I have a road bike. Road bikes are great for city riding, because they make you less tired than a mountain bike. But on the paved roads of Austin, they also kind of suck, too. You can't hop curbs on road bikes. If you can't hop curbs, you can't really get around the inevitable foot traffic that tends to accumulate on sidewalks. I'm not confident enough yet to ride on South Congress during rush hour without a helmet or health insurance. I'm also not confident enough to know how to tell people to get the hell out of my way before I run them over.

In Holland, it's an easy answer: you ring the bell. Ding! (pause) Ding! Casual, and socially acceptable is the double ding of the bike bell in the Netherlands. Here, though, it comes across as anal and rude. The bell is out.

In New York, yelling at someone, and calling them an asshole for good measure, is considered okay, because everyone in that city yells at each other and calls each other asshole. Especially in Williamsburg. You can't do that in Texas. Especially in Austin. So yelling is out.

As much as I'd love to convince myself that the squeaky brake trick works, it doesn't, ever. My brakes are loud, because my bike is used and dusty and old. Whenever I try and slow down, even the students at the huge Texas School for the Deaf on South Congress can hear. But for some reason, the people whose knees I'm about to buckle with my road bike don't. The brake squeaking, too, is out.

What about saying, "On your left!" That always seems to anger people, for some reason.

Which brings me to the worst option, and yet, the only option I ever take: the meek, "Excuse me," followed by the, "Sorry," in passing.

It's terribly awkward. Almost like being stuck in an elevator with a stranger who foolishly tries to make small talk at the beginning, only to run out of ammo less than halfway through the ordeal. They're all bad options. But I don't have a mountain bike, so I just try to play the hand I'm dealt.