Riding along in the relative quiet of an urban organism, I feel my trusty bike below me. Every bump, every dip, every change in the lay of the road becomes part of my being. Shocks reverberate through my legs, sending my feet out of alignment with the pedals holding fast to my shoes, while the scorch runs through my arms, landing in my hands with a sudden pang of pain.
Smarting from the encounter with the road, I shake each hand to dull the sensation by way of constant motion. I hear the sounds of humans interacting with machinery and the echo of concrete in that hardened land known as a city.
Remotely, events are occurring, out of sight, but close at hand, as sounds of urgency whine through the atmosphere, making me picture a familiar scene. Not far behind the noise, flashing lights stand out against blurred buildings. It could be a fire or an accident or a patient clinging to life – but it’s transpiring so quickly that I will never know the details – merely that something happened.
My chain starts to chatter. Did I forget to lube it in time? Will it insult me all the way home for neglecting my bike?
Swinging right, I scan the road for cars, pedestrians, animals, obstacles, anything extraneous. Sudden activity causes reflexive movement – a body reacting subconsciously. Nothing has impeded my progress: it was only a peripheral thing, so I maintain a straight line.
Out of nowhere, a strained engine growls tiredly in the distance. I recognize the raspy song of an overly powered motor vehicle. I twist my head as if listening behind could predict the car’s direction. With any luck it would be traveling on a side street or turn away from me to wreak havoc elsewhere.
I coast down a steep hill, catching wind in my chest to reduce my speed. Danger is near.
Trying to stay still on my bike, so as not to veer off track, I begin to speculate. What will happen when it reaches me? Will it see me? Will it care? Will it mow me down as if I were a speck on the road?
Thoughts start racing. The foreboding sound is growing louder, warning of a mishap. Part of me wants to pull off of the road, but there is gravel in the way. I continue, slowing slightly, waiting for the flying mass to approach.
Soon, I hear its groaning chassis and the particulars of the purling engine pumping under the hood. It’s moving too fast for the road whose bends are impressed on my mind. And as I listen to squealing rubber, struggling to hold the car on course, I wonder whether it will shoot off of its path from the curve’s sharpness.
The moment of truth arrives: the engine’s howl grows stronger and closer. An overwhelming sense of nakedness replaces vanishing invincibility as bicycle and rider cower beneath descending steel. My heart skips a beat, anticipating a rearward crash, a crushing blow projecting me, like a stealth missile, along an unintended trajectory.
My left arm feels the vehicle’s presence. An envelope of air blindsides my bike as the granitic machine swerves just in time. While heaving a sigh of relief, the departing car’s exhaust hums mockingly, leaving me fatigued.
