accidents i don’t remember
April 29, 2009
I’m told that about 12 years ago I was hit by a truck while riding my bike. Although, I guess for all I know the scars and broken bones might have been caused by a frying pan fight with Kim, and after knocking me out with a bowling pin she drove me 3 miles down the road and pushed me out of the car. Except there were witnesses.
I spose it doesn’t matter. Well, it mattered to the insurance company. I’ll tell you about the insurance company tomorrow. Insurance companies suck. A lot.
Anyway, I woke up on my back in the parking lot of a gas station on State Street in Pleasant Grove, with an EMT peering down at me, removing my shattered helmet, cutting the strap on the Timbuk2 messenger bag I won at the 24 Hours of Moab, and then cutting off the sweatshirt I won at the old Provo Canyon race series. I protested feebly. I don’t win a lot of stuff, and they were ruining my legacy.
They loaded me in the ambulance, and I said “nooo, wait, I have to go to work. If Kim finds out I got hit on my bike, she’s gonna be pissed!”
Turns out she found out somehow, but she wasn’t pissed until the next day, when she went to run errands and left me home sleeping. When she came home and opened the garage door, I was riding my mountain bike in circles in the garage, trying to see how much it hurt to ride with a cut on my thumb that went to the bone, a concussion, a separated shoulder, a herniated cervical disc, a couple broken ribs, and no feeling in my left arm.
I gotta say, it wasn’t too bad. At least, I know I wasn’t a 10. I felt pretty good, riding circles in the garage. Until she commandeered my bike. It took me forever to find it.