I’ll use the first person just to make a clearer story, but I’m not admitting to this being me, because then I’d be a fugitive:
I was pedaling around the Central Park bike loop this evening when I saw a red light ahead of me. There was a car waiting at the light, and some folks were crossing the path. When riding my g36 with 125s, I tend not to stop unless necessary (ie, never) because I can always ride around the folks who are crossing the path and because, well, you know it’s not easy to slow down from 16+mph to a stop. Etc, etc. I don’t want to hear about safety issues, folks, and how your mailman’s nephew’s best friend was hit by a bike and now has to eat peas thru a straw. I’ve been riding 33 years and I’m pretty good at not hitting walkers. So.
OK, let’s just forget that there were people crossing at the light. Just drop it, ok! I get it. Peas. Let’s just say that there was an unmarked cop SUV at this light, and I flat out ignored it. Cops are always waving me thru these lights anyhow, and generally we know each other by sight, but not this one. She caught up to me a moment later (meaning: She’d driven thru the red light) and said, thru her open window, “You need to stop.” I yelled back that I couldn’t (not true), and she asked for clarification, and I told her that I don’t like to stop. Meanwhile, we’ve ridden thru another red light and she’s beginning to veer a bit closer to me, but not unsafely so. We’ll take it on faith that she’s been driving for 33 years and is pretty good at not hitting bikers. So.
Anyway, next I yell back that I can stop but that I don’t want to, and she says, “Yeah, but you have to. I’m a cop.” Finally, a break in the case! Actually, a break in the bike path: Just ahead is a spot with a 90º turn that leads to some pedestrian paths. I slow down a bit and make the turn, which is difficult (if not impossible) for her to do because she’s already driven past the path AND because the path is not intended for cars (tho occ’ly official vehicles will drive on them). Within seconds she’s hundreds of feet behind me.
I’m zipping down this path when suddenly the fact that I’m on a g36 with 125s – in the dark on a path I never ride on - catches up with me; within seconds, there are two feet behind me, and they’re both mine. So now I’ve got a silver dollar scrape on my knee and a hubcap scrape on my right buttock, but here’s what I don’t have: A $270 ticket! I’d call that a tie at the very least.
Disclaimer: This first-person account was related by someone who very closely resembles me but isn’t, for legal reasons, actually me.