I was almost hit from behind last weekend while riding in Franklin, and the encounter shook me to my core.

I spend a lot of time on two wheels, and being hit by a vehicle is a legitimate fear. Most days, it doesn’t bother me and I push the thought out of my mind. I’ve experienced close calls, like cars buzzing me or cars turning directly in front of me. But none of these encounters felt close enough to create an instant fear of death. This weekend was a different encounter, one where the thought of dying crossed my mind in the moment. In that instant, my mother was the person I thought about.

I knew the car was coming and yelled “car back” to the riders ahead of me—the standard alert when riding with a group. Less than a minute later, I heard screeching tires and when I looked over my shoulder, there was a car what seemed like less than a foot behind my rear wheel. I can’t seem to get that image out of my mind and I’m still unsure how the driver managed to miss me. You could smell the burnt rubber from her tires. It was a woman in her 80s, and even after she stopped, her passenger side mirror clipped me as she tried to keep driving in the lane rather than give us room. She stopped again when I banged on the roof of her car. She seemed confused, and I wonder whether she should be driving at all. When I told her, “you almost hit me,” she responded, “I know. I didn’t think I was going to be able to stop in time.” She said it so casually as if my bike was a car bumper, as if hitting me would be an inconvenience and not a life-and-death situation. 

I asked why she didn’t go around us and she said she thought we would speed up and get out of the road. She wasn’t a distracted driver, but a senior driver who didn’t know about the 3-foot law, didn’t know cyclists could ride in the road and didn’t know she could cross the double yellow line to pass us. I shared the rules of the road with her, and I hope something I said made an impact because she didn’t seem to understand the seriousness of the situation. I was calm while talking to her, but broke down after she pulled away. I’ve not had this close of a call before and the rest of the ride, I was completely paranoid, fearful and anxious. I can’t get the image of her car so close to me out of my mind. I wish I had gotten her name and tag info. I don’t know what I would’ve done with it, but I wish I had it.

The remainder of the day, I was mostly quiet and slightly spooked. Once, I even called “car back” when I thought I heard a car approaching, but when I looked, there wasn’t a vehicle in sight. I’ve noticed myself driving slower than usual in my own car this week, braking well in advance of when I need to do so and scanning the horizon for potential hazards. Most of us drive everyday, and it’s a habit for us—one that doesn’t require thought but rather muscle memory. The encounter last weekend scared me enough to remember exactly how dangerous vehicles can be. Tons of steel and metal with the operator in control of what it hits. It’s a somber thought.

I’m grateful this woman didn’t hit me, and I’m hopeful she will pass cyclists in the future as I instructed her to do. I hope she pays closer attention, and I hope she is fearful of what could’ve happened that day. I hope her family loves her and rides with her and analyzes whether she should still be driving. Mostly, I wish cycling didn’t create the fear it sometimes does. We can share the road, all of us. Most cyclists are drivers, too, and respect for one another goes a long way.

I’m a 33-year-old woman, with two parents who love me tremendously. I’m a sister and a sister-in-law. I’m an aunt, a friend, an advocate, a coach. I’m a teammate, a fundraiser, a writer. I’m a person, with so many hopes and dreams yet to be reached. Please value my life enough to safely pass me on the road. The 3-foot law is a minimum. Give us more room whenever possible or just wait an extra 15 seconds to pass us safely.

Please.