In July the City of Rye began using “sharrows” on Forest Avenue. That’s short for “shared-lane marking arrows”, which are designed to remind motorists they’re sharing the road with bicyclists and to remind bicyclists they’re sharing the road with motorists.
By Sol Hurwitz
In July the City of Rye began using “sharrows” on Forest Avenue. That’s short for “shared-lane marking arrows”, which are designed to remind motorists they’re sharing the road with bicyclists and to remind bicyclists they’re sharing the road with motorists.
I saw my friend Bob parking his bike at Playland Market, and I decided to get his take on the idea.
“What do you think of the sharrows?” I asked.
“The what?” he replied.
“The sharrows — shared lane marking arrows. You know — those bike symbols and arrows painted on Forest Avenue. They’re supposed to encourage motorists to share the road with cyclists like you.”
“You jest,” said Bob with a smirk. “Yesterday a truck came so close to me it forced me over the curb and into a lady’s flower garden.”
“Bad luck,” I said sympathetically. “That’s not supposed to happen. They’re supposed to share the road.”
“Not in my lifetime,” Bob retorted.
A truck driver was unloading crates of soda, so I decided to get his thoughts on the subject.
“What do you think of the sharrows?” I asked.
“The what?” the trucker answered.
“The sharrows — those bike symbols painted on the road out there,” I replied. “They’re supposed to remind you to share the road with bikers.”
“Are you on drugs?” he exclaimed. “I don’t do sharing. I deliver soda. If a biker gets near me, he’s risking his life.”
“I get your point,” I answered.
My neighbor Felicity was passing by on her run, and I stopped her mid-stride.
“Hi, Felicity,” I said. “You must have noticed the sharrows on Forest during your run.”
“The what?”
“Those bike symbols painted on the road.”
“What about them?” she said, dodging a runner pushing a two-child jogging stroller.
“They’re supposed to remind motorists and bikers to share the road.”
“Well I can tell you one thing,” said Felicity as she started her stretches. “They’re making life miserable for walkers and runners like me.”
“How so?” I asked.
“The cars and trucks push the bikers to the side of the road, so there’s no room for walkers and runners. The other day, I fell over a Home Depot lawn bag to avoid a bike that was avoiding a truck.”
“A runner like you needs her exercise,” I said. “What are you going to do about it?”
“I’m joining the Rye Y and hitting the pool: 50 laps a day and not a bit of traffic in my lane.”
