"DO YOU KNOW THAT YOU JUST HIT ME?!" I yell into the shut window of a late model Toyota.
I am dumbfounded as the girl/woman looks up from applying her make-up, the entire contents of her bag strewn out on her lap, and glances at me with empty, careless eyes.
"wha?" She responds, with just about the amount of drunken lack of situational awareness I was expecting from this baffling idiot... as if I willed her to say it.
"YOU JUST HIT ME... WITH YOUR CAR".
Today, I found out that rage watts are a real thing. When you are angry, or in this case blindingly furious, you can pedal your bike faster than you could otherwise. A lot faster it turns out.
As you may know, I ride my bike a lot. Today was no different than any other day, except for the fact that I was slotted to do sprint intervals (which are my specialty) instead of the more regular longer tempo intervals (the bane of my cycling existence). I enjoy the rides where I can work on my strengths a little bit more than the ones where I must toil and reflect on what an inadequate bike racer I am. Slightly of topic, but it goes to my mental state: happy.
About 5 minutes after my opening sprint, I am brushed back by a grey/gold Toyota shit box. The driver clips my leg with their door mirror, and continues on into the shoulder, completely and totally oblivious to my existence. It didn't hurt. If I'm totally honest it barley touched me... but the combination of actually being hit, and the car's continued trajectory struck a potent cocktail of fear and anger in my body that humans reserve for very a specific moment.
Fight or Flight.
I decide, rather quickly, that it is time for both. Gathering myself, I unload what has to be the fastest sprint ever recorded by man, and settle in to an eye-crossing chase of this Toyota fucking Camry. I knew we were nearing a busy intersection (where the fabled Wells Ave Criterium is held) and started praying for a red light.
And I got it.
"No I didn't," she blurted out. "how could I have hit you?"
Stunned, I didn't know how to respond.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN?! YOU JUST HIT ME WITH YOUR FUCKING CAR"
The light turns green, and she aims to make a(nother) departure from the scene. I am having none of it. I have already removed my phone, and am infront of her car. I am dialing all of the police.
As she reverses and peels out past me, I calmly read her licence plate to the dispatcher, and tell him in which direction she was fleeing. Later, I tell him that I will not be waiting (pointlessly) for a cruiser to arrive as it will not do me any good. I want to (now, badly) finish my intervals.
This is the sad state of affairs we all too often have to deal with. Some of us are not as lucky as I was today. Some of us are even less lucky than that. I'd love to espose more on this subject. God knows I could write a book on how many times I've come across people doing crosswords, or reading the paper, or drinking alcohol openly. Or, more worryingly, the increasing number of times I've been hit. Or how many people I know personally have been hurt. I am almost too tired of thinking about it. Even after this crazy scrape, I am no more likely to ride any differently... I think I do my best as it is. What can we do? People are idiots.
I just wish people would realize that we are not deer on the side of the road.... though, like the deer, if you hit us, we are more than likely going to die. We are your brother or sister. We are you mom or dad. We are your spouse. We are your everything. And you are going to kill us.
Pay. Fucking. Attention. While. You. Are. Driving.
Love Sam. And everyone else.
(Also, I took back two KOM's today on the all important Strava; keeper of all cycling. Further evidence of the level of adrenaline that was delivered.)
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