Cruising on a straight, wide open, level road at 20 mph as colorful autumn leaves dance on a gentle breeze is a cyclist’s dream. But the dream turns into a nightmare when a large dog rushes from nowhere out into the road just ahead of your front wheel. No time to brake, no time to swerve. In an eye-blink bike and dog collide. The next thing you know, you’re trying to peel yourself off the pavement. Your bike is a wreck. The dog wags his tail and begs a reward from his owners, who tumble off the front porch of their house, blurting lies. He’s not our dog! He’s a stray! We don’t know where he came from! A few cars drive past. No one stops to help you at first, then a couple in a pickup pull aside and get out of their truck. An ambulance is called. Eventually it arrives.

 
Your bike is loaded into the stranger’s pickup, and while you’re on your way to the hospital in the back of an ambulance the bike is delivered to your wife. She’s shocked by the sight of it, and even more shocked by the sight of your bloodied, bruised body, your stitched face, your reattached eyelid, your swollen knees and elbow. You’re both sickened by the five-gallon bucket of bright red bloody water left after soaking your jersey and shorts. Showering to cleanse your body is agonizing and you can’t help but cry out as the warm water washes over raw skin.

 
Months of healing follow. Plastic surgery is in your future to reshape the eyelid after scar tissue prevents it from closing properly and forces eyelashes to grow inward. Your knees are still swollen. Your other scars are becoming less noticeable, but one scar remains forever, the scar that makes cycling frightening. When will the next dog coming from nowhere run out in front of you? He might be attacking. He might be having fun. His owners will disown him. You could die next time.

 
Your bike is another story. It’s tough, as you’re tough, but its wounds are easily repaired. The bike isn’t an expensive featherweight racer, but a mountain bike outfitted for touring and utility use, and has served you well for 8,000 miles. You’ve modified it to suit your needs, with an inexpensive rear rack, lights fore and aft, cyclometer, bar bag, a rack trunk for tools and accessories you need on the road.

The tacoed front wheel is replaced. The blood—it sprayed everywhere—is cleaned from the grips, the frame, the rack, the rear rims. Post-crash (it could so easily have been postmortem) examination of the bike tells the story of the bike’s travels. The front wheel bent as you hit the dog, crumpling as it came to a complete stop while the bike and you continued to move forward. The rear wheel lifted off the road, throwing you over the bars and onto the asphalt. The bike then somersaulted, landing on the corner of that cheap rear rack, then on the saddle, and toppled to the pavement. The stem rotated 90 degrees to the right, the corner of the rear rack bent a couple millimeters and lost some of its paint, the right cheek of the saddle ripped, but otherwise the bike is in surprisingly good shape.

 
Your helmet? It was retired after the crash. Its visor split in half, and while the shell is not dented anywhere, it can’t be trusted now. Maybe it saved your life, and you’re glad you wear a lid.

 Two years later you face the demon and ride the same route where you crashed. This time you anticipate the dog. He’s still running loose, still chasing cyclists. The curtains twitch in the windows of the house where he lives, and he’s as fat and happy as ever. But this time he doesn’t get a chance to run in front of you. A can of HALT& is at the ready, but first you shout like a drill instructor, and it works—this time. The shout slams the dog in the face as effectively as a hammer. He jerks to a stop as if he’s hit an invisible wall, his eyes wide in surprise. You get away before he realizes what happened.

 

 
Dogs are a hazard to cyclists. Small yappers, playful pooches, and the meanest curs are all potential threats. They can maim and kill by running under your wheel and forcing you over the handlebars so you smash on the road ahead, where at best your eyelid is torn and your face is cut up, but you don’t lose your sight. At worst, a car runs over you as you sprawl unconscious. Dogs who bite your ankle or leg can cause irreversible damage, making you lame. Dogs who run at you can startle you into the path of a motor vehicle. The lesson? However much you love dogs, when you’re on a bike they can do you harm. Be prepared for them.

 
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