In article <
[email protected]>,
[email protected] writes:
> Tom Keats wrote:
>
>> Why are cyclists so often our own worst enemies?
>
> How could one cyclist say to another "see you
> at harborview (i might even get to see neurosurg
> do a crani on you!)" if they had ever had any
> real experience with such horror as that?
I (semi-)recall my first & last serious incident.
It was like being born with some understanding of
the English language. There were a number of fades
in-&-out of consciousness. Going through the MRI
with that ka-CHUNK! ka-CHUNK! noise getting closer
and closer felt like I was gonna be lopped up into
sausages or something. I think that time I just
fainted from the freakiness of the experience.
I also recall being rushed down the hospital corridors
on a gurney and coming-to enough to look up at the ceiling
lights rushing by, reminding me of PF's "The Wall", of which
I made mention.
The first time I woke up, there was a cop asking me a bunch
of questions to which I answered: "I can't remember. Where's
my bike?" I made careful note that he replied that it was
safely stowed in the impound lot, ready for claiming and
pick-up. I'm still riding that hit-head-on frame, but I
had to swap out the fork. Eleven stitches and a sleepless
night later, I retrieved my stalwart steed.
It all happened during a late January night, coming home from
the GF's place. Wee hours, rain turning to snow, me noticing
the wiring had somehow popped out of my headlight just before
everything went blank.
I must've lain in a puddle for a long while before I got
scooped up by the ERT (even though I was practically right
in front of their ambulance/fire hall.) When the hospital
let me go in the morning, they gave me back a doggy-bag of
my swampy, bilaterally dissected clothing, including my
reflective vest. Some custodian with a German accent and
a highly reproachful tone begrudgingly gave me a pair of
pants to go home in. I later turned those navy blue gabardines
into a pair of cycling cutoffs, but eventually wore holes
in the ass end of them.
I was involved in a head-on collision with a car, I was
dutifully wearing a helmet, and I got torpedo-launched
over the handlebar, into a windshield. As I admittedly
vaguely recall it, I was waiting for a break to cross
a certain, local, problematic intersection, and got
rammed-into by a corner-cutting, left-turning driver while
I was dutifully leaving space to my right for upcoming
right-turners.
In retrospect, the street I was on was really too narrow
to do that.
Apparently I got that windshield real good.
Getting clobbered sucks, and nobody should have to endure it.
cheers,
Tom
--
Nothing is safe from me.
Above address is just a spam midden.
I'm really at: tkeats curlicue vcn dot bc dot ca