Hit and Run

We've all seen them. They're the bicycles we almost hit.

When we lived in England and I was driving on the wrong side of narrow, twisting roads swarming with mega buses, honking cars and throngs of bicyclists, I admit I sometimes plunged forward fully expecting to plow into an innocent rider. It terrified me. What a dreadful thing that would be—to ruin some one's life.

It happened yesterday. Not to me, but to some other woman. I don't know who, because after she hit my son, she got out and looked at him sprawled unmoving on the side of the road, got back into her car, and ran away.

Pete was riding his bike to work, down a hill. A car, coming fast from the other direction, (and without slowing or signaling) suddenly turned left into a parking lot and struck him. He woke up to paramedics loading him into an ambulance carefully because they could tell he had neck and head injuries. They told him his helmet saved his life.

Wear a Helmet!

X-rays and CAT scans revealed compression fractures in his skull and back. A front tooth was broken, an ankle was twisted, and Pete won't be back on his bike any time soon. Orthopedic braces on his neck and back will be trademark accessories this season. He has a wife willing to become his home health-care worker and hopefully he'll be as good as new when their first little munchkin arrives in the fall. Pete will be able to pass on his bike skills to the next generation. Luckily.

Pete, 1982

At this point I'm starting to think about the driver. What kind of pain is she in tonight? Her injuries are invisible so she might be able to conceal them for a while, but they're going to sting and throb, and eventually fester.

The trauma unit cleansed the grit from the scrapes that covered Pete's forehead, chin and knuckles. With some time they'll heal completely. Unless this woman comes clean, I don't think she'll ever recover.

Pete will be fine.
The life she has ruined is her own.