Superwoman

"It sounds like you had a protective shield keeping you safe"

After Thanksgiving my whole world changed... not unlike it has changed in the past. People, places, and certain events open your eyes to new emotions when you're least expecting. And I certainly didn't expect it to happen while riding my bike home from a full day of work downtown at REI on the Friday after Thanksgiving, Black Friday.

My family, and friends here in Seattle, know that I've been riding my bike the 4.5 miles to and from work. I inherited the bike from a Taiwanese man that I have never met. He was a previous tenant of the house where I'm renting. He worked at the University of Washington last year, and when he returned to Taiwan left his bike in the back yard.

When I moved here, after returning to Seattle, my landlord asked me if I could prepare the backyard/house for winter by stacking chairs and moving tools to the shed. In the process I discovered the beaten up, unloved mountain bike. At first I thought it wasn't so shabby. It carried me the 9 miles I ride daily and allowed me to get to the grocery store and out to dinner with friends. But there were, as with most abandoned bikes, problems. In this bike's case there were major problems with the brakes.

Working at REI has it's perks and I was able to take my sad bike into the bike shop and have the brakes tightened. I knew this was just a temporary fix, and I hoped it would last until I could buy/find myself a new mode of transportation. My hopes were thwarted on Black Friday, when coming home from work I was hit by a car.

Saying that, even writing that, feels like a confession. Nothing traumatic has ever happened to me before, and at the moment I realized a car was going to hit me all I could think about was the momentum of my body, and the surprisingly slow rate at which I was tilting towards the ground. Once I hit the ground, I was back up in two seconds. My bike was in my hands and I was checking the brakes. I didn't even occur to me to check myself.

A man walking on the side walk had seen the whole collision. He ran over, asking me how I was doing-if I was ok. Nothing really made sense and I said, "I'm more worried about my bike, the brakes are broken." His response was, "I can fix the bike, you I can't fix." I insisted I was fine and that my bike was what was broken. When I met the man who had hit me I said, "nice to meet you.... erm.... maybe not..." The whole event is mostly a blur. The whole time I just wanted it to be over.

Once I was on my own again, walking my bike the few blocks back to my house I broke down. I was physically fine, but what if I hadn't been. What if he had been driving faster... what if there had been cars behind me... who would know what happened and who would let my family know the fate of their daughter. Over the next few days I stewed over these thoughts, and then finally I decided to contact the driver. After a few conversations and an emotional coffee shop exchange, we agreed that he would compensate me with money towards a new bike.

It's been a few weeks since we resolved the accident. But I still ride around Seattle thinking every car might make a simple mistake that endangers me. Who will tell my family. It's cliche, but true. Life is spontaneous, and too short to be restrained from doing what you want to do.