Today was going great—sunny and productive, like Fridays should be. Then a cab hit me.
I was leaving the Bud Clark Commons—standing over my bike, waiting to turn left onto NW Broadway from Irving—as a gentleman from the New Rose City Cab Company was in apparent hot pursuit of a fare at the train station.
He was driving south on Broadway and swung a SHARP left onto Irving, putting aside any expectation that he travel in the correct lane. I estimate he was three feet away the first time he bothered to look at me, probably because he heard my screaming. It was too late, of course.
Here's an artist's rendering to help you picture it.
The moments before impact weren't so much panicked as resigned. I'd swear to you that I rolled off the guy's hood and landed on my feet, but witnesses tell me I went down.
That's one good thing about being hit by a cab in front of the Bud Clark Commons: witnesses. People are always hanging out there in the day time. The cabbie instantly began trying to convince everyone of his own blameless narrative, but no one was having it.
I'm scraped and swollen in places. My shoulders and arm and head ache. But nothing's broken and I'm walking so that's good. My bike—my beloved bike!—took this one for the team. You can't really tell, but that basket—it's an awesome basket!—is straight-up mangled.
The crazy thing, and something I need to follow up on: The cops refused to take an official report or cite the cabbie. They only do that in DUI accidents, hit and runs and a few other instances, she said. He'll take a hit on his insurance, I assume, but receive no moving violation for an incident that could have easily gone far worse. Does that make sense to anyone? Have any of you been in this situation?
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