Early last evening I was giving my bike a quick ride around the block after lubing up the chain and gears. Everything seemed to be in working order until I tried to shift once and the gear shifted four times, bringing my leg down quickly and unexpectedly. My foot hit the ground, the bike came to a stop and I launched over the handlebars, skidding about four feet on the ground and scraping plenty of flesh on the way –
Jared saw it, walked up all zombie like, pretended to take a bite out of my arm and said "that's how you got that."
I spent about 30 seconds or more writhing on the ground screaming “FUCKING COCK FUCK COCK FUCK COCK FUCK FUUUUCCCCK” like a telegraph machine with tourettes (fuck=dash / cock=dot) when I noticed that I was right across the street from a fairly crowded Whittier park. I sat up and noticed no fewer than 20 small children that abruptly stopped playing, staring at me and soaking in the profanity I let fly. I struggled to my feet and said “I’m okay!” when a hispanic woman came running across the street. I think she wanted to help. Here’s how our conversation went.
HISPANIC LADY: (unintelligible spanish)
ME: Thanks, I’m okay.
HISPANIC LADY: (more unintelligible spanish)
ME: Yeah, I don’t really speak spanish but I’ll be okay.
HISPANIC LADY: (even more unintelligible spanish)
ME: Seriously, I’m okay. I don’t know how to… I’m just going to go now. Thanks.
Just as I turned around to leave, another older woman walked up to see if I’m okay. She spoke english but proved no more helpful than the one who didn’t.
OLD LADY: (examines the four foot bloody skidmark on the sidewalk and then my arm). That’s a nasty scrape you got there. It’s bleeding real good.
ME: Yeah, I only live a block away so I’ll be able to get home real quick and clean this up.
OLD LADY: That’s good. Make sure you put something on it.
ME: I got some alcohol at home so I’ll be fine. I should go-
OLD LADY: Or you could put some other stuff on there. What’s that stuff called?
ME: Hydrogen Peroxide? I should really-
OLD LADY: No, that’s not it. What am I thinking of?
ME: Neosporin? Hey, I’m still bleeding so I’m going to go-
OLD LADY: Wait, I almost got it. It doesn’t sting like alcohol.
ME: Bactine? I’m going to just go home now because of the blood. Thanks.
OLD LADY: No, that’s not it either.
I just left after that. About halfway down the block, I looked back and saw her still standing there, looking down with her hand on her chin, probably still trying to think of what that stuff was called.
Glad to hear it wasn’t worse. Two years ago I was biking on the Greenway and accelerating west, away from the Hiawatha Avenue crosswalk. Similarly to you, my chain jumped the sprocket (except I wasn’t shifting, it had simply gotten lose and i was accelerating hard). My right foot slammed down on the sidewalk.
I fell over sideways rather than going over the handlebars, but the worst part was that I landed on my right elbow, which cracked two of my ribs.
I also hit my head hard on the concrete… but was fortunately wearing my bike helmet. Instead of a bloody concussion to add to my injuries, it literally felt like my head landed on a pillow.
I spent the next two weeks sleeping sitting in a recline, unable to lay all the way back or lay on either side. Took me six months to recover fully, and I still get nervous anytime I stand up on the pedals…
Hope your recovery goes well!
Dude! That totally sucks! Why does stuff like this always happen in front a million little kids?
Albatross, luckily I had a strategically placed layer of fat to protect my midsection when I fell.
Kryss, that’s god telling those children that it’s time they became adults. Between the blood, the screaming and the profanity I’d like to think I personally caused at least one nightmare last night.
Pingback: The Ghost of Brain Damage Yet to Come « Young Notions