I am renowned for telling those closest to me, "You can learn the hard way, or the easy way -- listen to me, and I'll try to help you learn the easy way. Keep doing what you're doing, and you'll learn the hard way." One of the many points I've made over and over again to fellow riders is to keep their attitude, intentions and attention in check -- and, always, listen to that small voice of warning in the back of your head.
The roads around the DC area are generally in pretty good shape, but there are serious exceptions, and with the amount of construction going on -- especially on the outer loop of 495 -- there is debris on the road.
Riding home for lunch today, my small voice was lecturing me "Your ego is writing checks that your body can't cash." I hadn't done anything particularly egregious to warrant the warning. But, I was on the alert. My small voice was talking, and I've learned from past experience that we ignore that voice at our peril.
It's amazing, at highway speeds, how fast things happen. At the 65 to 70 mph pace which is typical around much of the DC area, we're hurtling along at roughly 100 feet per second. Asked how long the dashes in the road are, the typical driver will guess three to four feet. Foreshortened by our perspective, and zipping by, they don't look that long. In fact, the standard skip mark is 4-inches by 10-feet. At speed, that 10 feet flies by!
The first early psychological experiments* established that when asked to press a button when the sound of a ball bounce occured, the response time was roughly one tenth of a second. But, when asked to press the button when they heard the ball, the response time increased to two tenths of a second. The distinction is subtle, but clear: perception is only the first half of the process -- awareness takes time.
Moving to the left lane on the highway, less than sixty seconds after a hearing "my small voice," a silver rectangular object probably four inches square and an inch think bounced out from under the car ahead. The world, as it always does as you experience and remember accidents, shifted into slow motion. It seemed that I had ample time to observe the silver bouncing block of debris. It didn't appear particularly threatening. But, when it caught the top of my left foot at 65 mph, it hurt a lot.
I rode on, unable to look down to see if the object had cut through my boot. The pain was sufficient to cause concern that the object might have broken the bones in the top of my foot. And, the small voice in my head, now silent, echoed.
We call them accidents because we can't (or don't) anticipate them, and they seem to come out of nowhere. But, there are far more stories of accidents that could have been avoided "if only" than those that were truly unavoidable.
Following too close, perhaps? Time to see the object? Yes. Time to observe that it was on a potential collision course? Yes. Time to determine the exact weight of the object and realize that mass might be harmful at speed? No. Time to avoid the object... maybe, but only after becoming fully aware that it was a threat... so, no.
You can learn the hard way, or the easy way. This time, I was lucky.
Pay attention. Remember your MSF training (and if you didn't go through the training, get it). And, always, ride safe! Stay up!
* Myers, D. G. (2010). Psychology, 9th edition. New York: Worth Publishers. (p. 2)
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