A few months ago, at the end of a fifty-kilometre ride, as I coasted home down the final stretch of bushland road that gently meanders through a forest of gnarled angophora, I was nearly knocked off my bike by a deer. There I was, minding my own business, when it sprang out of the roadside vegetation and nearly barrelled straight into me. There was less than a metre in it. The shock alone nearly killed me.
Granted, it was not entirely the deer’s fault.
