Essay: On the Stop Sign Lesson

(2019) I don’t remember the date, nor do I remember the season. All of that is inconsequential to the lesson learned one day at a rural stop sign in Bucks County. This was back when our offices were in Doylestown Burrough, and rides would depart the bustling town center with an aim for agriculturally-pierced roads near our current offices. Regardless of the timeframe, the incident in question was under sunny skies and occurred during mid-day.

I have always been a fan of the late comedian George Carlin, particulary his bit describing the Airline Safety Speech. The part that gave me enjoyment was his grappling with the difference between a ‘full stop’ and ‘partial stop.’ As if there were such a thing as a partial stop.

Yours truly has been criticized for the fullness of a stop at stop signs when driving. (See? Cyclists do operate machinery.) Much of the stop sign arrests are attributed to the fact that I am one of the few remaining manual drivers around. Stopping at a stop sign is beneficial; it resets the gear change operation instead of gearbox guesswork. I would be more embarrassed to roll through a stop sign with poor gear choice than to be ribbed for coming to a stop.

Several years ago I arrived at the intersection in question. I had reached the inner limits of the rural roadways, and, in hindsight, it was a strange place to stop and take in nutrition. It would have been soon in the ride to down a sports bar, yet there I was stopping to do so. In between the moment I rolled to a stop and when I would have continued through the four-way intersection, a motorist blew through the stop sign at top speed and carried on with his day. The moment hardly registered until shortly after.

This stop sign incident impacted the way I view stop signs as a cyclist. Mathematically speaking, and had I followed the rules and traversed the intersection, I could have been obliterated by the motorist despite my following the rules. As a local police officer once said, “There are a lot of people in the cemetary who had the right-of-way.” Gauging automobile/cyclist interactions, I am sure a collision would have been chalked up as an ‘accident’ or the fault of the cyclist. If I had died, it would have been in vain.

I regularly pass through the same intersection, approaching it from all four directions and in multiple modalities. I pass through it weekly as a motorist, monthly as a cyclist, and occasionally as a runner. On that day I counted myself lucky to have been slowed by a sports bar. I never saved the wrapper, though I should have. I never noticed the car make, though I should have. Yet one thing I took away is never assume anyone has it under control. If I did, I would not be here today, or at least healthy enough to write. As an old college professor once bequeathed, ‘Assume a drunk driver is at every intersection.’ Perhaps cyclists should adapt the adage in hopes of preserving their liveliness.

I have been dropped by rides due to overcautious crossings and have slowed rides down for the same reason. I am not one to assume an operator of a two-ton machine has it under control. Quite the contrary. I assume they are in a full time attempt to wrestle back control. It was an instance that made me want to tell everyone on the group ride going in the opposite direction Thursday morning, hammering toward the intersection in question. I couldn’t have done that. Instead I will shout it out here, hoping those will heed the warning. Stop at the stop signs. Assume every motorists is a drunk driver approaching the same intersection.