Before we moved to Beijing, folks would often describe traffic here as diabolical. And seeing as I’ve heard the same about traffic in Tehran, usually an understatement, I was prepared for the worst.

Traffic can be terrible here, but it’s much of the same as any big city. There are 22 million people who call this place home, many of them with cars, so traffic issues should be a given.

There is some order to it. Order that folks in the US would find familiar. Green means go. Red means stop. And if you’re enterprising enough, you can sneak through with the car in front of you as the light goes from yellow to red.

I won’t drive here because there’s no point in doing so. China’s version of Uber or Lyft is relatively cheap. And I like to walk anyway.

But there are things that folks would be less used to, even if they do live in a big city. As I’ve described in previous posts, they’re everywhere and go in every direction. Any surface on which they can make progress toward their endpoint is useable.

They sneak up on you, though. Most are electric and barely make a sound. They whir along at ungodly speeds in the tightest of spaces making hardly any noise.

Heads must always be on a swivel.

The little buggers come in all shapes and sizes. They can be three-wheeled or two. They can be for personal use or as a delivery vehicle. They’re used in the back alleys to pick up garbage and along the river bank to remove debris or other detritus.

The pilots of these noiseless road hogs maneuver their crafts fearlessly through traffic. Zipping, zapping, often whisking past whatever obstacle–moving or not–before them. Doing so should require complete concentration and total attention, like a fighter pilot. Bogeys come from any direction; dexterity, spatial awareness, and quick reactions are necessary to avoid catastrophe.

Imagine my horror, though, when, upon more profound observation (the sorts that come only from increased exposure and a general increase in the comfort of place), I realized that half of these maniacs are talking or texting while navigating the supposedly diabolic traffic in Beijing.

No, the talkers and texters aren't curtailing their zipping, zapping, or whisking. That continues unabated while they blabber on or send back the text that can wait.

All of this is aided by the mass usage of mobile phone holders installed in the middle of the handlebars. I’ve seen cyclists do this too. Peddling along while having a full-blown Facetime with a buddy. Or firing off that last text before arriving at the office while struggling to continue the forward momentum required to maintain upright.

No, traffic isn’t diabolical in the ways you’ve been told. Or at least any less so than any big city in America. The little flying road devils silently zipping, zapping, and whisking their way through traffic add all the unnecessary fright you’ll need on your commute in this old imperial capital.

Heads must be on a swivel; otherwise, the two or three-wheeled miniature modes of transportation might give you a bump you will not soon forget.