Today marks the most drama-filled ride of my brief cycling career. First, I almost hit a toddler. Really, truly almost hit him. It would have been no one's fault; I am slow and careful because there are families all over the place in this part of the bike path. His mom was up and after him in an instant. He just darted into the path because that's what little kids do.
On the way home, a cyclist going the opposite way crashed his bike into me. I was stopped; he was running a red signal and going around a bus stopped in the intersection when he hit the curb. He and his buddy went on a few feet where they stopped to inspect his bike. His bike! Not a word to me! I made a great drama of inspecting my leg (which has only minor bruises) and wished I'd had a vial of fake blood. He eventually came over and asked if I was okay.
Finally, a fire truck came screaming past me going the wrong way on a one way street as I was nearly home. I know they do that for valid reasons around here, and I'm sure they are careful, but it scared me. I was listening to the siren but just didn't expect them to make that turn. It probably wouldn't have bothered me if the other stuff hadn't happened earlier. Prior to 9/11 I would have gone over to the fire house and complained and they would give my dog a Milk Bone. Now they are a tourist attraction and keep their door shut all the time.
Ah well. I biked over the George Washington Bridge (one of my goals for the summer) and it was awesome. I'm going to get some ice cream.
Pam
