I’m waiting for the green light. There’s a policeman standing under the viaduct ahead on the other side of the intersection, waiting for customers. This corner is a goldmine for infractions. Drivers chasing the light, getting stuck in gridlock because the next traffic light is so close. The length of the turn always underestimated.

The police car is parked half on the bike path, and half on the sidewalk. The police man stands blocking the rest of the bike path. I idly wonder if he’ll move or make me change lanes, …and if there is anything he could stop me for. I take inventory. Headphones, no helmet.

My light turns green and while I prepare to go around him – look over my shoulder, signal and all that, I realize that I’ve almost been run over by someone merging from the off-ramp.

I gasp and look back to glare at him. His face says “Oops”. I turn back to the cop and see him step out of my way, and into the street!

You! He points behind me. Over there!  He points to the piece of curb in front of me. And I continue on signal a right turn behind him, like a closely watched, vindicated cyclist should.

Just then, to curb my gleaming self-righteousness, the universe has hidden a huge pothole in a puddle and I almost fall off my bike doing a little leap, legs flailing, big splash!  I think my seat goes down about half an inch when I land back on it.