Any time I go out my front door to go for a walk beyond a half a mile, I take my life in my hands. I live in New Hampshire’s largest city, but on the outskirts, where there are no sidewalks and little to no shoulder to walk on. I walk on the opposite side of the road, so I can see cars and bikes coming and can get out of the way if I can see that the driver isn’t going to move over.

On any given day, I experience four types of drivers. The first one acts as though I am not even there. They maintain their speed and don’t move over. The second one overreacts and moves over into the other lane. They often do this going into a blind corner putting both of us in danger. The third tries to move over but then they are faced with a dilemma of an oncoming car and must decide what to do next. Often, their speed stays the same and they move into my space on the asphalt. The last type slows down and waits until it is safe to pass. They are the exception rather than the rule. Most never change their speed or their position on the road.

I’ve been walking more recently because of a hamstring injury that has prevented me from running and biking as much as I have over the last thirteen years. Until recently, I competed in long-distance triathlons and trained on roads near and far from my home. My experience running and biking has been similar, but biking seems to elicit significantly more anger from drivers. I’ve been sworn at, given the middle finger, and once had a passenger in a Jeep Wrangler try to kick me as they drove by. Luckily, the driver moved over to prevent his passenger from connecting with me. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the last close call with a car. About a year later, someone took a left turn in front of me as I was traveling down a main road going about thirty miles an hour. I was able to avoid hitting the car, but I braked hard, went over the handlebars, and subsequently used my face to stop before hitting the car. At least that is what I am told. I have no recollection of what happened that day nine years ago.

Subscribe now

I woke up in a hospital the next day with a nurse pulling a tube out of my throat, telling me I had been in a bike crash, that I had hit a pothole in the road. However, there were no potholes and not even a crack in the asphalt where the crash occurred. Several weeks later, I met the policeman who responded to the call. He told me there was no car involved and couldn’t explain what happened to me.

I spoke to one of the people who witnessed the crash. She was in a car behind the car that took a left turn. She saw me coming because I had a flashing light on the front of my bike. I believe she is the one who called the police. According to her, a car in front of her took the left turn and continued as if nothing happened. I can only assume the policeman who interviewed the witnesses asked his questions in such a way that allowed him to rule out car involvement. In other words, no one saw the car hit me or vice versa. I was incredulous when the cop told me there wasn’t a car involved. Even though I couldn’t remember what happened, I still had a witness tell me a car took a left turn in front of me and kept on going. Was I to believe I just randomly freaked out and crashed on a bike that I had put 10,000 miles on?

Why bring up the dangers of walking, running, and biking on New Hampshire roads or any roads for that matter? Because ninety-seven days after my crash I had an experience that crystalized for me why our roads are unfriendly to everyone who uses them. I was still planning to compete in a Half Ironman in September and a Full Ironman in November and needed to figure out if I could mentally manage riding on the roads again. During my first ride outside, on a four-lane section of road, an SUV moved over from the left lane into the right lane and came very close to me. He sped up and took a right turn about a half mile down the road. I took the same right and caught up to him in a parking lot as he was getting out of his SUV. I laid into him about almost hitting me. His response was that he moved over because he needed to turn right up ahead, that’s why.

I recount these experiences, not to point out all the assholes I encounter on the road, but to look at how the systems we create to shape behavior ignore human nature. They assume that we are all rational, logical people. We assume that when presented with rules, we follow them because we see how we benefit from treating other people the way we would want to be treated. The people who have almost hit me while out walking, running, or biking surely wouldn’t want me to do the same to them if they were engaged in the same activity. But in the moment, their goal of getting to where they need to be superseded mine. For some, being on the road walking, running, or biking means I am putting my needs before theirs, it makes them angry, and some act on that anger.

Our roads are dangerous because people need to get from point A to point B in the fastest way possible. Speed limits and signs demanding a driver to give three feet of room to a cyclist doesn’t change that need. So, what is the answer? To believe there is an easy fix or if we only did this one thing is a fool’s errand. People and the roads they travel are part of a complex system. We do not have the ability to predict all the factors that go into why people do what they do when faced with the choice over waiting until it is safe to pass vs get there as fast as you can by any means possible. But we can do a better job of factoring in human nature, and add some friction, other than my body being in the way, to force people to slow down and pass safely. In my experience, I don’t provide enough friction to accomplish that task. We need to iterate interventions, use the marginal improvements, and jettison the rest. We must recognize that adding more signs for people to ignore and doing something for the sake of doing something won’t make the system better.

My goal with this Substack is to explore why systems fail. If that interests you too, please subscribe.