Not hunting, but it still unbelievable to me. 40+ years later..
I used to be a competitive road cyclist in high school, I trained a lot. Almost always by myself and almost always on what were then very rural roads. People then were a lot less accommodating of cyclists, but I was fast and strong and full of myself. I rode on "sew-ups", aka "tubular" tires that were glued on the rim. Ultralight, very high pressure and very easy to flat. I never gave quarter on the road, if there was a shoulder, I didn't ride it because of glass and the potential to flat. I'd ride the painted line on the side of the road, but not the shoulder.
One hot summer weekend afternoon, I was riding fast on the far right of a two-lane straight country rode with loose, deep, pea gravel shoulder. I was very far "south county" in a backwater area below Annapolis and zero cars were passing me either way. Totally focused on my high level of exertion, there was no noise, no wind, no traffic... all of a sudden the hair on the back my neck stood up, I sensed extreme/urgent danger and instantly/sharply veered my bike into the loose gravel shoulder (never in a million years would I do this). I was going so fast that I barely kept the bike up. In the very moment my bike left the pavement, a huge tandem axle dump truck that had feathered his throttle to run silent blew past me with no room, his wheels on that painted line.
I will never know why I did what I did, I never heard the truck. I didn't event take a split second to figure out what I was "feeling". I just instantly reacted. Perhaps I felt the air pressure from the air the truck was pushing since I was so used to feeling it.
My aunt, now deceased, was a nun and my dad's twin brother, a cloistered monk. I always felt that somehow they looked out for me. Anyhow, my innate sense, my aunt, uncle or God had my back that day.
That dude would have killed me, for sure.
JL
I used to be a competitive road cyclist in high school, I trained a lot. Almost always by myself and almost always on what were then very rural roads. People then were a lot less accommodating of cyclists, but I was fast and strong and full of myself. I rode on "sew-ups", aka "tubular" tires that were glued on the rim. Ultralight, very high pressure and very easy to flat. I never gave quarter on the road, if there was a shoulder, I didn't ride it because of glass and the potential to flat. I'd ride the painted line on the side of the road, but not the shoulder.
One hot summer weekend afternoon, I was riding fast on the far right of a two-lane straight country rode with loose, deep, pea gravel shoulder. I was very far "south county" in a backwater area below Annapolis and zero cars were passing me either way. Totally focused on my high level of exertion, there was no noise, no wind, no traffic... all of a sudden the hair on the back my neck stood up, I sensed extreme/urgent danger and instantly/sharply veered my bike into the loose gravel shoulder (never in a million years would I do this). I was going so fast that I barely kept the bike up. In the very moment my bike left the pavement, a huge tandem axle dump truck that had feathered his throttle to run silent blew past me with no room, his wheels on that painted line.
I will never know why I did what I did, I never heard the truck. I didn't event take a split second to figure out what I was "feeling". I just instantly reacted. Perhaps I felt the air pressure from the air the truck was pushing since I was so used to feeling it.
My aunt, now deceased, was a nun and my dad's twin brother, a cloistered monk. I always felt that somehow they looked out for me. Anyhow, my innate sense, my aunt, uncle or God had my back that day.
That dude would have killed me, for sure.
JL
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