Bicycle Slip Up
Everyone knows if it hasn’t rained in a long time, the streets get a dusty but oily film layered on top of the gravel and asphalt. When the rain first comes especially the light drizzly type, that’s when the streets are at its slickest of all. Everyone knows that don’t they?
Taking care on one of the fast turns on my daily route, the new supposedly “extra traction” tires did well. Being careful not to get caught in the ultra fast trip down to the street presented no problem. The next turn which is fun to take fast also with a lean that even Levi would appreciate was throttled down to about half. No problem there. Third turn, thinking all things were safe to go fast, lean hard, and pedal on without diligence in safety go me. The trap was set; I was going down and going down hard. Its’ that moment in time that only lasts a second, but can run it through my mind like the third act in a boring production.
Getting up was difficult; watching the trusted green steed laying down the blackened wet road was also difficult. I hobbled, and groaned as I got my affected body parts to start cooperating again. Wow, that was a good crash.
Hobbling through the day was hard at times. Ibuprofen became a good friend, and so was the Tylenol my wife gave me at our daughter’s graduation brunch, of which will be another subject in the near future. But for now I want to mention how eventually during the day, I became proud of my injury. The child in me, the conscious mind that rides around in this 60 year old body was wearing my hematoma, or whatever you call it around like it was a badge to be proud of. Darn, I thought, “I wish I could wear this on my arm, you know, about where tattooed people like to wear their colorful ink.
The ride in this morning was great, all body parts working, the green steed with but a few scratches for historical archiving. I was a bit less careless even though the streets were dry.
Taking care on one of the fast turns on my daily route, the new supposedly “extra traction” tires did well. Being careful not to get caught in the ultra fast trip down to the street presented no problem. The next turn which is fun to take fast also with a lean that even Levi would appreciate was throttled down to about half. No problem there. Third turn, thinking all things were safe to go fast, lean hard, and pedal on without diligence in safety go me. The trap was set; I was going down and going down hard. Its’ that moment in time that only lasts a second, but can run it through my mind like the third act in a boring production.
Getting up was difficult; watching the trusted green steed laying down the blackened wet road was also difficult. I hobbled, and groaned as I got my affected body parts to start cooperating again. Wow, that was a good crash.
Hobbling through the day was hard at times. Ibuprofen became a good friend, and so was the Tylenol my wife gave me at our daughter’s graduation brunch, of which will be another subject in the near future. But for now I want to mention how eventually during the day, I became proud of my injury. The child in me, the conscious mind that rides around in this 60 year old body was wearing my hematoma, or whatever you call it around like it was a badge to be proud of. Darn, I thought, “I wish I could wear this on my arm, you know, about where tattooed people like to wear their colorful ink.
The ride in this morning was great, all body parts working, the green steed with but a few scratches for historical archiving. I was a bit less careless even though the streets were dry.
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Bob M
JP
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