Woodlands, 53 km. This country is a small island. Traffic lanes are usually wide enough for cars, but when there are trucks, their waist-high wheels tend to roll near the kerb. Add gravel, drainage holes and the fall-off where inch-high asphalt meets concrete, and you have mountain-bike territory in urban landscape.
Rather than wind my way into traffic, I plunge into the gap between big truck tyres and the kerb. If I fall, I hope I fall on away from the big tyres. My fat tyres grip into the assortment of things on the surface. So long as I keep pedaling, I keep upright, alive and unhurt.
No matter what life throws, keep looking forward, keep pedaling. And, like C says, suck it up!