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Cars can hurt
Deathrace 2000
By: David K. Every
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Audust 07,2003
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 ome people tell their kids, "watch out for cars" -- for me that was always an understatement. I was one of those lucky kids that got hit by a car, over and over and over again. My final score was Cars:4 Dave:0 -- and that was just as a pedestrian, as a driver I had a few more accidents.
          
My first incident was when I was 14. We lived far enough out of town that walking was impractical, and I was still too young to drive. The only alternative was hitchhike or ride -- and hitchhiking was too unreliable, not to mention unsafe, but kids have no fear of consequences so it was mainly the convenience factor that had me pedaling. One day I was riding along in the bike lane, in high gear, and pedaling like an enthusiastic kid on his way somewhere; when BANG! I saw stars and was rolling in the dirt. There were little flashes of going over the bars, and then rolling in the gravel and so on. After I tumbled and skidded to a halt in the gravel on the side of the road, I saw the truck speeding away that had hit me. It was a large pickup, with those extended mirrors for when you're pulling a trailer -- only he didn't have a trailer, and the damn mirror had hit me in the back of the head and took me out. A baseball bat to the back of the head, wouldn't have been much more effective.
I was fairly Okay; but rattled. I was picking gravel out for days, had road rash, and had a major lump on the back of my head; and a headache that lasted for days. The guy never slowed down; and I assumed he'd seen me, or if nothing else, heard the mighty bang of his mirror hitting me in the back of the head, or the mechanical clatter as my bike and I rolled end-over-end. But I'd bounced up pretty quick, so I obviously wasn't going to die or anything. Still I was grumbling what I thought of that guy and his lineage the whole two-mile trek home.
The moral to that story was that just because you're following the laws, doesn't mean you can't get hurt.
    
I used to ride my bike to school and back, occasionally. It was about 6 miles from home, so I could take the bus. But every now and then I got adventuresome and would ride in myself. Well, after getting clipped from behind, I decided to ride against the flow of traffic, and not with it, just so I could see what was coming. Cops used to pull me over and complain, I'd explain my reasoning, and they were unimpressed; some reasonable, some mindless drones. Usually I'd follow the law until they were out of sight, and then go back to the much safer way to ride; where I could see what was out to get me.
Well, one day, I was riding home in the street, in the wrong lane (head on to traffic) going at a really good clip. Nothing was around, and I was feeling safe and sane, when BANG! I had that same joyful experience of being clipped from behind! I remember thinking, "what the f...".
This one was more serious. The rear tire buckled on my bike, and the car started riding over the bike, and me. Time slows down when you think you're about to die. The car bumper was going over the bike, and me, and especially my left leg pinned between the bumper and the bike. I remember sliding, and using my right leg to kick myself free (pull my left leg out), and then I spun over, and was sliding on the asphalt, while the car (El Camino) went over my bike and mutilated it. Since I hadn't gotten caught under the car, I was relatively OK; but it had been close. The bike hadn't been as lucky and was a write-off.
I got up and was hopping mad. I was hopping because my left leg, while not broken by the car, was seriously bruised. And I once again, spent days recovering from road rash; mostly on my hands and knees; and spent weeks with a limp.
The shrieking mad woman (in all senses of the word), jumped out of her car and started saying stupid things like, "Oh my God, you kids are crazy! What were you doing riding on the wrong side of the road? You're lucky I was only going 25 MPH because it was a school zone".
To which I politely responded something like, "Lady, I was doing at least 30 MPH on the bike, and you hit me like I was standing still! You came up on me so fast, that I didn't hear you coming. And I was riding on the wrong side of the road so that I could see crazy bitches coming and not get taken out from behind! Now what the hell were you doing DRIVING on the wrong side of the road?" Typical tactful teenager speak for "I respectfully disagree with your assessment of the situation".
She replied that she saw some kids playing near the side of the road to had swerved into oncoming traffic just to have extra room. Gee thanks.
I pulled my write-off of a bike out from under the front of the car, and hop-carried it (bouncing on my good leg) to the back of her El Camino, and threw it in the bed, and told her to give me a ride home. I took her name and number, and told her she was buying me a new bike; which she did -- glad to avoid the insurance fiascos or the ticket she would have gotten for sheer stupidity.
The moral to that story was that just because you're alert and breaking the law, doesn't mean you can't get hurt (or that others might be unaware and breaking the law even worse).
   
Just when the left leg had stopped throbbing, and I could walk like a human being again, I was doing something stupid. A friend had "borrowed" his mom's car. He wasn't exactly of legal age, but my reasoning about driving with idiots was "hey, it's their problem if they get arrested". Apparently kids can't quite fully rationalize all the potential things that can go wrong; or at least I didn't. Well he came over, and said, "let's go do something". Something turned out to be to drive down to my creek (about 1 1/2 miles away), and smoke a bowl of pot. I was not exactly a stoner kid; but from 14 to 16, I knew a few stoners and hung out with them enough to get wasted on at least a monthly basis. After that, I cut it way back to about every few months at a party or something, until my early to mid 20's where I stopped completely.
Well, we did the things that bored teens do, which was something sophisticated like getting baked, and then throwing rocks into a stream while being totally fascinated with the splash, and trying to remember the way home; which was a mile and a half back on a street that had to go by my house. I never drove drunk or stoned. I wasn't afraid of hitting anything, it was more that I didn't want to get a ticket or lose my license. But like many kids who aren't doing real math, I'd ride with friends who were blotto'd because anything that happened was their problem and not mine. This is more proof that some teenage synapses aren't firing right.
Anyways, my friend pulled in front of my house in his mom's big 1970's station wagon (this was the 70's after all), and I got out of the car. I was talking to him (through the back seat door, which was still open), as he was letting the car roll forward when I felt the car rolling up my leg, and he saw my go down and heard a yelp.
The rear tire started rolling up my ankle (sideways), which very effectively, pulled me down into the asphalt. The car was rolling up my leg towards the knee, when the tire slipped off my shin. He stopped, I and popped up. He said something brilliant like, "Dude, did I just run you over?" I replied with something more brilliant like, "No, I was just kissing the asphalt and squealing like a little girl for the fun and dignity of it". Again with the teenaged diplomacy.
Talk about harshing my buzz; that had sobered me up in about 2 seconds flat -- endorphines and pain are serious sober-uppers. The nosy neighbor (Mrs. Jones actually), was across the street and looking over, and about to figure out that something "interesting" had just happened; and tell my Mom and the whole neighborhood about it. So I told him that he should just drive home and act cool. I turned, waved to Mrs. Jones, and walked into the house, with as little limp and cursing as I could muster. She was probably sure that something significant had happened, but just not sure what.
Fortunately, my leg was flat against the asphalt when the car had run it over, so it didn't break - but those old land-yachts weigh a ton; actually, more than a couple tons. I got inside and iced my leg; it was purple at the knee and ankle and rather swollen where the tire had run up it, and I don't bruise easily at all. I had to get tweezers and pick road gravel from out of my ankle, where just the weight of the car had pushed it into my skin. And then I hobbled around for days, with some lame excuse about twisting my ankle doing something stupid, to avoid admitting the truth of getting run-over doing something more stupid.
The moral to that story was that when you're not alert, the law of averages is going to sneak up on you. And never rely on your friends, because they are probably less alert and more stupid than even you are.
   
I'd been hit by a car three times in roughly a year. After that, I was more than a little paranoid about cars. Dreams of El Camino's with big toothy grins coming to get me, or visions of people flattening station wagons kept me from sleeping soundly, or walking casually anywhere. This was compounded by event like a neighbor girl riding her bike in front of our house and getting hit much worse than I ever did; concussion, paramedics, internal bleeding, hospitals, coma and all that. She lived, but I'd gotten the message; cars hurt, so be on your toes. And for the next couple years I was much more cautious and not going to get hit again. So I thought. s
Then one day, I was walking from my High School to some place across the street for food. We had a closed campus; which meant that kids had to climb the fence instead of go out the front gate to get to the manna from the gods; local fast food. Taco Bell, McD's, Carls Jr, Del Taco; we were powerless adolescents against the sirens call of fatty food.
I was walking on the sidewalk against traffic, just so I could keep an eye on that damn cars. I was crossing a driveway that went between a strip mall and a major road. I saw some guy in a Camero (or Trans-Am) coming towards the main drag (in the mall parking lot), but he made eye contact with me, so I didn't think much of it. I saw that the road was clear, but cars were coming, and I heard his motor speed up a notch. What went through my mind was, "didn't we just make eye contact three seconds ago? What part of me being between you and the major thoroughfare don't you understand [expletive deleted]?"
I didn't have time to jump out of the way; he was trying to make it in front of the cars, and had forgotten about me, or just the laws of physics. I had just enough time to hop a little up on his hood; which I hit with a pretty good whump, and slid up to his windshield. At which point being face to face with me, it finally sunk in to him what was going on. His solution was to slam on the brakes. Remember the law of physics and conservation of energy? An object at rest stays at rest unless acted upon by a fast moving Camero, and an object (see person) in motion tends to stay in motion in a straight line, even when the car that launched him into motion decides to stop. Well I got experience both sides of it; the rapid acceleration of being hit, and the human catapult effect when he stopped but I didn't. I was scrambling to hang onto something as I realized what was happening; and I broke his windshield wiper as probably had fingernail marks all the way down his hook as he successfully launched me into the middle of the road.
If you remember back to about 3 seconds ago in that time, there were cars coming; and now I was flying and rolling in front of them. I was in the road, and kind of scrambling to avoid becoming a flat-cat. The car in the fast lane was skidding, but still went past me, the car in the slow lane went wizzing by my head at full speed; fortunately, I was in the lane line (kinda in a crouch and half on my feet) so I didn't get clipped. The cars behind had enough room, so stopped, while I scrambled out of the road, and was fine. The guy in the Camero had split, never to be seen or heard from again. But trust me, I was looking for that guy for quite some time after that; intended on giving him a firm lecture on driver safety, and what to do when you see a pedestrian.
No one really stopped, the cars went back to what they were doing. I dusted myself off, and cleaned up my scuffs in the Del Taco bathroom (my original destination). I was scraped up, but nothing some Jalapeno Nachos, a Burrito and some Soda couldn't make better.
Every time I see some move with a guy riding on the hood of a car, and the bad guy trying to shake him off, I think, "I know EXACTLY what that feels like". I experienced that for an entire lifetime one day; even if it only lasted for 2 seconds I real time. I always think when seeing those scene's, "tap the brakes you moron, and he'll fly like superman", trust me, I know.
The moral to this story was that just because people see you, doesn't mean that they really see you or care enough to really stop. And if you trust them, then you are as stupid as they probably are.
 
Fortunately, I lived through all my little "experiences". But I had friends that were far more seriously hurt; one lost a spleen and was in a coma, and the little neighbor girl that in a coma and rehabilitating for a month. Another friend that had someone lose control and take him out on a curb, and hospitalized him for many months; broken pelvis, arms, legs, and so on. And a couple of deaths.
When kids or people just get too casual and irresponsible about 3,500 lb. deadly weapons, I just start reciting the fun I've had with them as reminders. I'm not really preachy about it; but cars are dangerous, and they can hurt. I speak from experience. Usually they think a little bit more, or at least that is my hope.
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