Fell Off Bike

One second I was on my bike. The next second I was off my bike.

I had no choice but to ditch it. Only, upon ditching it, I also turned
my ankle.

It went like this: Riding along on the grass as we exited the Barry Park playground
last evening, D. and Is. (in the tot-seat) ahead of me, I came upon a dip–a
three-foot rise from the park lawn to the road. Crept slowly, approaching
the dip. Rode up the dip. I had the strange feeling that the front tire
was lifting too much, like I was pulling a wheelie. But it touched down
again, and when it did, the front wheel lurched just enough to create a
momentary loss of balance. I was moving too slowly! So I tried
unsuccessfully to eject: I put down
my right foot, rolled my ankle, and belly flopped onto the bicycle and then onto
the ground where I came to rest part on the pavement and part on the gravel. A
bona fide, aww inspiring wipeout.

When the dust settled, Is. was explaining to D. that I just tipped right over.
When I could breathe again,
I got back on and finished the ride. The damages weren’t all that bad. Wind knocked out of me (and
today very sore ribs) from where the bike seat broke phase
one of The Fall, a badly bruised left palm, a scrape on my right forearm, and
mildly skinned knees. I’d say there were about the same number of witnesses as
when I took a spill on the
treadmill at the YMCA back in March. No other
falls to speak of in 2009, but there was a close call on a campus visit. By
"close," I mean that with coffee in one hand and a loaded computer bag
over the other shoulder I did a hard Charleston-style step on the ice (similar to what you’ll see when the playhead is at 0:29)

spilled coffee into the air, and then caught the coffee back in the cup
without any loss, regained my balance, and carried on with the short walk. It
wasn’t a fall, but it did have all of the excitement of a fall, none of the
pain or humiliation.

I’ve written about
crashes here
before, but I intend to make this the last entry on the subject.


Today is Monday of Spring Break.

I started the day at the YMCA.  D. took Is. to "Short Sports," where
Coach Tina yelled out colors and then everyone ran to the hula hoop of
that color and put one foot inside the circle. The hula hoops were lying flat on
the floor, like big Os:

O    O    O    O
    O    O    O  
O    O    O    O 

Meanwhile, I went to the fitness room and ran on the treadmill until I fell.
You’re probably thinking I ran 10 or 11 miles, was tired, stumbled from fatigue. 
Not so.  And in case
you are worried about me, I’m fine, although I later realized the skin-matter
from the full length of my left shin must still be pasted to the conveyor belt. 
That, or some poor soul fresh off a jog has it stuck to the soles of their tennis shoes at this very moment.

I don’t even like running.

Tomorrow, it will be Tuesday of Spring Break. Time to pack!

Because later this week I will jet to San Francisco for the annual CCCC convention,
making it the second consecutive "break" I’ll spend at a conference in SF. I’m
counting on a powerful wave of enthusiasm to sweep over me, oh, sometime late Wednesday.