I met Scott, and only Scott, for a run on both Thursday and Friday morning. The time was 6:49am and it was clear that December was upon us. The temperature hovered somewhere between the high 20s to mid 30s. It was cold going on both days, but I prefer this to the heat. On Thursday we ran an 8 mile loop and on Friday an out-and-back 9. While on our way back to camp this morning, a bike plowed through a crosswalk and smashed into Scott's left side. It happened pretty fast but here is what I remember:
- we both approached the crosswalk and noticed no cars coming in either direction
- I did notice a bike to my left but it appeared as if it would pass us before we crossed the street
- I turned my head back forward and noticed Scott was now a stride or two ahead of me. Thinking he was about to stop at the actual street I said nothing.
- Scott then proceeded across the street. I thought he had seen the biker and was going to dash ahead. This seemed doable...
- But, quickly, within milliseconds, I realized this wasn't the case
- I then contemplated yelling out, but I thought that would cause Scott to pause, and then cause the bike to careen into his side. Instead I said nothing. I watched.
The old man on the bike barreled into Scott's side and Scott went rolling out onto the street. He appeared to perform a half summersault. It was clean. An oncoming car slowed to a stop and watched in amazement. The man on the bike, never lost his balance and circled back. Scott got up and looked confused and then furious. I thought a fist fight was imminent. Neither really said anything to one another and in a moment both were on their way.
Then we ran home.