This past Tuesday, I was enjoying a bike ride to the studio with Annie. It is a great ride - we leave our house near Ocean Beach, enter Golden Gate park at the end of our block, then ride up through the park in the morning sun, then hit the Panhandle, then The Wiggle, then I either hit 14th Street to get down to Potrero Hill through the Mission, or head downtown via Market Street to the Embarcadero for the scenic route past the Bay Bridge and the ball park. It is about 8 miles door to door, and it takes about 50 minutes.
Tuesday I took the scenic route. Annie turned off at Kearny to get to Wells Fargo, and as I continued down Market Street, I vividly remember planning a stop at the Ferry Building to get some fresh bread and cheeses for an afternoon studio snack. The next thing I remember is sitting on the side of the street looking into the eyes of a couple very concerned strangers, and feeling like something just happened.
And something did happen. According to witnesses, my bike tire got stuck in the MUNI track. For those who are not from San Francisco, the MUNI is the municipal railway that runs down Market Street and other streets of the city. And if your bike tire goes into the slot, it either stops turning the wheel, or restricts turning, or something. At any rate, I fell off my bike, and hit the pavement hard enough to lose consciousness for what I am told was 30 seconds or so.
From what I do remember, I was talking to two people, a man and woman, while sitting down at the side of the street. I can not remember what we were talking about. I do remember seeing my thumb,which was bloody and torn. And then, out of nowhere, I see Annies familiar face, and I could not believe she was there. Then I was on a stretcher. Then I was in an ambulance. Then I was in a hospital. Some poking, prodding, xrays, neckbraces, CT scans, morphine, more morphine - Tuesday fucking sucked. I was discharged around 4 in the afternoon, nothing broken, and Annie and I took a ride home in a Luxor cab and I ate strawberry ice cream, some chicken, and had a pint of Guinness on the chair in our living room.
On Wednesday morning, Annie helped me piece together the gaps in my memory. Apparently, I called her after I had the accident. Twice. I told her where I was, which explains why she showed up. It was wild to hear Annie tell me of entire experiences and conversations that I have no memory of whatsoever.
Also on Tuesday, I took a good look at this:
Yep, that is the outside of my helmet. But it gets more interesting:
You know, I look at these pictures, and if I was not wearing this helmet, those cracks would be on my head. My skull. And I am not trying to be overly dramatic, but I think I would have been totally fucked up if I was not wearing it on Tuesday. Even out for the count.
And that thought has not escaped me these last couple of days. I keep thinking that one day you are just riding down the street enjoying the bike ride, and the next thing is - well, there is no next thing. Game over. The End. It happened so fast, and I dont remember a thing about the tire getting stuck, me falling to the ground, calling Annie. It is very disconcerting and strange.
So this Saturday, I am still quite sore, but since I did not break or tear anything, I have been gradually moving through the discomfort a very bruised and scabby left side in order to resume a sense of normalcy. I put on a t-shirt, gingerly lifting my left arm through the sleeve hole. I am very grateful my body is as strong as it is. I am very grateful I am not hurt. And I am just very grateful to be here.
Up to the accident, I was very cavalier about wearing a helmet while riding my bike. No longer. Next time you get on yours, and you think whether or not you should put it on, just do it. Just do it.