Coming off the 59th street bridge and take a left on 1st, then a sharp left heading west.
A Paratransit driver hocked a luge as I was zipped past on my bike. My hand covered in a clear salivatory gel, I came to quick stop. Shook my hand, but it stuck like glue.
Ugh & yuck. I'd been spit on so many times already over the years, just for being a bike rider in a car society, I thought not again. I got tears of anger, as I thought, I am almost 50 years old, riding my little folding Brompton and someone has the audacity to fling their spittle at me, just because I don't pollute and like the exercise.
I had written off the human race as uncivilized brutes when a woman ran over to offer her help, a truck driver reached over a rag. And most surprisingly, The spitter pulled over his van full of wheelcahir bound riders and looking mortified, apologized profusely, while pouring an entire bottle of spring water over my hand.
Cleaned and calmed down, a cop came over to ask if I was OK.
I usually worry about being hit by a car, not saliva, during my morning commute.