I've been reading a lot of stories in the local news about bikers getting run over.
In one such story, the cyclist was decidedly at fault, and he died.
In another case, the cyclist was decidedly not at fault, and he lived.
When I hear about stories like these, I get agitated and worked up and excited and up in arms, and so I go tell my girlfriend about it. Because, you know, she's the person I talk to about stuff.
And as I'm telling her about people getting bounced between cars like pinballs, or having portions of their limbs torn off by vehicles, she gets pale and wide-eyed and I know that I'm creating a situation in which she dreads it more and more a little each time I get on my bike.
A situation in which I'm pretty much guaranteeing that she won't ever get on one of her own.
And so I understand that I should save stories of cyclist calamity for people who don't have as much of an invested interest in my personal well being.