It was the perfect kind of day that only the Arizona desert can produce: not a cloud in a dark-blue sky, temperatures in the 90s, humidity in the teens, the smell of cactus blooms in the air. I was on my motorcycle at the end of a two-hour ride from Phoenix to my home in Tucson. Less than a mile from my apartment, a car made a right turn directly in front of me—the classic prelude to an auto-motorcycle collision. Naturally, I slammed on both the front and rear brakes, and my eyes riveted on the exact spot on the passenger door that was promising to be my impact point. But then I did a very unnatural thing—I looked away from the car door toward its rear bumper. Although every fiber of my being was demanding that I stare at where I would hit, I looked to the left. The bike leaned in that direction, the car glided through its turn, and I slid past the rear bumper by inches. more »