The Little White Van

The Little White Van

The driver of the big white van had seen me; he was starting to brake. I had the right of way as I was on the roundabout. Yet some instinct told me about a threat from the lane I couldn’t see, behind the big white van. I slowed even more; to my right two solid lanes of traffic were stopped, waiting to get on the roundabout. As I turned off the roundabout they would be free to move. I wasn’t looking at them but I may have been vaguely aware that they were not moving. The big white van had nearly stopped and as I dithered I was slowly turning back in the direction I had come from.
Then he burst on the scene from the inside lane behind the big white van. He was driving one of those anonymous little company vans and doing a fair speed. There was no screech of brakes, no swerving; a collision was unavoidable. By the time my left shoulder made contact with the panel behind the driver’s doorpost I was moving very slowly and almost in the same direction as my assailant.
I ended up sitting on my stalled bike very dazed and making an effort to remember the number on the number plate that was headed across the roundabout at a constant speed. The two lines of commuters were now in my line of vision, not moving.
Homicidal Van Man had a change of plan and started to brake as he left the roundabout. I pushed the bike into the side of the road as he got out to look at the company van. I walked straight towards him but was distracted by the lady in the nearest car. She said: “I have his number, if you need a witness I live in that house over there.”
By the time I passed the front of her car Van Man had walked back towards me and behind the cars in the inside lane. All traffic had ceased. As I turned into the “motorcycle lane” between the two rows of cars Van Man was appearing from behind a car. We approached each other like something from a Hollywood Western. I was breathing gently as I had been trained. I calmly asked the young man, “What did you think you were doing?” He was a little shorter than me but more heavily built. He stood with his chest square on, his weight evenly distributed on both legs.
I do not recall the exact words of his reply. “Sorry” was not one of them. I could feel the beady eyes of tinned lemmings all around. If I was to do any good I had to gain the attention of Van Man, without losing the sympathy of my wider audience.
My weight was on the back leg, my body at an angle to him. As I transferred my weight to the front leg my body turned while my head performed an arc that brought the front of my white helmet into contact with the centre of his forehead. I was left with the impression that I saw his legs begin to buckle. I actually must have felt this taking place. The last thing I wanted was to have him drop in a heap but he made a valiant recovery. It wouldn’t do to confuse the lemmings about who was the victim. I was still quite dazed from his opening attack. I couldn’t understand why my carefully moderated blow had had such an effect.
The cutting, sarcastic speeches that had been brewing in my left hemisphere were lost. I certainly had Van Man’s attention; he was definitely not talking; he was definitely listening. All I could manage was “Drive carefully!” He trotted off like the chastised little boy that he had become. The lemmings remembered their cliff-top destiny and I went to my work.
As I took my helmet off in the car park I was thinking how a younger me, or even a slightly late for work me would have been dead by now. I was still puzzled about Van Man’s reaction to what had not been intended as a hard blow. Then I saw the answer to that mystery. As is normal on an open face helmet there was a chrome stud in the centre of my helmet’s “forehead”. In my dazed state I had imagined I was wearing a white full-face helmet with a smooth front. The force of my light blow had been concentrated by the stud on a very small area. It was just as well that the lady in the BMW had taken the edge off my anger! So if you survive an assault by a homicidal Van Man have a look at the centre of his forehead. If you can see an 8mm circular mark, then I failed to improve his standard of driving!
© M. Tisehd 2003
Previously published in Thistledown, July 2003