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Biking to work downtown, I see a woman in front of me nearly get killed by a careless driver on Laurier Avenue. Only her own quick reflexes (and good brakes) keep her from being right-hooked by a HVAC company truck, whose driver turned south onto O’Connor Street without checking to see whether he might murder anyone.

One block later, at Metcalfe Street, a guy pulls his minivan half into the bike lane, illegally, and then his passenger flings her door open to hop out, right in our way.

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A block after that, I reach city hall. My back tire is a bit low so I go to use the public bike-repair station by the lane for a couple of shots of air from the pump. Nice idea, those.

The repair stand hangs drunkenly, held to the ground by just one of its four bolts and that one is loose. You can’t put a bike on it. Turns out the tire pump is broken, but subtly: the head doesn’t seal onto my tire valve and lets all the rest of the air out. Instead of a soft tire, now I have a flat.