Those damn Lefties!

Running from the north end of Carmel, Indiana and snaking through the center of Indianapolis is an approximately 15 mile long ribbon of asphalt called the Monon Trail.

Built on an abandoned railway line, the trail is part of a larger trail network in central Indiana giving runners, walkers and cyclists a safe path for commuting to work and recreation. According to the city of Indianapolis, in 2005 alone the trail was used 1.2 million times. In short, it's a busy stretch of trail and like most busy roadways there are rules. The city of Carmel went as far as posting a speed limit for cyclist on the trail and at key intersections there signs showing who should yield to whom: cyclists are to yield to everyone, roller skaters yield to pedestrians, and pedestrians are free to enjoy the trail at the speed or leisure without having to yield to anyone except the occasional squirrel, fox, and in rare instances deer crossing the trail.

That's the theory.

Seldom have I encountered a skater who was zooming down the trail doing the best Apolo Ohno impression. The cyclists are another breed entirely. Some cyclists, usually sporting a team jersey of some sort, speed down the trail as if they were in the middle of Tour de France time trail, shouting "on your left!" to anyone who may be in their path.

Depending on the tone and volume, "on your left" can mean a few different things. Spoken in a light friendly tone, the phrase is akin to the ring of a bell, a friendly alert that someone is coming behind you. But said in an abrupt angry tone, "on your left" becomes "fuck you, get out my way!" Those are the extremes and there are many different shades in between.

Often the phrase is unnecessary as the poorly tuned and maintained bicycles squeak and rattle their presence before a spoken warning is required. Other moments the trail is virtually empty and wide enough that one can pass without disturbing a walker's meditation.

There has been an increased use of bells on the trail lately which has provided a more pleasant alternative to that annoying phrase. Short of a bell, I wonder how difficult it would be for a cyclist to slow down when approaching someone on foot and simply say: "excuse me." Is it naive to expect such a courtesy?

I may have to accept that the "lefties" are here to stay and instead of listening to bird songs and the wind rushing through the trees, I should carry my own soundtrack and isolate myself from the rest of my trailmates.