Yesterday at 6:30am in Central Park, at 72nd Street on the east side loop, a cyclist smashed into the barrier, did a head over heels, and had to be taken away by ambulance. Last week, a woman was riding north (the WRONG WAY) on Second Avenue; a taxi stopped and its door opened – not to the curb, but to the street. The cyclist was “doored,” but as she fell, she slid into traffic and was hit by an oncoming vehicle.
At least two to three times a week, I ride from my apartment (a block or so from the East River), uptown and west to Central Park. I always feel safe once I’m in the park, but I hate riding through traffic. Although there are some who consider road rash a badge of honor, I don’t like pain, bruises, or scratches.
They say that when it comes to biking, there are only two types of cyclists: those who have fallen, and those who WILL fall. I belong to that prestigious cult of eminent cyclists who had suffered a spill, brushed themselves off, and gotten back on their bikes – I hope I never have to renew my subscription to this club.
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