My eyes dart back and forth. My feet pedal with the quick pulse mixed with hesitation that only rush hour calls for. The time is five o’clock and I am biking in downtown Seattle. The 6 lanes of one-way traffic on 4th avenue hustle with more bustle at this hour than any other. Transit buses overlap each other as some stop for riders, other have to fan out 2 lanes to make a turn, and others simply need to get going. Tourists jolt ahead only to stop at each intersection, rubbernecks reaching to find the turn they are looking for. Taxicabs and tired, stressed out commuters honk and tailgate, trying to get ahead. Other commuters, having given up on the rush, lay behind, texting in a daze while their car inches forward. Pedestrians assert their right of way, either because they too have to get somewhere right now, or they are downtown with nothing else to do besides meander the streets. Then there are people like me; the cyclists, trying to find the sweet but impossible balance of energy conservation while mimicking car like paces, all the while watching out for every lane change, distracted driver, pothole and utility grate coming their way. Other cyclists, riding the white line zip past me, blowing my hair up as they pass. I lurch forward, pedaling as fast as I can to stay behind the car in front of me as it approaches the next intersection. The car in front of me swerves to expose a sedan to my left, pulling to a stop, angled across 2 lanes. The driver dashes out to the back of the car. What is going on? I observe the situation. The older, white-haired man looked at me with clear, but expectant eyes. He hurried but looked at me again. The first thought that came to mind was “heart attack”. Why else would someone stop their car across 2 lanes in the middle of rush hour? I stop, not really thinking of the cars behind me. They swerve and merge with the lane to my side. He hustles to the back of the car as quickly as he could. He says to me between breaths, “that lady on the bike….” He bends to the ground, “dropped her iPhone.” He picks it up. The giant, bright, still lit screen displayed whatever artist was playing through the earbuds, still attached. “I didn’t want anyone to run it over. It could be smashed in a second” He says. I acknowledge him, gazing out ahead. I saw no one on a bike. “She’s lonnng gone” He says. I’ll call someone on the phone right away, get it back to her.” By then he was back in the car, starting the engine and navigating the screen at the same time. “Thank you,” I said, “you are doing a great thing today. You will make her day.” And with that, I got back into the thick of traffic and pedaled home. He may have hoped I knew the woman, it would have been great if I did. I didn’t help at all. Still, I smiled all the way home. Amidst all the skepticism and fear that abounds, , I took comfort in knowing here were people out there who were willing to take a risk to help a stranger out. The man’s action also gave me a useful anecdote. I could sit in rush hour traffic, basking in the despair that comes from knowing I’m surrounded by frustrated people, buried in a pointless rat race. Instead, I can now imagine a few dots among the thousands slowing down traffic because they are doing a selfless deed. That sure makes traffic easier to take!