A hundred yards ahead of me brake lights flash and cars stop as a surreal scene unfolds on this busy street at 6 pm. I don't believe what I'm seeing. A baby in diapers is running across four lanes of traffic, and I mean running. A driver honks, in desperation or fear or both, there isn't an adult on foot in sight. Impossibly the kid makes it between the cars, crosses the sidewalk and disappears from view into a strip mall parking lot.

I'm closing on the scene. Incredibly no one gets out their car. And then I see her. The woman, ashen faced but silent is running straight across the road on the same line. She's reached the median. I get the sense she's holding her breath... been holding her breath in reckless pursuit.

I look right and there he is, maybe 18-months old, but a big kid and he's about to run right back across the road. There's no time to get off my bike, I just ride at him. "Hey little boy, stop right there". He starts angling away from me, but I stay in front of him. I can't believe how fast he's moving. He stops and tries to go behind me, but she's there and in one motion sweeps him into the air and safety.

I unclip and ask if she's OK. Her eyes are glazed over. I sense she wants to disappear, there are no tears, she breathes again and almost inaudibly whispers "thank you" (though I didn't do anything) and she's already focused on getting back across the road and presumably home. I look around. There's a guy 50 yards away pumping gas, frozen in place. Further still someone stands at the crosswalk looking on. All of them too far away to do anything but watch in shocked amazement.

I slowly turn away riding around another vehicle that's stopped mid exit from the strip mall. I cut through the gas station passing the car where the guy in now moving away to pay or call his wife to ask if the kids are OK. There's no director but someone has yelled "Action" The film speeds up and I'm moving faster, grinning and shaking my head at the miraculous physics that just played out.

One very lucky little boy, and a mother who may not let go of him ever again.

Postscript: I still can't believe this happened today. If I keep riding all the way to my grave, I'll never see anything stranger than this.

On a much lighter note but related to the laws of physics... check out Danny MacAskill defying gravity on a trials bike. He probably frightens him mother to death too.

Thanks to some truly inspired bad driving we're going to debut a new feature on Velodramatic. The Wacky Move of the Day will celebrate the most outrageous examples of driver stupidity. Tonight's episode... The U-turn Twit.

The Scene: Monroe Avenue between Los Padres and Scott. Both lanes of Eastbound traffic are moving rapidly at the height of the evening commute. Monroe curves left and compresses slightly for about 150 metres. Twenty yards ahead of me in the right lane a car slows abruptly as if to make the right into an apartment driveway. Front wheels are angled RIGHT and touching the gutter strip BUT the vehicle's LEFT indicator is flashing as they come to a complete stop adjacent to the driveway.

I'm doing about 22-23 mph to get through the compression quickly (at times I'll even take the lane here). I brake hard when I realize the driver is stopping in the lane (and may still turn RIGHT). There's no car behind me in the right lane, but one or two cars are sliding by me in the left lane. They flash by the stationary vehicle.

I've scrubbed off some speed but might lock up if I stay hard on the brakes. Instant decision. I'm not going left... with that indicator flashing. I thread the needle in the gutter between the wheel and the curb while screaming something like "What the Hell are you doing?" I'm through the gap and look back over my shoulder as the car makes a U-turn into the Twilight Zone.

What's wrong with the picture, let me count the ways...

1. Stopping abruptly in fast moving traffic on a compressed section of street
2. Stopping immediately adjacent to a driveway
3. Indicating LEFT with the car angled RIGHT
4. Making a U-turn from the curb lane, when a left turn lane was provided and the Westbound lanes are wide enough to let any passenger vehicle make the turn easily
5. AND as is often the case, passing a cyclist and instantly forgetting they are there

I'm really hoping this doesn't become a regular feature. This is why so many people who'd like to commute won't go near the road on a bicycle.

California's Highway 17 snakes it's way from South San Jose over the mountains to the town of Santa Cruz on the Pacific Coast. Blind corners, narrow shoulders and aggressive driving make this one of the most dangerous highways in the state. In a car it's nerve wracking, on a bicycle it would be suicidal.

My friend Brendan Ryan tells the story of a questionable decision back in the Spring of 1987 that put four riders on the 6-mile descent from Summit Rd (1800') to Los Gatos (385') via highway 17. Though it's obvious in the telling, no one should attempt this.

Over the years I've made significant decisions while riding my bike. In the mix of enlightenment and clarity that come with riding are many stunts and blunders worth sharing. I held a USCF(4) license for most of the 80s and managed to complete roughly 100 races over those years. In my quest to be a winning rider I always managed to align myself with riders way above my ability. They pushed me, dropped me, and on occasion used my size in the last 100m of a race.

In the Spring of 1987 I was training for what turned out to be my longest and busiest season. One particular Saturday I found myself with the usual group of 7-8 riders that I trained with and we headed out for a five hour, 75 mile, fast paced – no waiting – no excuses – hammer session.

The route was to follow Campbell/Almaden/Santa Teresa/UVAS/152/Redwood Retreat/Mt Madonna/Summit/9/Saratoga/Los Gatos/Campbell. Looks easy on a map, it's fun to type the story out while sitting in a leather chair, just a little session with the boys and if I got dropped? so what.... you know what I mean if you know this area. Apple orchards, farms, two-lane roads, little markets and fresh ocean air. We were in a tidy but quiet pace line all the way to 152. The group was mainly Cat 1s & 2s, a couple of 3s and me – a 4.

The quick riders pushed it until we hit Redwood Retreat which is the straightest and steepest road outside of San Francisco that I've ridden. I was buried with an 11-21 cog set and suddenly way out of my league. I looked up to see only blue sky surrounded by redwoods that would eventually outlive me. I was barely hanging on. Redwood Retreat is a wall and I blew apart. We regrouped on Mt Madonna Rd. and pushed towards Summit – then pssssspheeew I FLATTED.

The boys waited while I changed the flat but I knew I was done. As we pulled away I assured the group that I would hang on but don't expect any miracles (aka drafting me). I dragged my butt up Summit and longed to see the Highway 9 to Saratoga sign and the effortless descent to town.

As we all regrouped at Summit & 17 N the finish-time analysis began to be debated out loud. Two hours left... lets keep the pace at 18mph (I snickered)... "he'll hang on".... I urged the group to go ahead without me.... "no we'll finish together"... all the time the surge of 17N was rushing underneath us.

And then I said it, "let's take 17 – it's six miles maybe 10 min to Los Gatos." Silence. I pointed the bike towards 17N and said "C'mon I'll drive and make up for the flat tire. I was half kidding and assumed I would roll gently home on Summit (70 mile option) as I had so many times before. But I underestimated the value I offered to the others as a big rider, in a 53x11, one that played lead out man a dozen times for these guys in the Twilight Criteriums in Fremont. A moment's pause and 2 or 3 riders waved goodbye (editor: perhaps for good) and took the Summit option to Saratoga. Four of us rode towards 17N with a plan.

Oh, the plan... biggest gear, no brakes, don't get dropped. A shout of GO-GO-GO-GO and it was on. Four very high mileage road junkies with a combined strength and a common desire to get off of the bike as soon as possible. We plummeted down 17 from Summit Rd. It was mid day on a Spring Saturday, we were doing 40-45mph, but the cars flashed by us.

GO-GO-GO-GO was the whip and I drove the group down that hill only to be reminded along the way that 17 has a very rough combed surface designed to disperse water quickly, the shoulder comes and goes, there is an occasional uphill, and the old common worker bee of 17 - the sand truck. He caught us... drove us from behind... barking at us with his Jake Brake the unmistakable sound of a CAT Diesel. If you've seen the movie Duel you'll get the sound and picture.

We were all standing up in our 126" gears with a new found energy, burying ourselves on the stupidest shortcut of all time... the Sand Truck doing the worst imitation of a team car. God bless the Engineer that reintroduced a shoulder near Lexington Reservoir.

We regrouped for the final one mile push to Los Gatos... we wound it back up...and ripped down again at 45mph without a shoulder. The exit to town is across the road to the left and we didn't want to push our luck so we continued up to the Los Gatos/Saratoga 9 exit and rolled slowly back to Campbell. That 6 miles felt like 50 but we did it, and I'm here to tell the tale.

Stupidest thing I've ever done on a road bike.

I'm late for a meeting and even the never-red traffic lights are against me on this morning's commute. Two miles to go, approaching a left turn which is usually a slow and go. Today there are several parked cars lined up round the corner. One of them, a stationary white van hides a moving white car in a dangerous alignment I don't see until there's nothing to do but reef both brakes hard. Front wheel locks, plants and sends me hurdling over the bars to land in a heap in the roadway. Just once I wish I could stick the landing. The car, traveling at a conservative speed on the quiet neighborhood street, saw me and stopped 30 feet short.

As I scrambled quickly to my feet, someone calls my name. The driver of the white car has made a right onto my cross street and stopped. I look up and see one of my coworkers, who'd been taking his daughter to school. Nice. Considering there are only ten of us at the company, what are the chances of getting run over by a coworker? I laughed out loud. He spotted an old wound on my shin and worried I was hurt. I was more worried about the Cervelo so I didn't tell him it was a shaving injury caused by a bad blade in one of my wife's razors. My pride can only take so much damage at any one time.

Later he told me his daughter might ask me to do that again the next time she sees me. I'm afraid I'm going to have to disappoint the child. Close call.