The chase - my most recent near death experience
Thursday April 22, 2004 - Permanent link to this post -
Last night saw the most frightning and eventful commute of my life. A near-death road-rage story that I'm sure must sound like pure fantasy to all who hear the account.
As some of you may be aware (and if you read back as far as my New Year Resolutions) I make the daily 6 mile round trip to work by push bike. Every so often, when cycling on the roads, you come across the odd aggressive, stupid or inconsiderate driver. Sometimes you come across all three at once - that's never good. Last night at about 6pm I was about halfway home when a white Transit van cut me up and blocked off the cycle lane as the traffic lights went red. The driver seemed to have done this deliberately to piss me off, so I pushed past the inside of the van and mouthed the customary “Dickhead” acknowledgement into his passenger side window. This is something that happens quite regularly to cyclists. It's an ongoing battle between those on two wheels and those who more greedily prefer four. I carried on my way as he loudly sounded his horn repeatedly. I assumed he meant this as an apology.
Traffic being as it is at the end of the working day, a bicycle is often more time efficient in travelling to and from the toil. I had managed to gety about another half mile up the road before the traffic cleared behind me and the WVM caught up. I fully expected him to. Again, it's customary for annoyed drivers who have been sworn at through their windows to acknowledge their bi-wheeled adversary as they pass. This was different though. This was a White Van Man. As the van pulled up along side me and slowed to my speed, the driver was angrily blowing his horn. It wasn't until he started to feign swerves into the cycle lane that I started to get worried. On about his third attempted swipe at me I decided I had to take action. This guy could be dangerous. As he veered towards me I swung out my right arm, hitting his wing mirror, not hard enough to break it but certainly hard enough to make a big bang and knock the mirror inwards. The van slammed all on as the driver realised what had happened. It was at this point that I realised there were two people in the van. Both now looked angry. I thought it best not to hang about.
I stood up in my pedals and took off, pedalling faster and harder than I ever have. As the van gave chase, I picked up my speed again, bunny-hopping onto the pavement so as not to be an easy target for another side-swipe.
After about another half mile, and about two streets from the safe-haven of my house, the van got stuck in traffic at a chicane. I saw this as my getaway opportunity. If I could get enough distance on him to be able to get down my street (a cul-de-sac) and get into my back garden before he saw where I went, I would be home and dry. As I turned the corner there was no sign of my potential assailant, but on looking back from about halfway down my street, I saw him making the turn. I couldn't let him know where I lived, that would be the second worst thing I could do. I had to get away. I dropped my bike and hid with it behind a parked van. As the Transit passed by, I sneaked around my shelter and made off in the opposite direction. Without a functioning left-hand mirror, I would have been invisible.
At the top of the cul-de-sac (the open end - gateway to freedom) is a group of garages. I knew that if I went beyond there and kept riding, I would have no idea where the van was or if he would stay and wait for me. Disapointed to find nowhere substantial to hide I ducked behind an old Land Rover Defender on the forecourt of the garages. I had to wait there for about 5 or 6 minutes before the WVM finally gave up on me and left the street.
When I finally arrived home, only thanks to my quick thinking, fast pedalling and frankly brilliant hiding skills, it took me about an hour before I could breath and speak properly again. The adrenaline was racing through me. I even had Elvis leg, but I was safe. At least for the time being. Needless to say I'll be taking a different route home for the next few weeks, and I certainly won't be wearing my bright yellow waterproof jacket.
A close call.
