I’ve been riding my bike in the city for more than a year now. I change the route I take to work occasionally, partly so that I won’t get bored and partly to keep me on my toes. Taking the same route every day would make me complacent. Today I discovered why I need to remain alert at all times while riding.

I was riding east on 72nd Street, just off the 5th Avenue hill. My legs were tired but the bright blue sky and the cool morning air exhilarated me. Days like today it’s good to be alive. As I came to the Park Avenue intersection, I was thrilled to see there were no cars waiting at the light. No cars behind me, and only a single yellow cab driving west on 72nd towards me. He was driving a little faster than I would have liked to see, but I was in the far right lane and he was in the left lane; I thought there was plenty of distance between us. I watched him as he came into the intersection, to make sure he wasn’t going to turn. He had no turn signal on, and didn’t seem to be slowing down. So I kept on through the green light at Park Avenue. Just as I entered the intersection, the taxi started a sharp left turn to head south on Park Avenue. Unfortunately for me his turn was going to happen right in front of me. Already in the intersection, I didn’t have time to turn onto Park. I screamed, “No no no no no no,” and grabbed my brakes. (I’m glad I keep the brakes in good shape.) I slowed pretty quickly and started a turn to get onto the sidewalk, but there were a small group of people standing on the island in the middle of Park Avenue. If I had jumped the curb I would have hit them.

I did the only thing I could do: held the brakes and watched a big yellow minivan taxicab barrel towards me. The driver must have seen me, because he slowed down enough so that he hit me just as he was stopping. I turned in time to get hit from the side, the clothes-filled saddle bag on my left taking the brunt of the bumper. I rolled off the bike onto the hood of his car as my bike fell to the street. My shoulder hit the metal hood hard and I felt my right knee bump something. I think now that my knee hit the bike frame, not the cab itself.

I banged on the cab with a fist. “What the hell are you doing?” I screamed, rolling off the hood. I was shaken up and angry, but my first concern was for myself. Was I hurt? I could walk. I had a slight tingling in my fingers where I had clutched the brakes and had them wrenched from my grasp. My knee throbbed. But nothing appeared to be broken. I ran my hands up and down my legs to make sure, taking a few steps and feeling my hips for anything that might cause a wince. Nothing did, though. Next I picked up my bike and moved it out from the front of the cab. I couldn’t see anything that was dented and despite having taken the brunt of the impact the saddle bag appeared to be undamaged. I wouldn’t be able to tell if anything was wrong with the wheels until I rode it.

The driver got out of the cab. I was still shaken. I remember seeing his license plate on the ground, which my pedal must have knocked off. I also remember that his light was off, so he had to have had a passenger. “Are you OK?” he asked. I have to give him kudos for that. His first thought was for my safety. He put his hand near my arm to steady me if I needed it, but I didn’t.

“I think so. Nothing’s broken,” I said. “Why don’t you watch where you’re going?”

He was an indian man, wore a string of rudraksha beads around his neck. I was wearing a single one around mine. I ignored him while I looked after the bike. A woman standing on the island looked shocked that I was still alive. She stood there with her mouth agape staring at me like I had a tire sticking out of my head. She didn’t say anything and didn’t move, just stared.

“Are you all right, sir?” the driver asked again.

“I think so. Yes. What the hell were you doing?”

“You know, sometimes these things happen,” he said, bobbing his head from side to side.

“These things wouldn’t happen if you watched where you were going,” I said.

“But you are all right?”

“Yes, I’m all right. Nothing broken, bike seems OK. You need to pay better attention to where you’re driving. Watch for bikes on the road. We’re out here, too, you know.”

“I am sorry, sir,” he said. He extended his hand for me to shake. I did.

Now that I think back on it, I was very lucky. This was the first time I had actually been hit by a car and thrown off the bike, and not only did I walk away but the bike was unscathed. Not even the tires are warped. Despite the fact that the cab driver should have seen me before he started the turn (I was taking up the entire lane of traffic and had a green light) he did react quickly once he saw me. If he had not slammed on his brakes he would have hit me going at least 30 miles an hour, which may not sound like much except that the odds of surviving getting hit by a car moving 20 mph are 95% while the odds of surviving being hit by a car moving at 40 mph is only 15%. That’s difference meant me walking away from that accident today and being taken away in an ambulance. I’m also rethinking my anger at his fateful statement that “these things happen sometimes.” Maybe he was right. Maybe I was destined to get hit at some point, and for this to be the first hit I get means I got pretty lucky. As someone at work today told me, I should play the lottery.

http://www.rustlingreed.com/blog/?p=128