Chapter 2

Warsaw Poland; May 15th 2002

The Incident

I had already been through the routine of getting the necessary documents together several times by now; get the voucher, pay at the bank, turn in the papers- I knew exactly what I had to do. Exited and happy as hell I was up too early and on my bike for the embassy part of the mission. Once a courier, always a courier, I had my rout mapped in my head before I started: First stop was a ticket for the 8:20pm train to Brest. There was an earlier train but I had made a habit of taking that train because it was a sleeper that dropped me in Brest and then into Pinsk at about six in the morning; perfect timing for a breakfast of grandma’s soup with Tatyana and Egor. After this I would need my voucher from the Kalinka Tourist Bureau, a receipt from the bank that I had paid my fees and then all that was left was to turn all the paperwork into the embassy. Four stops to make and just for the sake of professional pride, I decided to make the run as if it was a 5pm double rush.

I threw what papers I needed into my black and white Chrome bike courier bag, got on my homemade Schwinn fixie (no breaks and one fixed rear gear-track style) and I was off. I was at the train station with ticket in hand, at exactly 9:00am and at the tourist bureau offices for my voucher stuff the moment their doors opened at 9:30. The ladies there of course knew me and my numbers and destinations already so I was in and out quickly and through the bank to pay for the visa in record time. After this I rode over the bridge in a sprint and was at the embassy for my visa by 10:30. There was a delay there however when the embassy through me a curveball and asked me for a new photo to go along with the papers. This was new and something I wasn’t prepared for. They had always let me go through by just copying the photo from my passport so I hadn’t thought to have one taken. So I asked directions to the nearest photo shop but I guess I misunderstood the directions because I made the mistake of choosing to walk the distance and left my bike chained up to the embassy gates. The walk over and back was a lot farther than I thought and to make matters worse, I got caught in cold morning rain along the way. The expression of wet misery on my face in the photo pretty much describes how I felt at that moment. Anyway, I finally got my pictures and returned to the embassy by a little after noon, I turned in all of documents and had my new Belarusian visa in about 40 minutes.

With all of the paperwork completed though, I was now free of responsibility and with nothing to do but to pack my stuff and get to the train by seven or so that evening. I rode slowly back across the bridge and stopped for a kebab from the vendor across the street from the Dome Kultura Building. The clock on the tower said that it was about 1:30, about time for a midday matinee, so after I finished eating I rode over towards the two theatres nearby on Soloidarnoci Street that showed foreign (American) films. I rode first to the Murinow and looked at their marquee and then rode over the Femina before making my choice to go back to the Murinow.

I rode slowly, lazily along the sidewalk on the right side of the street. There were no cars. The theatre was on the opposite side and the road was divided by the tramway. Just before the intersection I crossed to the left behind a bus that was stopped there. Ahead of the bus was a pedestrian crosswalk that led straight to the theatre. This was the intersection of Solidarnoci and Andersa. The crosswalk was only fifteen meters ahead, the distance of the bus which was in the center lane. The left lane was open so I slid in tight around the rear corner of the bus and stayed along the white stripe marking the lane between the cars. And then just as I got past the rear corner, I heard someone behind me gun their engine.

I looked over my shoulder and saw a car come storming into the left lane. The car was coming in way, way, way too hot for the distance that was left to the stop. There was a screech of the tires as if maybe he was coming actually from the center lane or that he was trying to make a sharp move but then, just as he was passing me, he suddenly jerked the wheel sharply back to the right, turning his car right into me. I could see his face as made this move; he was looking right at me, right into my eyes and grinning like a madman. I guess he was smiling because the decision to take a shot at me somehow excited him or made him happy.

What the fuck?!

There was no possible time for any reaction; if he made contact that was it. So I just gripped the bars as tight as I could, stared straight ahead, held my course and braced for the hit. The car came within an inch of my left leg and then, just as his move was finished, he suddenly jammed on the breaks, locking the wheels and sending the rear of the car sliding out at an angle to the left and the front right corner of the car ended up right next to the bus. I wasn’t moving that fast but there was no room between the front of the car and the bus to get through. My homemade fixie has no brakes and there was not enough time or room to throw my weight forward and try to lock my rear wheel for a skid. What to do? No room to skid, no room to bail, no way for me to get through… Shit! I tensed my legs, antagonizing the momentum as much as I could and them let go of the bars and made a grab for the top of his car and the bus to avoid a crash. The move worked and there we were; the car stopped at an angle next to the bus and me sitting upright on the saddle, wedged in between him and the bus and holding on for dear life.

At that moment it looked like the sort of move a cop would put on you to intentionally cut you off. For sure that was a cop move. But why were the cops stopping me? I hadn’t done anything. I was about even with his front window and i looked in at the guy. He was staring straight ahead now, beating his hands on the wheel screaming kourva! The guy had a little girl in the passenger seat with him. The passenger side window was open a little bit. The girl was staring at me. Then the guy stopped yelling and looked like he was thinking really hard. Why did he want to hit me? Was this about being first to the intersection? Why was he coming in so hot in the first place? Had he been asleep? But even so, why did he try and hit me when he went by? Who was this asshole?

He didn’t make any move to get out of the car; he didn’t seem to be thinking of apologizing or even to try and talk to me, explain what in the hell he had just done. He was just sitting there staring straight ahead. I guessed that he was planning on running. That would make sense; take a shot at killing a biker and when you miss, you just run away. Or maybe he couldn't just drive off because he would need to back away from the bus first. This was probably right; he was trying to figure out his story.

No, that doesn't work for me. This sorry son-of-a-bitch could have could have killed all three of us! There is no way he gets away with this.

I stepped off the back of the bike, lifted it straight over my head and carried it over the front of the car and laid it down on the street in front of him. This is a trick couriers employ to make sure that assholes such as this, drivers who do nefarious deeds and endanger lives, something that almost all urban bikers and certainly all professional couriers unfortunately have experienced, can’t drive away.

I then went and knocked on the driver’s side window and motioned for him to step outside. He just sat there. I started screaming at him to get out of his car. I was really mad. I was screaming “You wanna kill me, you sick fuck? Come on, get out of your car and kill me face to face! Get out of your car and try again! I’m standing right here! Come on and kill me!” He just sat there staring at me. “Open the fucking door!” I screamed. He didn’t move so I grabbed the handle, pulled the door open and hit him right in the mouth. Bam!

I guess he was not expecting that.

“Don’t you ever, ever try to hit a biker with your car ever again! Do you understand me?” I was scolding like he was a little kid, waving my finger in his face. But rather than take the scolding, he suddenly he grabbed the finger, and tried to break it. I changed the angle of my hand so he had no leverage on the finger and when I did, he turned sideways in his seat and started kicking at me. This I was not expecting. Why was he fighting me? I only hit him once and he had to have known what that was for. He had to know he had it coming.

He wasn’t hurting me with what he was doing but his fighting like this seemed wrong. It was confusing; this guy was somewhere else. And what was worse, though he was not so great at fighting, he was really calm about it like it was normal. This moment was nothing to him. The guy was nuts.

Then I saw him look at his cell phone like he thought he wanted to call somebody? Who was he gonna call? Was he thinking of calling the cops? What are you gonna say? You wanna say that I attacked you? This guy is nuts and a weasel!

This whole situation was absolutely wrong.  Maybe it wasn’t just arbitrary road rage, or maybe the guy had been following me. Was this about money? Had he recognized me from riding around town and this was his taking his shot at me? Is this why he had hit me with the car? Had he done it on purpose hoping to draw a reaction? Is this why he never got out of the car or apologized?  

It was time to get out. He still had my finger and was kicking at me but he wasn't getting much of me. I changed the angle of my right hand again and used the heel of my left for leverage and pulled the scolding finger away. Once the hand was free I drew back and shot him one more right along side his head and this broke the exchange. The hit had a slapping sound to it and he seemed surprised to find out his fighting had not been all he thought it was.

I knew there was a police station just on the far side the theatre so I picked up my bike and road over there. I had obviously been followed by a nut and i needed to get this guy off of me.

“Look at my fucking day!” is basically what I was thinking as I was riding past the theatre. I really didn’t want to go through any of this nonsense. Turning this guy in would be an all-day deal. I might even be late for the train. All I wanted was to get back to Tatyana, to be in Belarus and get going on my little bike shop. I didn't need the cops. Maybe that guy would just run away and that would be the end of it. . He was probably scared as hell and on his way home. I really didn't give damn about Warsaw’s social misfits. I just wanted to go home.

I came up to a cop who was standing at the edge of the parking lot and stared in his face for a second or two. The cop stared back at me. I didn’t say anything for about 5 seconds. Maybe I didn't need this. He hit me, I hit him. He was probably on his way home. I made my point; he wouldn't think about doing that again.

The cop asked me what I wanted. I was still thinking when I saw the bike killer's red car pulling into the parking lot ahead of me. He had followed me to the police station.

“Do you speak English?” I asked. The cop shook his head. “Find me a cop who speaks English.” I pointed my finger at the car. “That son-of-a-bitch just hit me with his car!”