I was trying for something heavy and meaningful for a post title.
So this is how I go.
Not a good day to die, as it turns out
Ouch, my knuckles hurt
But, but, where's my panier?
Hmmm.
I came off the bike for the first, and I fucking well hope, the last time. I've already posted to my mates' mailing list about this so I'm just going to copy and paste and adapt slightly, rather than go over the bloody thing all over again, if you don't mind:
The driver of a 'reasonable' sized van turning right with me at Clapham North. Details a bit scant because it happened too quickly, but basically he started as he turned to come wayyy too close to me, too quickly for me to do anything about it, and he clipped my handlebars, which twisted left, and bashed me in to the vehicle. Which helpfully was covered in rust and really scrapey. As I found on the way down.
Somewhere on the way down toward the road, I instinctively knew that I hadn't seen his back wheels yet, and I was on my way toward them, very fast. I think thought "So this is it" or wordless other inevitability type things.
I have no idea how I didn't end up under the wheels to be honest, except that the guy had been going faster than I thought, so instead I landed crash in the middle of the road. Lucky we were the first at lights so everything was only just starting up and the guy behind didn't even touch the bike (completely fine). I meanwhile am scraped to fuck and my neck/shoulders bones feel really crappy in the middle, having been jolted.A big fucking jolt. I have ice on my knuckles. Am getting some heavy duty gloves with cushioning on the knucks as soon as possible because Jaysus, I was lucky the scraping didn't reveal bone.
Wear a helmet. Always wear a helmet. I would have been badly concussed, I think. Instead of just feeling like my alacrity allowance for the next week has been hypodermically removed by a needle the size of a mallet.
People were nice. I was numb and calm. More worried about the bike and my panier not getting run over. Then started shaking quite badly.
The driver was really worried, and did his best to be nice. I told him what he'd done and he said "Yeah, well, er, it's always 6 of one, half a dozen of the other, innit". I didn't really feel in the mood to tell him I'm the safest, most boring cyclist I know, given that I have 2 children and don't want them to lose their Mum to some pathetic accident.
A very nice lady tried to look after me. I have her card. She tried to get me to get the guy's number but I was in a right state, and just wanted everybody to leave me alone so I could shake and cry a bit, whilst drinking the hot sweet tea the driver had bought me. A useful thing to remember, my nice friends, if in the same position: look after someone, give them a bit of distance, and suggest you take the number of said driver *yourself*, so that just in case, you can mail all the details to the person who has had the accident, and who probably couldn't make a decision about chocolate or vanilla at that point, never mind anything of any actual import.
Afer a quiet sit down, and knowing that I wasn't going to cry again in the immediate, I walked with the bike up the road to Stockwell. The road there is not only fairly clear and straight, but blessed with wide bus lanes, so I got back on fairly quickly. Wasn't happy with some of my manoevres, was a bit shaky and nervous, unsurprisingly. Had a feeling I might be ok about cycling by Vauxhall Bridge when I had to shout at a cretin pedestrian for wandering along the bike lane talking in to her mobile and ignoring me asking her politely! An entirely everyday frustration and response :)
I'm definitely not going to bang on about this after this but fuck me, when I knew I hadn't seen the back wheels go past yet, and I was falling down against the side of the van, the feeling was really final. "So this is how I go" or something. Bizarrely practical, but also surprised, or even bemused. Because there's not a thing you can do. In fact, anything you did attempt to do might even make the situation worse (as if it could be) so you just fall toward whatever is going to happen to you, and I think I hoped it was fast. The whole thing must have been 2 seconds at the most, but of course, seems like longer.
But Jesus, you know - I'm not exaggerating when I say it could have easily been that head squished like a grape type scenario. Going back to cycling after this seems to be an almost *insane* act, having seen how easy it is to be nearly dead.
To make myself better, I'm writing to Lambeth and the right TFL department this afternoon to say look, that corner has a minimal width to the road, yet it is well used by cyclists and doesn't really protect them in any way. Secondly, the road leading up to Clapham North from Kings Avenue is so pitted and bumpy along the edge, it's really rather scary to cycle along - particularly because it's quite heavily sloped. I have no idea if it'll do any good. It's unlikely that the second point contributed to the accident.
Anyway, I shall now listen to very happy, jolly music all afternoon in the vague hope that it will make me feel better. Having already had a chocolate muffin, which didn't.
