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cycling mishap

the journal of Michael Werneburg

twenty-seven years and one million words

Today I had a lousy commute to work. It started with getting small fragments of who knows what shot into my eye and face by a fellow on the sidewalk with a weed-wacker. A couple of blocks further (and by now still no more than a five minute ride from home) some jerk in a Mercedes (what else) decided that the broad lane we shared wasn't enough for the both of us, and he let me have it with the horn.

Then, in the haven of the Kay Gardiner trail, I noticed a woman jogging up through the gateway that leads to Mt. Pleasant Cemetery. I hit the brakes and the wheel failed to catch in the fresh, fine-grained gravel they seemed to have laid down in my absence. And so the bike went out from under me, and I took a spill.

It's almost nostalgic, having a loonie-sized patch of grazed skin on one's knee. I bet it's the first time in nearly twenty years I've had a spill on a bike. Happily, my t-shirt came through mostly unscathed. It's my recent MC Frontalot purchase, and I'd hate to get it buggered up (especially after wearing it on both flights to/fro Japan) and all 'round Shibuya.

My bike gloves sure came in handy. My hands are a bit banged up, but otherwise are fine. I don't think my helmet hit the ground, but I'm sure my head would have been fine, too. The helmet stayed in place, in any event, so I guess I've got my straps done up correctly.

Then to put the icing on my bad commute's metaphorical cake, some woman in a beat-up 80's hatchback decided that my presence 40-50cm from the curb on Bayview was no good, and she gave me a couple of angry jabs at the horn, as well.