


I bike almost everywhere I go in Charleston, and I find that it’s generally a wonderful part of my life--but fairly often it has its challenging aspects. For instance, biking home I come up Coming, following all the laws of traffic, and at least once a week someone in a car honks at me or yells at me--or drives deliberately way too close to me--because they’re annoyed that I’m on the road.
About ten minutes ago, on my way home, I had the opportunity to educate someone. A big red SUV was driving behind me, and the guy driving yelled, “Sidewalk! Get on the sidewalk!” He passed me, but as luck would have it, he got stopped at a light, and I got to glide up right beside him.
I decided to play it nice. “Were you the one yelling at me back there?” I asked.
He looked sheepish. “Yeah,” he said.
“You know, bikes are supposed to be on the road. It’s illegal for me to ride on the sidewalk.”
“Really?”
“Yeah!” I said. The light changed, and as I pedaled away, I yelled back, “That’s why it’s called the sideWALK, not the sideBIKE!”*