Never heard this story before.

Bradley passed the early afternoon of his last normal day astride a black custom-made Trek Project One bicycle with seven six inscribed on the frame (for his height, not for the 76ers, who drafted him). He had logged thousands of miles on that bike, roughly one and a half times the height of a standard model, as a means of keeping body and mind nimble in retirement. He even willed his way through several 100-mile rides.

Just before he exited a roundabout, a few blocks from his home in St. George, Utah, Bradley says he took note of a Saturn sedan parked on the shoulder of the two-lane street ahead, knowing that he would have to zag left if the driver’s door opened. Hugging the right edge of the right-hand lane, he says he signaled a move farther into the lane as he pedaled up a slight grade, cruising at 12 mph.

In a Dodge minivan just behind him, a young mother was hustling to pick up her child from school. Bradley, who avoids naming the driver, to shield her from public scrutiny, says she bumped him from behind as he drifted left to avoid the Saturn—his Garmin GPS shows that he instantaneously accelerated to 17 mph—which propelled him toward the parked car. The shifter on his right handlebar caught the Saturn’s rear flank and jerked his front wheel sharply to the right, pulling the bike to a sudden stop and sending Bradley’s colossal body skyward.

Bradley tumbled over the trunk and the driver’s side of the Saturn, and he landed headfirst on the asphalt, his helmet cracking under his 300-odd pounds. (Police say the driver continued on but returned to the scene later. Never charged with a crime, she says she gave Bradley enough room when passing him.) Confused but conscious after the spill, splayed on the ground and gazing up at a crystalline sky, Bradley says he went through a mental checklist. He couldn’t move his arms or his legs. He couldn’t sit up. He had no control over his breathing, which soon grew labored. Only his eyes heeded his commands. Am I going to suffocate? he asked himself. Am I going to die slowly?