Arm is healing pretty well — no surgery or pins required. Starting to do small things with the hand; now tying my own shoes at least. Can’t change a diaper quite yet. Can lift a wallet and remove money just fine.
After a week and a half of trying to get ahold of the woman who hit me (kept getting phone ringing into empty space, or a teenager who would say “I’ll get her” and then put the phone on the table and wander away, leaving me hanging for five minutes), finally talked to her. She opened with “But you hit me!” (referring to the fact that I hit her right rear flank). Oh my god. Me: “That’s a matter of a half second’s timing, and was only because I swerved to avoid being hit head-on! Has nothing to do with who had right of way, who turned left into oncoming traffic.” She softens. “My life sucks. I’ve barely left the house since our accident. I’m afraid. The clutch went out. I have a seven-year-old boy. I’ve been looking for work for six months but nobody is hiring. I still live with my mother.” and so on. It’s pretty clear she’s got nothing, which is why she was uninsured to begin with. I’ve decided not to go after anything. She’s agreed to try and help pay for damage to bicycle, maybe some of my medical co-pays.
Well, okay. Me, I’m ready to heal up and get back on the horse. Just want it to be over, move on. Walking to BART now, the commute takes ~45 min total, twice the time it took to ride. People wonder whether I feel cursed, this happening so close to Matthew’s death. Nope, not at all — I’ve been riding for many years without incident. I ride hard, but do believe I ride pretty safe, and that this was a freak incident. I’ll be wearing an orange safety vest from now on, though.