The appropriately named TruckerBiker offers us this tale:
The four-way stop seems to confuse just about every driver: Who got here first? What do they mean, “the car on the right”? Can’t they see me waving them through (even though it’s night and I’m not visible)? Can I just wait here until every one else has gone home?
But last week I encountered a new twist.
Bicycling west on the Midtown Greenway after dark, I approached the stop sign at Holmes Av., just as a small pickup was approaching from the north. The truck stopped on the small upgrade. I stopped, never trusting that my headlight is visible and figuring this was a time to be a law-abiding bicyclist.
The standoff lasted a few seconds.
Then the truck started to creep forward up the grade into the intersection. I got back on the pedals, figuring the truck would quickly clear and I could move on.
But the truck stopped. So I stopped again, unclipping from the pedals, and putting my feet on the ground.
I gave the truck a histrionic “Go!” kind of wave. And then I noticed the window rolling down.
Was this trouble?
I heard a small voice:
“I’m sorry. I’m driving a stick and I’m stalled.”