Why Did The Pedestrian Cross The Road . . . Against A Red Light?

Grrr. That karma I thought I had yesterday didn't last long.

On my way home to the train station I ride down the Embarcadero past the Ferry Building. Sometimes there are a great many people waiting to cross the Embarcadero to catch their ferry. They use the crosswalk pictured here:

See, but in the picture traffic is stopped and the pedestrians are crossing with their walk light.

Last night I approached the crosswalk and had a green light. Now, I was moving right along, not at a scorching pace, but probably around 20 mph, after all I was in a protected bike lane and had a green light.

Huddled in a large mass waiting for the light to change, two pedestrians waiting at the crosswalk lost their patience -- and their minds -- and stepped off the curb right in front of me. Right where that "don't" sign is. Too bad the sign isn't really there.

I gave a shout ("NO!"), slammed on the breaks, and hoped. But hope is not a method. The first one off the curb, a man, was a step ahead of me and leaped forward, out of the way (good thing for him my reaction was stopping, not swerving as many people would do). The second off the curb, a woman, tried to get back to the curb, and very nearly did. As my bike pulled to a halt, my handlebars glanced off what I think was her purse.

As my bike came to a sudden stop and a bump at the same time, I more or less folded over and crumpled down. Not bad -- basically like the kind of fall you have when you first get clipless pedals and you practice getting out of them -- but not fun, either.

I immediately jumped up and asked if she was ok, which she was. Then I picked up my bike, and more than a little shaken, looked it over to make sure it was ok.

The guy? He literally ran away.

Several people, including a bicyclist who had been pretty far behind me, immediately came to my defense and said quite aloud that it was clearly their (his and her) fault, and that I should get the offenders' contact info. I was rattled. I could tell I was ok, a quick assessment of my bike told me it was more or less ok, and I looked over my work clothes (which I rarely wear on my way home, but I was on my way to a meeting) and they were fine, notwithstanding a little grease here or there (that's what stain removers are for). Basically I was grateful that everyone and everything was ok, I was in a hurry, and I was definitely still rattled, so I dismissed the need for her contact info.

In hindsight I should have taken it. While I don't think I would ask her to pay for anything, the stains should come out, and there isn't much more than superficial scratching here or there on the bike, I might have discovered something later (a tear in my clothes, a dent in the bike, the scrape on my arm that I did discover later, etc.).

Stuff like that shakes you up. It took quite a while last night to clear my head.

But all's well that end's well, right? She (and he) was lucky, had she stepped out a second later I would have really run her over, rather than just bumped her bag. Someone would have broken something.

Should our friends at the City's transportation department consider signs warning people to look for cyclists? (hint, hint . . .)

It's just another reminder: crime doesn't pay (even if it's only jaywalking).

Well, shoot, I'll keep jaywalking, too; just check the bike lane, before stepping out in the street against a light, ok?

PS. I also got a flat on the way in this morning. What happened to that good karma!?!

In Honor of the Departed

(Warning: Wince Inducing Photos Below)

The Departed:

I've been at this bike commuting thing for roughly 5 years now. I think I can safely say I'm a fairly competent cyclist, seeing as how that adds up to somewhere north of 1000 days I've ridden my bike in the recent past. But accidents happen. And my first did a few weeks ago, as I recently alluded to. I wasn't hit by a car, wasn't doored, wasn't run over by an errant elephant. Nope. Something strange happened while I was all by myself and over I went.

Luckily I was moving pretty fast at the time and didn't have much time to react before I hit the ground. That kept me from getting my hand out to brace for impact (which invariably leads to a broken wrist or collarbone, and maybe serious elbow injury). Instead, I hit the fleshy parts . . . and that's a good thing (mostly).


Once upon a time I went through Army Airborne training. They spend two weeks teaching you how to fall, then the third week they push you out of the plane a few times to see if it took. The basics of falling are your points of contact: (1) Balls of your feet; (2) calf; (3) hip; (4) butt; (5) shoulder blades. That's the idea. Your head isn't supposed to hit and they spend a bunch of time with you lying in the dust wearing your heavy ballistic kevlar helmet while the instructors scream at you to keep your head up. This helps build muscle memory and strength. Then they drop you a bunch of times from about 10 feet -- before sending you up in a plane -- to test how well it worked. Most of the time it works pretty well.

Well, here's how it worked out on Townsend (evil incarnate): feet in pedals, so no balls of feet first. Calves? Maybe. Hip? I think that was the first point of contact. Shoulder blade? Yup:about the same time as the side of my elbow (in Airborne school they don't drop you on asphalt): Then the back of my head. And it hit hard. No two weeks of fall training leading up to this one.

And that's where the Bell Corporation came in.
See those cracks along the bottom right (you can't see the hairline one on the left side)? I much prefer cracks in my helmet to cracks in my head. I assume most people feel the same way.


Let's face it, you don't wear your bike helmet because it looks cool. But if I hadn't been wearing mine I was in the hospital for sure, and maybe for a long time. So folks, take the helmet off your handlebars, rack, panniers, whatever, and put it on your head, securely fastened. Most days it will just mess up your hair. Someday, and you never know which one, it may just save you a trip to the hospital (or worse).