As I push my bike out the front door, my husband tells me the news: a biker was killed the day before at 2nd and University in downtown Seattle. Sher Kung, 31-year old mother and attorney, died instantly when she was struck by a left-turning truck while in a designated bike lane.
"Bad
timing," I tell him. I don't want fear to cloud my judgment as I ride. I
don't want to be thinking about mortality when I need to be alert to every car
and pedestrian, every bump, crack or broken bottle in the road, every parked
car with a door that could fly open without a glance in the side mirror.
Drivers are accustomed to car traffic. A biker is at greater risk and must be
super alert. Always.
I
pass an adolescent as I ride up my neighborhood street. Her long hair trails
over her shoulders. Her helmet hangs from her handlebars. I know she doesn't
want helmet hair. "You might want to put that on," I tell her as I
pedal passed. She gives me a sheepish smile, and wonders, I'm sure, if I know
her parents.
Alki
Beach is sunny summer weekend insanity. I opt for the road instead of the beachside
bike path. On busy days, the bike path is full of pedestrians. The drivers are
usually more predictable than the kids, dogs, and tourists. I am alert and
cautious. I see the small white car back out of a driveway just ahead of me. I
expect him to pull forward and drive off. Instead, I realize, he's pulling back
into the bike lane just as I approach. "No" I scream. He stops. His window
is down and he hollers, "Don't you see me?"
I
am shaking with anger. Would he holler this to another driver if he crossed
their right-of-way? If bikers are expected to follow the rules of the road,
then we must be treated with the same caution and respect as other drivers. A block later I see the white car again. This time
he's making a U-turn. I realize he wasn't pulling out of a driveway when he
almost hit me. He was trying to maneuver an illegal U-turn as he cruised Alki.
Another danger to watch for, I tell myself.
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