Saturday, August 09, 2008

Dad-Blasted Lawless Cyclists

I have long been paranoid about being hit from behind while cycling, though I know that, statistically, it’s a rare occurrence. Well, on Thursday, July 31, as I rode to work, I was hit from behind. (Which is not to say my paranoia was worth the time I spent on it; it wasn’t.)

I was on Market St. and had just stopped at a red light, as is my custom: to fail to do so is illegal, potentially discourteous and unsafe, and, in any event, lousy public relations.

Right after I stopped—BAM!!!!—something, namely another cyclist, hit me quite hard, sending me crashing to the pavement. In retrospect, I have to admire his skill in hitting the narrow target that is my rear wheel and rack so dead on. I ended up tangled in my own bike and underneath the other cyclist and his bike.

My first remarks, delivered at as much volume as I could generate, are unprintable. A few cyclists paused to make sure a pool of blood wasn’t spreading across the ground and that I wasn’t dead; one stayed and attended to my bike and to me, which was tremendously kind of him.

The man who hit me was perhaps in his early 60s or so, and seemed a bit dazed—the experience can’t have been all that pleasant for him, either, since he basically hit a brick wall (me!). When I got done cussing, I asked him to write down his name and phone number, and to please look closely at my right elbow, which was bloodied and already swollen—I wanted him to observe the results of his inattention.

I also said I would like an apology, which he offered right away (though if I had been the one to hit someone, I think I would have apologized much more profusely, and no one would have had to ask me to do it).

My Good Samaritan suggested I might want to see my doctor about my elbow, and walked me to a place where I could lock up my bike, which had suffered a couple of obvious injuries; later I found out the rim of the rear wheel was also cracked.

I decided to take a cab to work, but saw none, so I walked a block or so to the hotel where an African-American guy is often seen hailing a cab for a hotel guest. I’ve passed him a million times but never took a good look at him before. It turns out he’s a dead ringer for Jamie Foxx.

I asked him for help getting a cab, and also if people ever tell him he looks a little bit like Jamie Foxx. I didn’t use the phrase “dead ringer” because I suspect most people like to think their looks are (pleasingly) unique.

He answered, “All the time!” and said that when he went to see Ray, people in the theater were turning in their seats to sneak peeks at him—they thought he was Jamie Foxx watching his own movie incognito.

He asked about my accident and said, “See, that’s what makes me scared about riding in the city.” Uh oh! Not the intended message. I told him I’ve been riding a bike in San Francisco for more than 20 years and that this is the first time anything like this has ever happened to me. I told him that I’m going to bring him information about a free bicycle safety class he can take, and I will.

Later I took a cab to pick up my bike, dropped it off at my place and went on to my doctor’s office and adjoining hospital for X-rays.

I had the X-rays taken and then took another cab home; that driver thought it was completely hilarious that I’d been hit by another cyclist. I was in a pretty good mood by then myself, for whatever reason. The day had certainly been a departure from routine, and I got to have pleasant chats with $90 worth of cab drivers, including the bribe I had to offer the first cab driver to fetch my bike and put it in the trunk for me.

Inventory of injuries: Severely bumped and slightly bloodied elbow, hideous bruise on left buttock, sizable and hideous bruise on left thigh, slightly scraped and aching right knee (which has developed a clicking noise), slightly bruised and aching lower back, slightly bruised right calf, stiff left hip (of course, the same hip I had previously injured in a fall), and quite stiff neck.

I was thinking I’d need to add up everything I spent so I could ask for reimbursement, but then I got to thinking that maybe what I’d like most of all, besides for all cyclists (and motorists) to stop at the freaking red lights, is for the guy who hit me to attend the urban cycling skills class I attended last September, which changed my cycling habits completely, for the better.

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