As the perennial bike protest called Critical Mass gets pulled out for discussion again, I wanted to share this story:

I covered Critical Mass for an unreleased documentary back in 2000. That was the year Bill Bradley (remember him?) came to Bellingham, WA to stump for his presidencial candidacy at the Alaska Ferry Terminal.

In pouring down February rain, about 80 CM riders crawled from downtown to Fairhaven and back again as slow as they could go, delaying hundreds of people for almost two hours. I've covered a number of protests that got pretty hairy, but this was the only one where I thought someone was going to get hurt. Most of the time, it's you and the police. They have rules and if you cross the line it's plasti-cuffs and a ride downtown. The outcome is very predictable. Here, there were no rules, no police, and no one was in charge. It was a free-for-all: we were riding five across and stopping traffic at intersections even when we had the red light. The riders were drunk with revolutionary power and the motorists wanted our blood.

The craziest part was when the riders saturated all three lanes at the beginning of Forest Street on the way back into downtown. Up until that point the motorists had been corked up behind us for almost an hour in a single lane on Boulevard. I was pretty sure that the Critical Massers would let them by once the street opened up, but that wasn't the case. There was some confusion among the riders at that point; some wanted to go to one lane, but a contingent led by (name deleted) quickly fanned out across all three. No one was going to get through.

I distinctly remember lowering my camera and looking at the endless river of cars stretched out behind us. I was in the unique position of riding in a bike trailer being pulled by a CM rider. It was the perfect platform: a 360 degree view of utter madness. At any point, I told myself, just bail over the side and run away. No one will follow. But I stayed. There is something completely fascinating about this type of conflict. When you are immersed in the moment disguised as an observer but right in the middle of everything, the shield of documentary filmmaker/non-combatant/whatever-the-hell is totally invisible.

We were in the last line of bikes and I could see into a car just a few feet from me. An older man was pounding the steering wheel as his wife yelled at him to do something. He was completely powerless. That's how Critical Mass made someone feel that day. We took his power away and there was nothing to replace it. I was certain that he or someone else would come unglued and use their vehicle as a weapon, but instead it was intense screaming, revving engines, scary threats, and a cacophony of blaring horns. Welcome to Bellingham, now get on your bike, as they say.

Eventually, as we neared the Co-op, a driver did break through our lines, nearly taking out four or five riders. The reason she needed to get somewhere so fast? Her father had had a heart attack and she was trying to get to the hospital. Later, at the bar, there was a lot of talk about that episode and the conclusions were almost evenly split along gender lines: female riders thought she was telling the truth, male riders thought she was bullshitting.

Did we take back the streets? Hell Yes! Did we show 'em that We Are Traffic? Um, sure! Did we create a climate of cooperation and understanding between motorists and bikers? No. Not even close.

CM is empowering for riders, especially ones that have almost gotten wasted by idiot drivers, but ultimately its deliberate lack of organization and confrontational style ends up sending the wrong message to everyone.

Ride safe, obey the law and set a good example.