Tuesday Afternoon

New York, NY - Peter - Friday, April 18th, 2003 : goo

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Tuesday afternoon, I got hit by a van while biking home. Ironically, it happened mere moments after writing this.

The Story:

Every day, I commute from 108th/B'way to 72nd/York via bike. I've biked almost everywhere in the city you can possibly ride without any drama, short of dodging the occasional errant cab or barreling bus. Tuesday, I was not

quite so lucky.

About 80% of my commute takes place in Central Park, and during the rush-hours I'm riding, its closed to traffic; ergo, it makes for an ideal ride- a free run of wide ribbons of road free of traffic- It's ideal. Tuesday, though, the annual Women's Health Fair was taking place in the park, and the roads were closed to all but pedestrians. After precariously walking my bike through several hundred feet of packed foot-bound traffic, I decided to cut out onto a more passable road, and pedaled over to Central Park West, where they have a comfortable bike-lane running up the length of the park, from 72nd street to 108th. All was well. The sun was shining and the breezes were warm, and I was enjoying my placid, drama-free ride as usual.

When I reached 96th street, I encountered one of the NYPD's Moving Checkpoints; you know, the spontaneous points that the police congregate to periodically check park-crossing traffic in their ongoing "anti-terrorism alert" efforts. This is par for the course- the 96th street checkpoint is active about every other day or so. Needless to say, traffic was rather backed up around the checkpoint.

The scene: Central Park lies like a thin, tall rectangle, bordered by a sidewalk on its west side. Immediately next to the sidewalk is a bike lane, then the two uptown and two downtown lanes of Central Park West. The two uptown lanes lie next to the uptown bike lane, and were backed up several blocks due to the checkpoint. The bike lane, of course, wasn't backed up, and I approached the intersection with not only a green light, but also a traffic cop there waving me on.

Before I could process what was happening, an early-80s-vintage tan-striped maroon van quickly approached from my left, appearing out of nowhere. I made the unconscious decision to bail off the bike (and thankfully throw it clear of the oncoming vehicle) fractions of a moment before impact. In one fated moment, hood made contact with ribs, bumper with thigh, and I was sailing, my left leg somehow snagged on the bike frame, catapulting it out of harm's way.

I went over the handlebars, folding them in half, and spent a fleeting fraction of a second appreciating the fact that I was airborne, about four feet above the road, moving east, parallel to the pavement. I pondered the eventuality of making contact with the bare blacktop, and as if in slow motion, made vague attempts to configure my body into a shape that would land with minimal impact. Before I knew what was happening, I was screeching to a halt on my left elbow and right wrist, palms upturned in order to prevent grating them off on the filthy, pebbly surface.

Lucky for me, this whole thing happened in clear sight of the 20 or so police officers who were manning the roadblock. They later explained that the driver, apparently frustrated with the backed up traffic, had driven from the outside lane of uptown traffic into the oncoming downtown flow, steered around the string of stopped vehicles at the checkpoint, and proceeded to drive around the roadblock, blind to the uptown Central Park West traffic, including me, sailing into me 5 feet in front of the checkpoint at about 15 mph.

Immediately after impact, two officers ran over to me and jerked me to my feet from the road's surface to assure I would be out of harm's way (as well as impending oncoming traffic). They made me squat where I was for over 20 minutes while they waited for paramedics and the shift commander to come. Because the police witnessed the impact, they explained that I had to stick around to press charges of "vehicular assault", as well as to wait for the shift commander to arrive to do the appropriate paperwork.

After being poked and prodded and checked for broken bones by the quickly arriving Park Police paramedics, I was allowed to retreat to the corner, and to recover my miraculously unharmed bike (save for the folded handlebars). A group of fellow bike commuters had gathered in the bike lane and offered me words of solidarity; one frat-boy looking mountain-biker looked like he'd rather rough up the driver than encourage me. To each their own, but I was glad to find support lingering on the curb.

To make a long story short, the van was towed and the driver, one John Espinal, was arrested. After spending another half-hour answering questions for the commander, taking names of witnesses, and watching the police draw diagrams of the scene, I was allowed to go. I turned down offers for a lift back home or a visit to the hospital, and began ponderously scootering the bike home while my left arm gushed blood and my right hand and wrist began swelling so much I couldn't form a fist.

I arrived home, and Sine got in the shower with me and cleaned up my scrapes and cuts. I popped some Motrin and put ice on my hand and thigh. The police later called to inform me that John Espinal couldn't post the $50 bail, and would therefore be held in court for two weeks until the trial, at which point they would try to extract enough funds form him to pay for the bike repair, as well as revoking his license, fining him for the moving violation, and bringing charges against him both for the assault as well as evading the police roadblock. It seems they tacked on every possible violation that they could. I recall hearing the police hurl vague insults at Espinal, at the scene: "Not only did you pull a move like this, you did it in front of an entire police squad... and plowed over a biker... way to go man". Moments like this make me consider actually liking the NYPD.

Three days later, I'm mostly healed. Yes, I have large road-rash scabs in various places, yes, my knees pop when I climb steps and my thigh is still swollen, and yes, my right hand still doesn't feel normal. But I'm really thankful that it turned out alot less traumatic (and injurous) than it could have, and that the rouge driver is behind bars. It really sounds alot worse than it was, but it did shake me up.

After promising Sine that I'd stick to the park, avoiding Central Park West, and straightening out the bike handlebars, I'm once again riding to work, albeit more cautiously than ever.

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etienne: how is the socialist machine these days?

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