I remember a meme from several years ago: “When I drive, I hate pedestrians. When I walk, I hate drivers, but no matter what my mode of transportation, I always hate bicyclists.” It was one of those jokes that my brother and I tried to tell each other at the same time. It was a spot on assessment of traffic relations.

If you get stuck behind a bicycle in your car, you can forget about getting to your destination on time. Additionally, they break traffic laws, weave in and out of traffic in every which way, and then cuss you out for not anticipating their route.

They’re not any better on the sidewalk. You tend to get about two and half seconds of notice to move out of their way before they hit you, followed by a good scolding if you inevitably fail to do so immediately. I’ve never liked bicyclist; they’re assholes.

A funny thing happened a few months back. I couldn’t get a parking permit for my first quarter at UCLA. I know, I thought, I’ll get a bike and ride to campus. It’s only 6.5 miles away from my apartment and I see bicyclists all the time. I won’t be an asshole though, I promised myself. I got my bike, my rack, my headlight, my flashing taillight, and, of course, my little bell. They had horns, but the sound was obnoxious. The bell was a sweeter and gentler way to announce my presence. I was all set.

I did my very best to stay on the right of the road. Cars passed me aggressively, leaving strong irritated gusts of wind for me to negotiate. It took my entire focus to regain my balance. One car even honked at me as they passed, startling me and my tiny framed bike into a parked car. With rush hour traffic zooming past me on my left, I preferred colliding into the still parked car on my right. I realized that bicyclists and drivers were at risk of two very different consequences. A driver is at risk of tardiness. A bicyclist is at risk of serious injury or even worse.

Making left-hand turns was impossible. I threw my hand out left to signal. Not one car slowed for me. Instead, a stream of cars sped past me, each one making it clear that I would lose a confrontation. For the first several weeks all my left turns consisted of three right turns.

When I was lucky enough to find bike lanes, I could pick up some speed. However, I had to be wary of parked cars suddenly opening their doors right into my path or a ride share car blocking the entire way with hazard lights flashing. None of the cars are willing to spare even a few inches, so navigating around these obstacles is precarious, especially at that speed.

It only took one or two close calls to hear my heartbeat thudding in my ears. My body shook so hard my front tire would wobble several inches from side to side. In these cases, I popped onto the sidewalk. At one such time, I rung my sweet little bell when I saw two ladies a block ahead staring into a store window. They didn’t hear me. I rang it a few more times. “Excuse me,” I called out. They still didn’t hear me. “On your left!” I yelled out louder. They seemed oblivious to all things around them, including each other. Instead of making a small space for me to pass, they took up more of the sidewalk. Almost on top of them, I rang my bell continuously. One woman finally looked up with narrow eyes and barely stepped out of my way. “What?” I heard her friend ask her as I passed by. “She kept honking at us!” I have a bell, not a horn, I thought, although, the horn would have been more effective.

It didn’t take much longer for me to realize my survival depended on being an asshole. I began riding farther away from the right, not giving cars space to aggressively pass me. I threw my arm out left and immediately enter the lane, without giving the cars an option to speed up next to me. I wasn’t afraid of yelling, “ON YOUR LEFT!” military style, when announcing myself to the oblivious. Since I've made these changes, I find that I’m given more respect on the road. They don’t like me, but they make space for me.

As a driver, I now see bicyclists differently. They are most concerned with their safety and I’m not going to risk that safety for the sake of shaving a minute or two off my commute. As a pedestrian, I understand better why they are on the sidewalk. The road is terrifying! I still find them irritating, but now I get it. Being nice is dangerous. Being an asshole is safer.