Two Tons of Inattention at Fifty Miles an Hour

This morning I was out riding my motorcycle. Breakfast at Pantry Dos, an actually perfect New Mexican breakfast, sun finally high enough to mean something. So I rode. And rode. I stopped by Harley to schedule Nyx’s first oil change, then did my usual thing: touch damn near every street in Santa Fe, one gas stop, no rush, just movement.

And the whole time, people were driving like absolute shit.

All morning I avoided wrecks by doing what motorcyclists learn quickly or die: stay razor sharp, watch everyone, always have an out. Scan mirrors. Read body language. Trust your gut more than the rules. It’s exhausting, but it’s survival.

On the last stretch home, westbound on Cerrillos, traffic was thick. I was in the inside lane, the one people should drive faster in but inexplicably don’t. There was a white Corolla to my right. I eased up until I was even with her window, deliberately staying out of her blind spot. I wanted to get ahead of her, but something about the situation made me uneasy.

So I checked my exits.

Room on the left shoulder. Space behind me. If she did something dumb, I had a plan.

Good thing. Because she did exactly that.

No signal. No head turn. No glance. She just turned the wheel and came into my lane like I wasn’t there. Fifty miles an hour. Two tons of car. Zero awareness.

I caught it the instant she started drifting. I moved left, rolled on the brakes, and avoided her, barely. Close enough that my heart spiked hard and fast.

And I lost my shit.

The next light was red. She ended up in front of me. I pulled up next to her door and yelled, really yelled, that she doesn’t get to do that. That she almost fucking killed me.

You know what she did? She stayed in her sealed little bubble and waved. Like oops. Like spilling coffee, not nearly ending a human life.

I’ve never been that angry at another driver. Ever.

Maybe it’s lingering trauma from my crash. Maybe I’m hyper-aware now because I know exactly how fragile bodies are against asphalt. Or maybe I’m just finally done pretending this is normal.

How do people have driver’s licenses and not know to look where they’re aiming their car?

Is it distraction? Phones? Being stoned? Or do people genuinely no longer understand that driving is not a casual activity but a lethal one when done poorly?

Because this isn’t rare. This isn’t “once in a while.” This happens two to three times a day when I ride.

Read that again.

Two to three times every day I am put in a position where I could be killed by someone else’s inattention, and the only reason I’m not is because I’m paying attention for them.

That’s not sustainable.

I don’t know how to fix it. Education? Enforcement? Accountability? All of it, probably.

But I do know this: Santa Fe has a serious problem, and riders are paying for it in near-misses, wrecks, and worse.

Waving doesn’t fix it. Oops doesn’t fix it. And “sorry” sure as hell wouldn’t have fixed it today.

This has to stop.