Normally I leave plenty of room for escape, but the truck in front of me stopped hard before putting on his turn signal, and with a car in the right lane next to me, I had no choice but to stop too close to the back of the truck. It happens now and then. No matter how much you try to plan for a getaway path, you can’t always make it.
I spotted the gray car coming up behind me, going way too fast for the road conditions. It’s raining today in Salt Lake City and is dark, cold and overcast. The truck in front of me wasn’t going anywhere, with its brake lights burning and left turn signal flashing. I was in the center of the lane with my front brake engaged. There is no way she should have missed the three brake lights, but she must have. It didn’t look like she was going to stop. I didn’t even have time to pump the brake light to add further warning, but she snapped to awareness at the last moment and weaved into the right lane to avoid me – by inches. The wind and rain from her backwash hit my helmet and back.
The truck made its turn and I took off in pursuit. I wasn’t angry: scared is the word. However, I wanted to let her know just how close it really was.
I pulled along aside of her and motioned for her to pull over. She refused to even look my way. She didn’t appear shaken, but she was cursing under her breath. I don’t know if it was at me or herself.
She continued on the path to the University of Utah, where I work and I pulled into her lane ahead of her and turned off at my normal exit. I was about to let it go, when I decided to make a U-turn and follow her. She was heading to the hospital, so I followed her into the parking garage and parked in back of the car just beyond the stall she took. I didn’t want to present any more of an intimidating stance than I probably already was. I killed the engine, but remained seated. She gathered herself and eventually got out of the car.
My voice was steady, calm and low in volume. “That was a little close, don’t you think?”
She began to apologize profusely, managing a couple of feeble excuses as to “not seeing the truck” or me and that she worked at the hospital as a nurse. She even made a point to mention that she worked on bikers like me, who came into the emergency ward.
I made a comment at one point in her apology, that I like to make it home to my wife and kids and that she needed to take more care in driving. Again, my voice was not intimidating, I was just trying to make sure she saw the complete circumstances of her near miss.
She apologized more and finally held out her hand. I didn’t remove my glove, mostly because I just didn’t think of it at the time, but I took her hand and gave a soft squeeze and shake.
“I just wanted to let you know how scary that was for me.” I started the bike, and turned back to her one last time. “Try to have a better one.”
As I left she looked a bit relieved, (she was probably fearing the worst with a biker stopping to talk to her) but she also looked shaken. I hope she is. Not about my conversation with her, but about how she nearly created work for herself at the hospital.
