A handcycle is different, and different things attract attention.
I’ll confess that it took some time to appreciate that attention and perceive it as an opportunity. I had to learn to smile when people stare and point.
Different things like handcycles and wheelchairs occasionally make others uncomfortable. I’ve heard some pretty crazy things as people try to cover discomfort with words that aren’t always carefully considered.
I really try to avoid feeling offended. I know that’s not the intent. But even after more than 25,000 miles, I occasionally lose control of my sarcasm button when I’m cranking along, sweating and working out like everyone else, and someone surprises me with an inappropriate comment…like the guy who passed me last week on the trail, slowed for a moment, and called out:
“Cool bike. Do your legs work?”
I get the curiosity. I’m happy to explain the bike, and even my injury, if you really want to know.
But there’s a better, more polite way to ask. Can we at least stop and say hello before we discuss something that’s more than a little personal?
I’m sure he didn’t intend to be rude. I assume he just didn’t understand that his blunt question, in that setting, felt awkward.
So I figured I’d toss out some other remarks that feel uncomfortable. Maybe they’ll help you understand, and perhaps you can share and help others understand, too.
You outta get a motor for that thing.
Why? Because I’m old? Or bald? Do you say that to other strangers on bikes? When you single me out, your observation, no matter how well-intentioned, only increases my level of self-consciousness. I already have plenty of that.
Hey there, Speedy Gonzalez, you better slow down.
Again, why? Does my disability make me a cartoon character? What in particular makes you think you need to comment on my speed, usually with a dismissive, sarcastic chuckle.
It’s great to see you out here.
Because, I suppose, people like me aren’t supposed to be “out here”? Why is it any greater for me to be out here than the lady who’s overweight? Do you tell her it’s great to see her out here?
I understand you mean this as a compliment, but I sense that you’re trying to make yourself feel better by saying it. If my presence inspires you, great. But I’m here to work out, just like you and the guy recovering from a heart attack and the triathlete.
How fast does that thing go?
It goes as fast as I crank it—just like your bike. If you wouldn’t ask that question of any other stranger on any other bike, why ask me?
I think a lot of this is “small talk,” the stuff we use to fill space when we’re not sure what else to say. It’s a form of “How ya doin?”
Do you see what makes these particular chucks of small talk uncomfortable? Mostly they’re lame, awkward attempts at humor, remarks you wouldn’t make to “normal” strangers. They’re dismissive, the sort of things you might say to children. I feel like you’re patting me on the head.
There’s a simple way around most of these situations. Someone who’s genuinely interested can approach me, sit down or crouch so our eyes are at the same level, and say something like, “Your bike’s really interesting. Do you mind if I ask…?”
I love that, because it’s not small talk. Whether it’s about the bike, the wheelchair, or my injury, I almost never mind. It’s usually the start of a meaningful conversation.
# # #
There’s one more. You wouldn’t believe how frequently someone says, completely out of nowhere:
Can I ask you a personal question?
This one’s tough, because so much depends on context. But often this question precedes an embarrassing inquiry that’s frankly none of your business. One specific case I recall involved a guy I’d never seen before who stopped me on the trail.
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
I guess I shrugged.
“How do you go to the bathroom?”
I’ll let you wonder how I responded.
# # #
My point isn’t to be easily offended or to make anyone feel bad. I just want to remind everyone that handcyclists and wheelchair users are regular people. Don’t make remarks or ask questions you wouldn’t address to others.
We all ride the same road. The least we can do is to make sure our words don’t make the road any harder than it has to be.
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