(no subject)
Reflexes
The door zone is a three foot wide invisible space adjacent to parked cars. When biking I stay outside the door zone - closer to traffic but without fear of going through someone else's window. My attention is divided between watching for cars coming out of driveways - to my right - and traffic behind me. Opening doors are an afterthought - as long as I maintain the distance between my body and the closest set of tires.
There are, of course, problems with this system.
***
I'm coming home from breakfast - my stomach full of eggs, hash browns, buttered rye toast spread thick with strawberry jam - midway up a hill when a someone opens their car door and steps out onto the street. No problem, I think - and promptly veer a foot or two into traffic. They're a good fifteen yards in front of me, so move early to avoid any problems. Just to make sure I'm not about to become the next dent on someone's front bumper I lean out and look over my left shoulder.
There is a big fucking bus behind me. It is not slowing down.
I veer to the right.
And then I make a stupid, rookie mistake. I momentarily forget about the open car door ten fifteen feet from my handlebars, forget about the man stepping out of his car, a grocery bag held in the crook of his arm. I forget about the drawn breath channeling air into my lungs, the pressure between my teeth and I lean my body far to the left and turn my handlebars slightly into the road. I split the difference between the open door to my right and the bus to my left and pray that my bicycle misses both.
I'm too far to the right.
My right shoulder nails the edge of the door and the impact swings my bike towards the curb - miraculously, I don't go into traffic. I react unconsciously, in milliseconds, pedals churning, my mind empty. Somehow I right the bike, get it parallel to the road and slam on the brakes. I come to a stop a few feet from some trash cans and rest, one leg outstretched like a kickstand, and catch my breath for a second before continuing up the hill.
"His right hand was extended above him, flat. Across the extreme tip of his middle finger, he saw now as he lifted that hand, a faint sixteenth of an inch of black tread wherethe tire had touched in passing. He looked at that black line withdisbelief, getting to his feet."
The door zone is a three foot wide invisible space adjacent to parked cars. When biking I stay outside the door zone - closer to traffic but without fear of going through someone else's window. My attention is divided between watching for cars coming out of driveways - to my right - and traffic behind me. Opening doors are an afterthought - as long as I maintain the distance between my body and the closest set of tires.
There are, of course, problems with this system.
***
I'm coming home from breakfast - my stomach full of eggs, hash browns, buttered rye toast spread thick with strawberry jam - midway up a hill when a someone opens their car door and steps out onto the street. No problem, I think - and promptly veer a foot or two into traffic. They're a good fifteen yards in front of me, so move early to avoid any problems. Just to make sure I'm not about to become the next dent on someone's front bumper I lean out and look over my left shoulder.
There is a big fucking bus behind me. It is not slowing down.
I veer to the right.
And then I make a stupid, rookie mistake. I momentarily forget about the open car door ten fifteen feet from my handlebars, forget about the man stepping out of his car, a grocery bag held in the crook of his arm. I forget about the drawn breath channeling air into my lungs, the pressure between my teeth and I lean my body far to the left and turn my handlebars slightly into the road. I split the difference between the open door to my right and the bus to my left and pray that my bicycle misses both.
I'm too far to the right.
My right shoulder nails the edge of the door and the impact swings my bike towards the curb - miraculously, I don't go into traffic. I react unconsciously, in milliseconds, pedals churning, my mind empty. Somehow I right the bike, get it parallel to the road and slam on the brakes. I come to a stop a few feet from some trash cans and rest, one leg outstretched like a kickstand, and catch my breath for a second before continuing up the hill.
"His right hand was extended above him, flat. Across the extreme tip of his middle finger, he saw now as he lifted that hand, a faint sixteenth of an inch of black tread wherethe tire had touched in passing. He looked at that black line withdisbelief, getting to his feet."