Musings: The Chinese driver’s best friend – the horn

Honking at cyclists is another popular pastime for drivers. In America, horn toots usually convey a driver’s anger or annoyance. Motorists might think you’re taking up too much space or riding like an idiot so they’ll honk at you. If they respect your right to be on the road with them, they’ll give you some room and pass by quietly.

But in China, a honk usually just means, “I’m about to pass you so don’t do a blind U-turn into my path.” It’s a good example of a fundamental difference in how Americans and Chinese approach driving.

Americans and Europeans think in terms of “lanes.” Or “flight paths” for planes. Or “lines” for bikes. We’ve grown up in fast-moving vehicles that require plenty of space to operate. Drivers own the lane space in front of them, and others who want to enter the lane must first check to see if there’s enough space. In the same way, a bike rider owns his line and is expected to hold it.
The Chinese don’t seem to think in terms of lanes. They drive as if they’re surrounded by a space bubble or a force field that’s about five feet thick. If they decide to turn or merge, it’s up to other drivers to notice them and stay out of their space bubble. Chinese motorists don’t do much shoulder checking. They ride their bikes the same way. If they want to join a pace line, they won’t start in the back. They’ll just try to merge their way into the middle of it. You’ve got to make room for them.

I can’t count how many times I’ve had to swerve or yell at drivers, pedestrians and cyclists who were blindly merging into my lane like Mr. Magoo. I recently T-boned a migrant worker who tried to zip across an intersection without checking for ongoing traffic. Neither of us was seriously injured, but I badly bruised my hip and wrist as I hit the road hard and bounced for a few feet.

Chinese drivers cope with this unpredictability by honking at anything that might turn into their path. Few people seem to get annoyed by the cacophony of car horns. It bugs the hell out of me. I’ll never get used to it.

Sometimes, drivers seem to just be beeping to say hello to the weird cycling foreigner in spandex. Once while I was barreling through a tunnel, a cement truck rumbled up on my back wheel and the driver started tooting his horn at me. The sound was deafening as it echoed off the tunnel’s walls. As I cleared the tunnel, the truck pulled up alongside of me. Just as I was about ask the driver what the hell his problem was, I saw him and another guy bouncing around in the cab, laughing and yelling the common Chinese cheer at me: “Jia you!” or “Add oil!” At sporting events, the Chinese don’t yell “Go!” or “Come on!,” they scream, “Add oil!”

Musings: Bikes no longer welcome on China’s roads

When I was studying in China in the early 1990s, I’d often unwind after a long day of classes by hopping on my rusty black Yongjiu bike (a Chinese knockoff of a Raliegh from the WWII era) and cruise around the city. I never worried about traffic because bikes ruled the road. The city’s streets were designed for bikes with wide lanes demarcated by barriers made of iron bars.

The scene of seemingly millions of people pedaling down China’s streets has become an iconic image for the nation. But it’s an outdated one. So much has changed since my student days 20 years ago.

The changes are most obvious in big cities like Guangzhou. Most residents – especially those in the swelling middle class – have long given up commuting by bike. The city has a clean, new and speedy subway system. Buses are also cheap and convenient. And cars are more affordable for the middle class. Autos rule the roads now.

Two years ago, city officials announced with great pride that the number of cars on Guangzhou’s roads has hit the 1 million mark. When the country held a “No Car Day,” Guangzhou was one of the few major cities that decided not to participate. This year, it joined the campaign, but it was a half-hearted effort. A few roads were blocked off by police, but when they left after rush hour, the cars took over again.

Guangzhou wants its future to be tied to the automobile. The city aspires to be the Detroit of China and has factories that make Honda and Nissan cars. Last year, 180,000 new vehicles hit the city’s roads, the government said. That’s nearly 500 a day.

There seems to be a quiet campaign to push cyclists off the roads. One of the best examples of this is a bike lane near my home that’s marked with a thick white line, a sign and a symbol of a bike painted on the pavement. But the line has recently been bisected by short white lines that chop the lane up into parking spaces for cars. The lane is for bikers as long as motorists aren’t using it.

On some roads, police with whistles and flags order cyclists to pull off the road and ride on the sidewalk. I usually ignore them.

The Chinese view the car to be a symbol of modernity – evidence the country has made it to the big time. They scoff at foreigners who say China is making the same mistake as other countries, namely America, who fell in love with the car. I discussed the subject with a Chinese friend who had a new mini van. He said, “When we rode bikes, foreigners laughed at us for being so poor and backward. Now that we can afford cars, they say we’re being wasteful polluters.”

I argued that bike-friendly cities like Amsterdam or Copenhagen are truly modern and civilized. But this seems so silly to most Chinese.