PATIENCE FOR THE RIDE

This morning I achieved a minor goal, in least in terms of energy exerted. Mentally it was a much greater challenge, but I did it, I finally got back on my bike for the first time since the accident back in September. And I'm happy to report that my collar bone remains (mostly) intact.

Although I was fine riding around I kept thinking back to that fateful night. I may or may not have fully written about the specific details, and I'm too lazy to look it up. So I figured a brief refresher might be of benefit, particularly to new readers. Here goes...

It was a warm fall evening, Friday night, when I got cut from work early. This was back in the Bouncer/Doorman days (funny how far away that already seems). Leaving Wicker Park around Midnight, I took the most direct path home, which involved riding along busy Ashland Avenue.

Three miles in I crossed a bridge that goes over the Chicago River (great view of the skyline, I might add) with too great of speed on a decline, when a fucking CTA bus rips right past me, literally it was about a foot away. I lost my balance and...landed on my shoulder first, head second and seemingly everything else third.

It didn't even hurt at first, until I tried to get up, which took a few tries though I was motivated not to be run over by traffic. Then I staggered approximately 1 1/2, bike in tow, bleeding profusely from just above my right ear and just below my right knee, before I finally collapsed on a street corner.

No one offered any assistance nor even questioned a bloody heap on the sidewalk, the drunks, I think were too busy minding their own business (the Cops didn't give a shit either). After calling a fuck load of people, I finally was able to contact a friend to pick me up. Unfortunately, her tiny German sports car necessitated me leaving the bike behind. Whatever X 10.

Perhaps it was the blow sustained to my head, but I don't remember anything after that until waking up the next morning, jeans stuck to my body wound(s) and unable to initially get out of bed. Holy fucking shit...that is a scary feeling.

So I guess what I'm trying to say is that, after a traumatic experience, one that I still have dreams/nightmares about, I got over my fear and got back in the saddle, as it were. And it felt good...or would have for not the goddamn 30 degree temperature this morning, but that's Spring in Chicago for you.