Collision Course

June 28, 2011.  I could have died that day.

Riding my bicycle to work a couple of times a week seemed to be a good idea.  15 miles one way on the bike meant 2 hours of exercise for the round trip, and with fuel prices on the rise, the thought of reducing gasoline consumption was also attractive.  Those were my thoughts as I pedaled to work that fateful morning.  I arrived in good spirits, on time, and spent a relatively uneventful day at work.  I had no idea what lay ahead as I left the office in the late afternoon.

My normal bike ride home from work starts with a mile-long stretch of highway with heavy, rush hour traffic, followed by about 9 miles of a fairly well-maintained bike path along the San Gabriel River, and is capped by 5 miles of heavy street traffic that includes two major freeway crossings.  Riding in traffic seems daunting, but I trusted that most of the motorists know the rules of the road and are fully capable of not colliding into me, provided that I don't make sudden moves.  The bike path, on the other hand, can at times be utterly hazardous.  While I have full confidence in the experienced cyclists who are decked out in aerodynamic Spandex and expensive-looking road bikes, I am ever wary of runners, walkers, and the more "recreational" riders who meander the paths at slower paces.  They seem to weave and occupy the entire bike lane, oblivious that they are sharing the path with cyclists who may be riding at speeds in excess of 20 miles per hour.  After about one mile on the path, I saw before me a young girl who was riding without a helmet in her junior-sized bike, weaving around without holding the handlebars.  I slowed down to make sure that I could pass safely, and from 30 feet out hollered, "Bike passing to your left!"

She didn't hear me.  I shouted again, and slowed down to a near stop to avoid colliding into her.  Startled, the girl swerved and turned her bike right into my path.  A collision was inevitable.  As it turned out, we were in a particularly hazardous portion of the path, where one edge of the path drops abruptly off into a steep riverbed embankment.  If I turned to stay clear of the precipice, I would have plowed the little girl down toward the riverbed.  The girl screamed.

I turned the other way, tumbled off the bike, and slid several feet down the rough concrete wall on my left arm and leg, with the bike hanging on to my right foot.  My Blackberry phone flew out of my holster, and by the time it rested face-down on the concrete, the entire face of the phone appeared as if it was extruded from a grinder.  Large patches of skin on my left arm and leg suffered a similar fate and resembled second-degree burns.  The girl, totally unharmed but shaken, called out sheepishly to see if I was all right.  Her mother stood beside her, appearing concerned but helpless, and asked whether I spoke Spanish, because she does not understand English.  I stood up and picked up my damaged bike after determining that I only suffered bad abrasions, washed the wounds with my water bottle, and gave the girl a serious lecture about bike safety and the need to wear a helmet.  I had fleeting thoughts of obtaining the family's contact information in order to possibly collect damages for medical expenses and replacement for my phone, but decided to dismiss them instead.  The day did not seem to be ending well.

I talked to God during my long, painful ride home.  I asked why He allowed my life to temporarily flash before my eyes as I was heading down the steep embankment.  I asked why He caused to me experience so much physical pain.  I asked why He would allow my wife to see my wounds later in the evening and perhaps literally ban me from riding my bike to work again.  However, God did not allow me to dwell on such thought forever, and I soon began to give Him thanks for sparing my life, for preserving me from fractures, and for still being able to ride my bike home, bloodied and all.  I also thanked Him for having the opportunity to speak with the girl about bike safety, and that this may potentially help save many lives someday.  Finally, I acknowledged that God is giving me a couple of days off my intense exercise regimen so that I can regain balance in my life.  My only regret was that I failed to explicitly share with the girl and her mother about God's love.

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.  (Romans 8:28)

I just hope that my wife won't object to me riding my bike again next week.