Rite of Passage

This morning I was cycling to work, thinking about my next blog post, when it hit me–in the form of four wheels, two doors and a windshield.  Yes, today I was involved in my first ever bike-car collision.  Don’t let me blow this out of proportion; it was a minor collision and I suffered no injuries.  My lunch-of-champions however (dried raman noodles) exploded on impact. 

I was traveling south down the Prince of Wales when I was car-tackled in the middle of the PoW/Fisher intersection by a driver turning left.  Granted, I was busting my butt through a stale light, but right-of-way was still on my side.  The driver was kind enough to stop and holler at me through her car window while I picked up my bike, panier and dignity off of the pavement (all three seemed to skid away in opposite directions).  Was I hurt? Did I want a drive to the hospital?

Not in your car, lady.

Not true–I was actually appreciative of her concern but unable to express it in my state of shock and bewilderment.  Did I just get slammed by a car at 8:15 in the morning?  I must have shook my head, maybe muttered something about her being more careful in the future, then I dragged my pathetic self out of the intersection.  Needless to say I made it to work with all of my parts in working, albeit shaky, order. 

Though not a pleasant experience, I feel being hit by a car has aged me at least two bike years, like some sort of rite of passage into the world of  better-than-amateur but cooler-than-pro cyclists.  It almost makes me want to buy a fixie and take up bike polo.


On a brighter note, here are a few winners making great use of our neighbourhood bike lanes:

Hey bros, smile for the camera.


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