Of Bicycles, Bumps & Bandages

Some of my best friends are motorists and should you draw any other conclusions from this story that isn't my intention.

I've had a couple of bumps from cars and the usual number of near misses and so far have managed to survive.
Riding down the mountains one morning I met a young guy in a very sharp-looking panel van – mural down the side, music beating loudly – who was completely insulated from the world he was driving in. He saw a parking spot on my side of the highway and went for it.
Double yellow lines? No problem! Illegaul U-turn? No worries! Cyclist? What cyclist??? Bang!
I braked hard and steered for the side of the road so that he only side-swiped me, knocking me into a ditch; even then he didn't know he had hit anyone until told so by a passer-by.
We had a fairly stimulating conversation which for my part consisted mainly of one-syllable nouns qualified by two-syllable adjectives that the small crowd seemed to find entertaining. (I don't remember much of what the driver said – he was having trouble getting a word in.)
Faced with the alternative of a visit to Lawson police station he agreed to pay for the repairs to my bike and to drive me home.

My relationships with motorists were fairly normal for a couple of years after that, taking a modicum of abuse here, returning a smidgeon there, and trying to stay out of the body repair shop. Given enough mileage in heavy traffic I suppose that sooner or later something had to happen again and, sure enough, one Saturday morning my armour-plated Nemesis re-appeared.

Some accidents are tragic, some are painful, all are inconvenient; perhaps I have a bent sense of humour but this one was almost funny. Lynne and I had just bought a new tandem on the way home and were hit by a motorist who had made an illegal right-hand turn across double yellow lines. Consider the following:
  As we lay on the road wondering about the extent of our injuries a car-load of teenagers skidded to a stop, shouted, "Murderer! Murderer!" and sped off with much burning rubber.
  A pedestrian saw Lynne sitting on a fence near the bike while I was telephoning the police and asked if I was riding with my daughter. Lynne thought it was almost worth getting hit.
  Seven tow trucks (who had obviously been monitoring police radio) turned up to tow away the tandem.
  The police, who were very supportive, were as interested in the tandem as the accident. One guy said, "This is the first time I've had to write an accident report on a vehicle with two drivers."
  We were wearing a matching pair of embarrassingly bright jerseys that our kids dubbed our "spider man" shirts and when the driver (who was booked for dangerous driving) claimed he hadn't seen us the police were incredulous.
  Some of the so-called charismatic churches make much of what they call "speaking in tongues" and if I didn't know better I'd say such an event happened that day. The driver, a Greek, didn't speak any English at all until the police arrived—then he must have experienced an epiphany because suddenly he had the gift of language. Remarkable!
 
(Actually religious experiences are not unknown among cyclists and I once started bleeding on the bike. I was convinced it was a genuine manifestation of stigmata but the doctor thought it was only haemorrhoids.)

Lynne at Nepean Triathlon, 1984 First Place - Veteran Women

The result was reasonably satisfactory. Lynne had some whiplash injuries when her head bounced off the road but her helmet saved her from more serious damage, and the impact of the car crushed the muscles and varicose veins of her right leg. After a period of about ten months during which she could walk only with a great deal of pain the muscles healed and an operation removed the damaged veins, leaving the leg better than it had been before the accident—so good, in fact, that she won her division of the Nepean Triathlon a few months later.
The out-of-court insurance settlement was sufficient to pay the medical bills, repair the tandem, and permit extensive renovations to our house.

Lynne and I had a close call at Cranebrook, at that time a semi-rural area in Sydney's west, one Sunday morning.
Cranebrook Road was an acne of pot holes with rough verges. It was just wide enough for two cars to pass comfortably so we were riding in single file and keeping well to the left.
There was a car behind us waiting for an opportunity to overtake and two more approaching from the front when, just as we were all converging, I saw a big brown snake moving from right to left across the road.I shouted, "Snake!" swerved to the right and just had room to squeeze between its tail and the first oncoming car.
It not only scared me, it frightened the living daylights of the snake which reared up, leaving Lynne room to move past in front of it. I hadn't taken my peyes off the thing and, as I watched to see how she was faring, it struck at her.
The snake didn't have a chance!
It's surprising what a bit of adrenalin will do but Lynne went through that gap so fast she could have qualified for the Olympics. She was still laughing when I caught her about a kilometre down the road.
When she finally slowed down I remarked, "It's interesting to watch a snake strike at someone when you're not involved yourself."
I should have known better! Two weeks later I cornered too fast on a slippery surface, hit a strip of reflective tape, and bounced my new helmet off the road. Lynne had a quick look to see how badly I was injured then quipped brightly, "It's interesting to watch someone fall off when you're not involved yourself."

A reader of Triathlete magazine once wrote to columnist Scott Tinley asking how, as a new rider, she could avoid accidents. "There's nothing to it," he replied. "Just keep the rubber side down."