So, I was hit by a car today.

One and a half tonnes of metal verses sixty three kilogram me on a ten kilo bike. And I walked away from it.

In my effort to “find thirty” and do my bit for the environment I ride the ten kilometres to work. It’s a puffy little hike, most of which is uphill and usually in the smug face of a strong headwind. Home, it’s a gradual decline, so I can pick up some speed, but it’s dark.

Today, as I was exiting the round-a-bout on Hepburn Ave, I was struck by a car. I had right of way – like any vehicle on the road would. But then again I’m not surrounded by one and a half tonnes of metal.

I ‘m used to the angle of headlights of cars on the road – it’s a safe buffer zone when I see the angle shrink. That way I know they are bypassing me.

But there isn’t much you can do when you see a set of headlights directly behind and hear the rumble of an engine. You kind of cringe and brace yourself. And hope for the best.

Of course I didn’t think about all these things when I was struck.

I saw lights behind me.

There was an impact.

My field of view went tumbling around and you see snippets of things:

My bike twisting free.

Seeing a spinning black tyre that fills your eyeball.

The sparkly texture bitumen has at night.

The ‘under car view’ mechanics dream about, but are the nightmares of cyclists.

I rolled and skidded to a halt on the side of the road leaving a deal of skin on the bitumen. Silence. I was panting. No pain yet. My elbows are numb.

She stops the car and my bike is ten meters down the road. Her little boy jumps out first yelling “I can fix your bike mister” I cannot process this thought. She follows him starting what will be a fifteen minute manta of “I’m so sorry”. Yeah. Sorry could have killed me.

I get up. “Didn’t you see me?” I’m trying to process my feelings of anger but I can’t. I’m not sure what to feel – I’m probably in shock.

“Are you OK?”  [Well no I’m not you just fucking hit me.]

“Yeah I’m fine, I’m just grazed but everything is OK. No broken bones or anything.”

I look at my elbows. It’s funny sometimes how a visual indicator of injury spurs the body to complete the pain realisation. Ouch FARK. They’re nicely grazed and dripping with blood.

I see cars stop – I tell her to move her car to clear traffic.

“I’ll pay for everything – here is my mobile number, my name is __________”

Trying to enter a new contact in Windows Mobile 6.0 after being stuck by a car is like having someone pull a card trick on you – when you were sure of the answer. It’s a vanishing, frustrating affair. And try holding a stylus to enter it all. Needless to say, she just called me and I saved the number.

She says she was distracted by her screaming/crying kids in the car. I don’t really care. I could have been seriously injured or killed.

She’s just happy I’m OK. And I am too. I’m not broken. Just bruised, grazed and sore. She offers to pay for everything and so she should – I had right of way.

She leaves and I’m there standing on the side of the road processing this all. I call my Dad and tell him what happened – my Mum will be there in a minute.

Upon hanging up a police car appears. Apparently someone reported a cyclist struck by a car. They are here for me. I tell them what happened. They go over a few legalities of my options. The police woman maintains sharp eye contact possibly to asses a state of shock. I’m more lucid now. They offer me a lift.

On the way home, I’m filled with the kind of thanks when you realise how close you come to serious injury or death – my bike ended up under one and a half tonnes of metal and I didn’t. I grin like an idiot. I just cheated death. And now I’m in the back of a paddy wagon.