Three years of solid city riding in Manhattan, arguably the most concentrated traffic anywhere in America, and I catch my first car door in San Francsico.

I'm fine, a couple bruises. The door isn't, nor is my bicycle. I actually feel pretty terrible about the whole thing. It was a lady letting her daughter off at school on Cesar Chavez. Of course the daughter doesn't check her side view mirror before opening the door, and it's one of those really long doors from a two-seater; they were standing in traffic and I had nowhere to maneuver. Now her car needs repair and it's not as though I carry collision with my schwinn. Gave her my card. We'll see what happens.