We’ve been jammed!

In celebration of spring (aka biking weather) and in complete, utterly aghast ire at how dangerous and oblivious drivers in downtown Toronto are, I decided to join the masses for Critical Mass. It happens on the last Friday of every month, a spontaneous, unorganized gathering of cyclists who ride around the city in huge packs between 100-200 people. Effectively, they cut off an entire direction of traffic and make their presence known on roads where they otherwise are subjected to a lot of danger from motorists.

What possessed me to do such a hippie thing? On an ordinary day, cycling from my house at College/Bathurst to school at Yonge/Dundas could include 3 or 4 near-dooring incidents, being cut off (or almost crushed) by trucks, and drivers who ignore bike lanes and side-swipe me. Thankfully, I’ve never been in a crash yet, but it’s bound to happen soon; in the wake of two fatal bike-car accidents this month, participation seems more relevant than ever. So I hooked up with my two bikester/foodster/gumster friends Jason and Matt to, you know, just go around, and take back the streets of downtown Toronto in blissful ecologically-friendly traffic jamming with 120+ other cyclists.

A plethora of photos follow…




Partners in crime.


The meeting place at Bloor and Spadina (click for a full size view)


Something… in my teeth.


Bikesters.


On Yonge.


Turning onto College at Yonge.


This guy was really stoked on being a bikester.


Crossing the DVP on Danforth Ave.


Bike vs. car


“I wonder what’s in the hatch?”


Going into the Eaton Centre

The route we followed (the pack kept going on after us, but we broke off to go get Mexican food. The foodster element of the night starts there):

It was appalling how pissed drivers got when cyclists got in their way. While turning off Shuter onto Yonge, a Mercedes SUV tried frantically to pass us. The woman in the passenger seat rolled down her window and made a screwface and screamed when she was informed we all intended to pass her. Her husband in the driver’s seat gave us the finger. How you like dem apples?

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