"Isn't it dangerous on the road?" they ask me. Usually car drivers, the fright still in their eyes from the moment that huge truck came peeking around the corner of that narrow mountain road.

No ma'am, it's not dangerous. You see, I'm just a tiny cyclist. I don't take up much space on the road. The trucks either pass me at a distance, or they wait behind me for their turn.

Besides, I'm not enclosed in a steel and plastic cage, I'm out there in the open air. I can hear the trucks coming, they don't surprise me.

Actually, most truck drivers seem to respect me. A lot of them greet me, encourage me, blowing their horn or making a V-sign with their hand. I will never forget that guy in the Vizcaino desert who, high above me in his truck cabin, frantically acted like he was in a football stadium just after a goal.