Russian Roulette
I started riding my Raleigh Grifter to school when I was ten. Ever since then, I've logged up tens, if not hundreds of thousands of miles of riding on the road without being knocked off by a car.
At 4:15 this afternoon, that all changed. Just before Richmond Park's Roehampton Gate, a black BMW pulled out in front of me, seemingly without looking. I guess I was travelling at 20mph. I remember making eye contact with the driver, shouting 'whoah, whoah, whoah' as if I was trying to placate an out of control horse. And then I slammed into the wing of his car.
It must have looked pretty dramatic, but it felt like a piece of ballet; everything in silent slow-motion. I think I slid over the bonnet, Starsky and Hutch style, before landing on the tarmac on the far side of the car. At some point, my feet came out of the pedals, because the bike was some distance away from me when I picked myself up. I remember noticing the back wheel was jammed, and hoping it wasn't broken (I was intending to tag along with London Dynamo's 'Surrey hills' ride tomorrow morning). My left knee was grazed and bleeding a bit, but I was okay.
Once I was back on my feet, the clock started ticking again. I could hear my heart thumping; the noise of the traffic that was queuing up on all three sides of the junction. I span round to face the car and unleashed a hail of four-letter words (the only ones I can repeat here are 'look' and 'bike') before noticing the car's occupants.
A smartly dressed, white-haired couple, probably husband and wife, late-sixties-ish. He looked half shocked, half angry that I'd ridden into his car. I'm sure she half-smiled at me.
And then they drove off.
They didn't even wind their window down and say sorry. I stood there, open-mouthed and bleeding, holding my broken bike in one hand. I evidently wasn't the only one in a state of disbelief, as three people came running up to me – Brian, Peter and Donna. Thank you all. Especially Brian, for taking their number plate down on a Post-It note. I'm off to Wandsworth Police Station in a minute, to sort things out. I'm fine, and my trusty Litespeed will live to fight another day (with a few extra battle scars). We might still be out on the Surrey Hills ride tomorrow, in fact.
To all the drivers reading this (me included – I love cars, and I love driving cars) – please, please, please be as observant as you can. You're in charge of a heck of an offensive weapon.
And if the Mark I Eyeball does occasionally let you down, at least have the human decency to apologise.
— Filed under Cycling