Let me set the scene. It’s a sunny Monday afternoon and I was riding my bike along Bryant Park on my way back to work during my lunch hour. Riding east towards the beautiful public library. As I approach the green light at the corner of 5th Avenue I hit a stride and pedal swiftly while remaining alert and aware, as I always do, of the traffic around me. FUCK! No warning, no getting out of the way. Just the cold hard taxi door thrown in front of you like a roadblock. My left arm crashes sickeningly into the door as my healthy speed suddenly gives me flashes of Ghost Bikes. With amazing acrobatic grace I hit the pavement in a roll. The bicycle Gods were smiling on me. Nothing prepares you for this happening. The years of watching rear view mirrors and the head movements of passengers in taxis is far more scary than the actual event. During the Batman-esque tuck and roll I didn’t feel any pain. It’s slow motion in fast forward. It all catches up in an instant and I am there on my knees in the middle of the street evaluating my still intact body. Are my brains still in my head? Check. Junk in the trunk? Check. Arms still attached? Check. Then the lawyer who just doored me is frantically asking if I am alright. AM I ALRIGHT? Shit, I’ve barely checked if my junk is still in my trunk and you want to know if I’m alright?!?! Thankfully I am alright. A swollen, bruised forearm and a bit of disorientation is all the damage done to me physically (says my Dr.). I needed to replace my helmet though. After any accident a helmet needs to be replaced since the life saving protective foam can be compromised or have unseen stress fractures.

There is a lesson in all of this: You will eventually get doored if you ride long enough in New York City. The second lesson is: Fuck that guy for not looking!