This week I've been able to ride my bicycle three times in a row without the tire deflating. Good news. I guess it was the Mr. Tuffy that the very close cycle shop (On the Move) put on my wheel (or somewhere) when they repaired my most recent flat back tire. It looks like I'll be able to ride to work tomorrow as well. Yippee!

All this riding has made me think about bicycle riding. One conclusion I've reached is that I'm a hazard on a bicycle. Not on purpose, of course. No one is, I think. But, I believe my riding can be a hazard to others using the road. I try to follow all the rules.

But, truth be told, I don't know many of the rules.

Like, should I pass another cyclist on the right or the left? Is it permissible to ride against traffic if I'm on a bicycle path? Is it really o.k. to ride through a red light if I carefully look both ways? These are a few that come to mind.

As I was driving Keith from Covenant Baptist to his motel somewhere else in San Antonio, he mentioned to me that I was an unsure driver. "At least on roads you haven't driven on before" (the only kind he's traveled with me). He's right. I believe that quality is reflected in my cycling as well. I don't have the confidence to boldly pull out into the middle of Atlantic Avenue on my bicycle against the red light. When I've ridden through the red light on smaller, less-traveled streets, my eyes are like blinkers: looking at possible oncoming cars with my right, switching my focus to the left to see what's ahead of me (pedestrians? someone else on a bicycle?). Back and forth several times in the course of the crossing.

So, maybe I shouldn't do that. Or maybe I can because I'm so cautious. Maybe the hazard doesn't come from my caution, but those moments when, no matter how focused I am on my path (across the Brooklyn Bridge, let's say), I space out for a moment and another cyclist momentarily unnerves me as he breezes by me and into the distance. I'm not "The Night Train" streamlining up to the North Pole; I'm "The Little Engine That Could" chugging and chugging to his destination. (How can it be that both ways, to and from work, are uphill?) Maybe I'm not a hazard; maybe I only feel like a hazard.

Now, I'm not the only hazard, mind you. And, I guess, that's why I'm so cautious. The pedestrian walking directly in front of me, the bicyclist riding right toward me, against traffic, the guy who opened the driver's-side door of his parked car at the top of Union Street right in my path (luckily, I was traveling so slowly, there was no drama or injury; "Sorry. I didn't seen you," was his only reaction. I hope he didn't see me. That would have added a whole other, disturbing wrinkle to his opening the car door): these are a few of my daily mini-conflicts that prevent me from enjoying a worry-free ride.

You might say, "hey, if you don't want to deal with that stuff, ride a stationary bike twice a day." "Watch yourself," I might respond, "on your right," "I mean, your left," "I mean your right."