Near Death, no, Literally
I bike. I love it. It's something I do for exercise, for transportation, and for me.
Today I was biking for transportation. I had an appointment 4 or 5 miles from home and afterward was riding home. The route takes me down a hill which is steep enough that, without pedaling, one can easily hit 30 mph (which, it works out, is the speed limit). As I was flying down hill a pickup truck pulled out in front of me, the driver hadn't given me much notice, but I knew he was there. Then, without warning, he slowed, pulled into the bike lane and started making a right hand turn into me.
Panicked, I started calling out "Hey! HEY! HEY!!!! No! NO! NOOOO!!!" while braking, trying to find a way to swerve around him—which, unfortunately, meant turning right, hopefully squeezing between his truck and the curb, and then not hitting any of the parked cars on the street I was turning on to. When the realization that impact was unavoidable hit me, I screamed. The anticipatory scream of someone who knows they're very likely not going to make another sound. He slammed on his brakes and I made it around him, and safely onto the street still on my bike and unscathed. I came to a complete stop to regroup, and the drive pulled beside me. I was scared and angry and relieved and, most importantly, alive.
"I'm so sorry!" he began, "that was totally my fault! I didn't see you. Thank you for screaming, that's the reason I stopped!" A few apologies and my reply of "yeah, me too!" and he went on his way.
Me, I collapsed in a heap at the side of road and bawled. I was too shaken to ride my bike and just needed a hug. I text to Bill (who lives right around the corner from my near demise) proved fruitless—he was at the fair. I paced. I cried. I shook. And, once it was readily apparent that my only way home was to get back on my bike and pedal, I did. Tears streaming down my face the whole way.
There are no words to fully capture how I feel. The closest I can get is that I'm in need desperate of physical human contact and acutely aware of my own mortality.
Today I was biking for transportation. I had an appointment 4 or 5 miles from home and afterward was riding home. The route takes me down a hill which is steep enough that, without pedaling, one can easily hit 30 mph (which, it works out, is the speed limit). As I was flying down hill a pickup truck pulled out in front of me, the driver hadn't given me much notice, but I knew he was there. Then, without warning, he slowed, pulled into the bike lane and started making a right hand turn into me.
Panicked, I started calling out "Hey! HEY! HEY!!!! No! NO! NOOOO!!!" while braking, trying to find a way to swerve around him—which, unfortunately, meant turning right, hopefully squeezing between his truck and the curb, and then not hitting any of the parked cars on the street I was turning on to. When the realization that impact was unavoidable hit me, I screamed. The anticipatory scream of someone who knows they're very likely not going to make another sound. He slammed on his brakes and I made it around him, and safely onto the street still on my bike and unscathed. I came to a complete stop to regroup, and the drive pulled beside me. I was scared and angry and relieved and, most importantly, alive.
"I'm so sorry!" he began, "that was totally my fault! I didn't see you. Thank you for screaming, that's the reason I stopped!" A few apologies and my reply of "yeah, me too!" and he went on his way.
Me, I collapsed in a heap at the side of road and bawled. I was too shaken to ride my bike and just needed a hug. I text to Bill (who lives right around the corner from my near demise) proved fruitless—he was at the fair. I paced. I cried. I shook. And, once it was readily apparent that my only way home was to get back on my bike and pedal, I did. Tears streaming down my face the whole way.
There are no words to fully capture how I feel. The closest I can get is that I'm in need desperate of physical human contact and acutely aware of my own mortality.
posted by granola girl at 8:13 pm
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