0 comment Friday, July 18, 2014 | admin
Because of travel and snow, I haven't ridden my bike in Denver since Dec. 24. Today, I was about 100 feet from my front door, riding south on Humboldt Street between 12th and 13th, literally taking my first few pedal strokes in over a week.
A guy is driving towards me in a white Oldsmobile, and I can't go any further right because of the inch-high ice sheet extending out two feet from the row of parked cars that line the street. Two cars can scarcely pass each other on my narrow street under optimal conditions. I figure the guy in the car will wait for me to get through before he tries to go. He doesn't.
Here he comes, and it's clear he's not going to make any room for our friendly neighborhood cyclist. I'm two inches from the ice sheet, and if I try to swerve onto it, I'll go down, probably under this guy's tires. He's closer, going about 15-20 mph. Oh shit oh shit oh shit. I hold my breath, pull my shoulders up and tuck in my elbows, trying to make myself skinny, and just as the guy flies by me, his mirror misses me by four inches.
Exhale breath, unclench buttcheeks. That's the closest I've ever been to a passing car with nowhere to go on the other side.
Hey, the rest of the ride was cake. A few ice patches, but no big deal. I saw Scott and Myra on their walk to work and yelled hey. And then I said "what the hell" and parked my bike at the scooter rack when I got to work.
A guy is driving towards me in a white Oldsmobile, and I can't go any further right because of the inch-high ice sheet extending out two feet from the row of parked cars that line the street. Two cars can scarcely pass each other on my narrow street under optimal conditions. I figure the guy in the car will wait for me to get through before he tries to go. He doesn't.
Here he comes, and it's clear he's not going to make any room for our friendly neighborhood cyclist. I'm two inches from the ice sheet, and if I try to swerve onto it, I'll go down, probably under this guy's tires. He's closer, going about 15-20 mph. Oh shit oh shit oh shit. I hold my breath, pull my shoulders up and tuck in my elbows, trying to make myself skinny, and just as the guy flies by me, his mirror misses me by four inches.
Exhale breath, unclench buttcheeks. That's the closest I've ever been to a passing car with nowhere to go on the other side.
Hey, the rest of the ride was cake. A few ice patches, but no big deal. I saw Scott and Myra on their walk to work and yelled hey. And then I said "what the hell" and parked my bike at the scooter rack when I got to work.