sixty five

THE GREAT BICYCLE CRASH

This is a steel bridge in New Hampshire, near Portsmouth. The surface was made of squares cast iron plates. Each plate had small uneven steel pegs that made it difficult to cross even in a car. 

The thin tires on a bicycle made it even more dangerous in dry conditions. It was raining that day which made it impossible. 

As I started across the bridge I was slow and steady, but after two swerves it kicked over and I caught my hand under the handlebar and the full weight of me and the bike. I still have a slight bend in the handlebar. 

My hand really hurt and my knuckle was ripped open. I banged my knee but that was a “walk it off” wound. I didn't think I had hit my head, but my helmet told a different story. The helmet and my head  were not broken, but I had hit enough to make a proper mark, in the helmet. 

My rear pannier was hanging ugly and my chain was off. There was a good Samaritan who offered to help, but I was in pain and stupid angry. I didn't swear at first but I was short with him so he moved on. 

I walked over the bridge and looked back to see the sign that said, “DO NOT RIDE BICYCLES ON THE BRIDGE". I knew there was one on the other side, but I wouldn't have read it anyway. 

The Good Samaritan returned and I took it to a new level of bullheaded stupid and turned him down again. There I was broken bike, breading hand, crushed hand and it started to rain harder.

It started raining even harder as I cleared the next hill. It was eerie when I heard a car crash back at the bridge. I had no idea where I was headed, but I had examined my cut and knew the tendon was intact. I still needed an x-ray and stitches but mostly I was mad at myself. 

Even though this was an epic fail, this was simply the price of having fun.