Business reporters are professional rubberneckers. It's a dangerous job.

In the past six months, I've decided that business reporting is super dangerous.

Sure, we''re not construction workers, police or tight-rope walkers. But we are paid to be curious, and curiosity killed the cat -- or so they say.

I've escaped death on several occasions.

For example, I'm always staring at passing stores and restaurants wondering, "Hey, is that place closed?" as my green Toyota Camry nearly swerves into oncoming traffic.

It's hard to read signs, spot new businesses cropping up or notice for sale signs when you're not constantly creeping out the window.

A 2003 study by the Center for Transportation Studies at the University of Virginia found that rubbernecking is responsible for 16 percent of all distraction-related driving accidents.

Harley-Davidson is my dance with death.

Every time I'm driving to the Galleria to fuel my clothing addiction, I rubberneck at the Milwaukee, Wisc.-based motorcycle manufacturer's local operations, located along Route 30 in Springettsbury Township.

One of the large buildings where motorcycles have been made since the 1970s is set for demolition in the near future, and I don't want to miss it.

So I stare -- stare until I nearly rear-end the car in front of me. One day it's going to happen. Death by journalism.

Speaking of rear ends, I totaled a car at one of my last gigs trying to get to an assignment in Carlisle.

See. Journalism -- it's an occupational hazard waiting to happen.

On that note, I'm about to head out to my next assignment.

Just pray to the journalism gods that there aren't any stories on the side of the road.