Last year I made the life-altering decision to purchase a bike. I’ve always been an avid bike rider, because how else was I supposed to get around before I had a car? How was I supposed to get around this summer when gas cost more than four dollars?

I’ve always considered myself a highly capable rider; however, I was a bit anxious about joining the ranks of bikers on Boston University’s campus. I’m from New Jersey, which should say something about my approach towards driving. Part of my driving lessons included learning how to flip the bird to that guy riding four inches off your bumper on the A.C. Expressway while traveling in excess of eighty-five miles per hour.

I thought that I knew reckless, aggressive, borderline suicidal driving—that is until I moved up to Boston. As a freshmen I was busy enough trying to survive without the added threat of vehicular manslaughter.

Sophomore year however, I was starting to get my sh*t together and decided that a bike would be helpful in the trek, and yes trek is the appropriate word to describe my journey from the far reaches of West Campus to the oh-so-far-away Central Campus. With the help of two wheels and some cranks, the fifteen to twenty minute walk was magically cut down to five minutes.

As I got more and more assured of my city riding, it became more fun. I bobbed and weaved through cars, ran red lights and endangered the lives of surrounding pedestrians. I had become the guy that almost runs you over when you’re trying to cross the street.

Things were great. I could get anywhere in the city without paying the two stinking dollars that the T was charging, and more importantly, it was fun.

That is until my first run in.

I remember picking up a copy of the Daily Free Press at some point during the semester (forgive my lack of specificity), and reading about some sort of bicycle-related news. The story mentioned that with the new bike lanes, BU students had to add a new term to their vocabulary: “doored.” The story used a lighthearted tone when talking about the danger, but believe me, it’s far from lighthearted when you’re flying headfirst through a car window.

One morning I was almost doored. When I say almost, I’m exaggerating a bit, because it wasn’t really that close of a call, but it still left me a bit shaken.

Today was another story. I was feeling good. The weather was nice (rare for Boston) and it was the first morning in the past week that I didn’t feel like complete sh*t (I’ve been sick just like everyone else on this campus).

I was moving at rather high speeds, but I was safe because I was in the new bike lane that had been installed over the summer—the bike lane that puts bikers within the range of opening car doors. I was in the heart of campus, which traffic galore. Between the people, the cars and the construction, things were jumping.

I was riding in the bike lane, minding the road ahead of me, when all of a sudden a driver swung their door open. It was not apparent that they were going to do so, because I had been looking ahead of me and hadn’t seen any cars pull into a parking spot, which would warn me that somebody might be exiting a car.

Like I said, the door swung open, into the bike lane only inches in front of me. Luckily I had just passed one of the road construction sites, so I wasn’t on loose gravel. Lucky, because I had to swerve and narrowly missed the door of death.

It scared me sh*tless, but I was running late for a class, and I still hadn’t finished one of the problems for the homework that was due at the beginning of said class.

Rereading this story, I realize that I have not been able to capture the fear appropriately, unless maybe you have had a similar experience. But forgetting this, I tell this story with a purpose.

To those of you in cars, please watch out for bikers. I know it’s not the first thing that you think of when you try to exit your vehicle, but it’s a serious issue and I’ve heard some horror stories. I’ve been lucky enough to escape harm, but who knows what’s to come?