the id, the ego, & the single misfiring brain cell

stupidity is an unforgiving master

I'm at that age where I refuse to acknowledge that I'm not as young as I once was. Consequently, I frequently find myself in situations I should have foreseen and avoided, so I probably deserve what I get.*

* Yeah, I'm blaming the victim. I bet this is the one time you don't get all offended by it, too.

Yesterday offered decent weather and cool, so riding my bicycle to my doctor's appointment seemed like a good idea. Run errand + exercise (two birds) = ride my new bike (one stone).*

* It took me a few minutes to work out this equasion. It began with go to doc's appointment plus cardio = health, then I thought no...how can health be a stone? The stone needs to be the active part. Health, as it turns out, encapsulates the two birds, like a snare. If that helps.

The bike is brand new, since my other one was stolen (although I still refuse to relinquish my claim to it, naturally). When I bought the new one, I asked what was the most heavy-duty lock they could sell me, and we're talking you'd-have-to-cut-the-bike-in-two-to-steal-it heavy-duty protection. The helpful clerk pointed out a huge U-lock Alcatraz would have appreciated, so I bought it. I think it weighs about 30 pounds. The lock is too honking huge to conveniently attach to my bike, me being short and stubby. Thus, I carry it in a backpack, complete with a water bladder (just in case I really need to pee but don't have enough urine in my system), a key, and random stuff like a cell phone and ID card.

I pedaled to the Academy hospital--about 15 miles--and saw my doc. By the time I emerged, it was raining.

Great. Plus, I was tired.

No problem, I thought. I'll just pedal slowly, rest as necessary, and walk if I need to. I zipped the sleeves on my jacket, slipped a long-sleeved teeshirt on beneath it, and struck out. Despite my adherence to my plan, I bonked at Baptist Hill.

Kinda alliterative, huh? For the non-bikers out there, bonking is to biking as hitting the wall is to runners. And Baptist Hill* is just vicious, even if you're walking.

* I see the opportunity for a good joke about Baptists here, but I don't know enough about their beliefs to make that joke. Any Baptists in the audience? Feel free to help me out.

I went as far as I could, then stepped off my bike. Walking uphill with my bike was still demanding, so exhausted was I. And that damn U-lock weighed near 50 lbs. Near the crest of the hill, where the road was almost but not quite level, I decided to step back into the saddle and pedal the rest of the way.

It was all I could do to lift my leg over the bicycle. I clipped in my right foot, tried to pull it back a bit to give myself some chain pull (and thus time to clip in my left foot), and the chain, too loose to serve this function, just bagged. Thus, with no forward momentum to be gained, I stood on the right foot--still clipped in--and tried to clip in the left.

My brain had long since taken a hike. Woozy and weak, I fiddled with my left foot which for some reason was not clipping in. I must have focused intensely on this problem for, oh, .5 seconds before I fell over.

I didn't move at all. I just hung there for less than a second then plunked over on the muddy gravel like a cartoon character. My immediate response was just like yours would have been (I bet you didn't know we were so alike): I allowed a choice word to roll sensuously off my tongue, then I wondered if anyone had seen me fall over. (The humiliation quotient ranks above any physical injury suffered.)

I scrambled languidly to my feet. My hands were coated with grit, as was my right calf. I awkwardly brushed at the grit and it was replaced by several bright dribbles of blood. My calf stung. My hip ached.

Somehow, I managed to get back in the saddle (after straightening it), and pedal farther. I stopped a mile or so later to push my bike up another hill, and was excruciatingly conscious of my pain. I'd landed on my right hip. Like most women, I have a kind of thigh wing* which is ostensibly composed of body fat but which, upon further inspection,** turns out to be very solid, unforgiving, and wired directly to the spine and the pain switchboard in the brain. I had more than a bruise on my thigh; I had completely destroyed my front-end alignment.

* A white meat dream.