Photo by Richard Masoner. Click to scoot on over to his photostream.
Yesterday, I officially became an urban biker.
You see, although this summer will mark my first full year as a bike-owner, there are a number of things one must do in order to be officially canonized into the urban biking community. Besides getting a cool bike, good gear, hauling a huge bag full of personal wipes, a change of clothes, and a real pair of sneakers, it also really helps your street cred if you get hit by a truck.
Yesterday, I got myself some street cred.
I’ve only had two accidents in my life in which I’ve been the driver. The first time, I was in a car and was sideswiped by an oversized black truck. The second time was yesterday, when I was sideswiped by an oversized red truck. I seem to have a blind spot on my left side that’s only affected by oversized trucks of both color and non-color. Apparently, they’re my commuting Kryptonite. I wish my Kryptonite was something less massive. And less painful.
I’m sure my story mimics those of several urban bikers – I was minding my own business on the far right side of the road, with enough room for someone to pass me carefully on my left. But since most people are on the phone, eating food, and reading a magazine while they drive these days, they often tend to miss bikers. And since I was pretty focused on how wet my underwear was getting from the rain splashing up to my bike seat and working its way into my butt, only something like a truck slam could pull me out of my concern for not having packed an extra pair of underwear that morning.
Unfortunately, I’m pretty darn sure this guy did see me and just tried to squeeze past by pushing me off the road. But since there wasn’t anywhere for me to go, I instead got hit by his sideview mirror and the back of his truck bed. Luckily, I maintained my balance enough after the hit that instead of falling into the steady traffic coming from behind, I popped up onto the curb and nursed my wounds.
But the dude didn’t stop.
That’s the truly annoying part. I’m lugging around an enormous bag of gear and will pedal up a storm to get to work on time so that I can wipe down in the bathroom and transform from a dirty street rat into a presentable office worker. I’m attempting to buy less gas, save roadkill, and slowly whittle off the enormous gelatinous donut of fat that currently insulates my middle section. I’m really trying to do a few good things here that are actually rather inconvenient and difficult and you can’t even be bothered to pull over and see whether or not you’ve maimed me.
But hey – I’m just fine. And I’m pretty stoked to have had my first run-in with traffic be one in which I’m not severely harmed. How often can one be officially inducted into the Urban Biker Society with a vehicle collision that doesn’t involve a ridiculously painful and unsightly road rash? I mean, I almost feel like I can’t really be canonized unless I’ve got unsightly sores and aches that trouble me for months. But I’ll take the street cred. After all, I survived a truck. A truck!
I am an urban bike warrior; hear me roar. ♣
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