The Cyclist’s Guide to Getting Hit by Cars

First of all, you really don’t want to get hit by a car. It hurts. It could kill. So, you wear a dorky construction yellow vest. A chunky helmet. You keep to the road’s shoulders. You don’t go too fast.

Passing cars is like riding through a gauntlet. Each car is a weapon: one small flick of the driver’s wrist and you’d be a skid mark.

In the ecosystem of the road, you, little cyclist, are a prey animal. Your spandex has no armor, no horns. No exoskeleton to protect your hide.

It used to make you angry: cars rolling through stop signs, drivers on phones, drivers never looking up, never seeing you. But you might as well be angry at the Seattle rain. Now, you try to get attention by waving and smiling. At every intersection you try and charm drivers into eye contact, into recognizing your existence.

But today, despite your garish clothes and forced friendliness, it happens. An oncoming driver turns left without signaling, without stopping, she heads for the bike lane, for you.

It is a light blue Subaru. There is a baby seat in the back of the car. You see the eyes of the driver at half-mast-boredom expand to full-moon-shock. You hear the squeal of brakes, but it is too late. You tense your body. You prepare for contact.

In fact, you have already prepared. At the bicycle store one year before, replacing a bike damaged by a previous accident, you stared at the pedal options. The clip-in metal pedals were elegant: sexy and light. But you chose the protrusive plastic pedals. Why? You don’t remember. They were probably cheaper. You also chose a sturdy rear rack and two panniers large enough to hold all your textbooks as well as enough groceries to last a week of lunches. These choices will become important.

As you see the eyes of the driver you wonder if there is any way you could avoid this. Could you stop? Could you move faster? But it is too late. There is the crunch of impact and then you are in the air. You see the road rushing to meet your body. Do you think of your husband? Do you send him loving thoughts in your last moment? No, it is too fast. You dumbly watch the road approaching and then you land hard, the breath thumped from your lungs.

“Are you okay?” The driver asks.

This question is important. A year ago, you told the driver who peeled out of the Starbucks into your body that you were fine. You biked to work even. But you weren’t fine, and your bike was wrecked. Your bleeding scared your students, your principal wasn’t happy that you sobbed through your lessons. Later you had to fix the bicycle yourself. And your health insurance refused to cover injuries that should have been someone else’s responsibility.

This time you are ready. “I need your insurance!” Your voice is shrill. You are embarrassed by your naked fear. But you can’t let the driver get away without this one small thing that she owes you.

The driver begins to defend herself. “It is impossible to see with the sun in my eyes. It isn’t my fault.”

Your heart races. She is walking as though to get into the car. To drive away. Shakily, you stand up and realize your leg is all wet. Did you wet yourself? No, it is blood. “Please! I need your insurance.”

Pedestrians begin to gather. They will be your witnesses if the driver leaves.

You give a sigh of relief as the driver turns around and walks back to you. She holds out the insurance card, you take a picture. The pedestrian puts your bike on the sidewalk. The driver gets in the car and goes away.

You are going to be late to work. You get back on your bicycle and try to pedal, but the pedal is broken, the frame is at a funny angle. It’s only three more miles you tell yourself. You can just bike with one leg.

But it is uphill, and you can’t.

Only later do you realize your luck. When you open your bag, you realize kale has exploded everywhere softening the impact. And the clunky pedal broke so that your ankle didn’t have to. You take your helmet off, and you see the long crack down the front. It could have been your skull.

But with the driver’s insurance, you can go to the doctor. Get x-rayed. There’s only bruises and a sprain, nothing is broken. The insurance covers a new bicycle.

You don’t blame the driver. Accidents happen. In fact, you were glad you were hit instead of hitting someone. You chose pain over guilt.

As you have long phone calls with the driver’s insurance, they ask you if you have contact info for any witnesses. You didn’t even think about asking the pedestrians. You make a mental note to remember this the next time you have an accident.