a warm afternoon when I arrive at the front of Ayham’s house on 31st and Guadalupe. I exit my car and pull my fixed gear bicycle out of the bed. I place it on the ground and begin to fasten my backpack tightly to my chest. I mount my bike and look behind me before I start peddling – a fixed gear has no conventional brakes so I always exercise extreme caution. Making my way toward Guadalupe St. I notice the poor condition of the road. Its cracks and bumpy mortar provide an uncomfortable ride for my narrow tires.

I approach the end of the street with a reduced speed to peak around the building that is too close to the road, blocking my view of traffic. The oncoming traffic causes me to pull out of my pedal straps and wait to enter a free lane. A man left to me, sitting on the bumper of a white van, looks at me uninterestedly and turns his head. A couple to the right of me holds hands and talks to each other through smiles.

Traffic smoothes out and I begin to peddle on the right hand lane. I still have yet to master flipping my pedal upright to slide my foot in immediately. This always alarms me because out of frustration I begin to watch my struggle instead of the road. Both feet in their straps, I start to pedal toward the left lane. I am forced to stay in it rather than moving all the way over to the median because several cars are parked waiting to turn. Normally I wouldn’t mind, but a suburban is insisting on letting me know how slow I am going by tailgating me.

I make a quick left onto 30th Street and begin to proceed downhill. My first causes for concern are the parked cars that line the Trudy’s on 30th. Like campus, I have to be careful of opening doors and pedestrians who spontaneously intersect the bike lane. On top of the spontaniety, I have to alternate with the gravel that collects on the side of the road (a.k.a the bike lane). I catch looks from three brown-haired and bearded guys and a runner who waits for me before crossing the road with his blood hound.

Now pedaling uphill, I start to reach the more residential area of north campus. People going to and from school by way of bike and walking are a lot more present. Here the cars are substituted for blue trash cans and debris that clutters to the side of the road. Heading back downhill toward San Jacinto, I reduce my speed and start looking in all directions for cops. Seeing that none are present in sight, I begin to roll pass the stop sign and begin to dodge the deep cracks and potholes that make up the intersection. After the dilapidated intersection the roads becoming increasingly smooth and optimal for bike riding. I pass Clown Dogs bike shop where I am always greeted with a wave and a nod.

Making my way toward the intersection of Dean Keeton and San Jacinto, I begin to slow down due to the presence of flashing police lights. A vehicle being pulled over causes me to dismount my bike and wait for the light change; rather than weaving through traffic to avoid standing in the sun. The light changes and I pedal toward the art building. Even though a girl was illegally crossing the street, she still shoots me a nasty look as I nearly run into her. Continuing down San Jacinto I once again look for cops and then roll through the stop sign at the expense of their absence. Now at the art building, I dismount and head up stairs to class.