There comes a time in every young man’s life when he has to lay down his bike. Yes, the kind of lay-it-down that sounds like you are quitting, but really is just a gentle sounding euphemism for a more gruesome reality: when the tires aren’t on the pavement, your not-so-resilient flesh is. I knew this was coming… I’ve seen far too many people with road-rash, scrapes, and various other injuries from riding their motos. At least the anticipation is over…
This is the story I’d like to tell:
It was late at night. I was rushing into the hospital to help save another life—maybe two, if I hurried, since mom and baby are at stake. I was rushing through one of the back alleys when a little child stepped out into the street. Having no way to avoid him otherwise, I intentionally laid down my bike-thrusting it out of his way, and taking the fall myself.
Alas, I’m no such saint. The truth is that I was heading home on a Friday afternoon and it started raining. Like some witch from Oz afraid of melting, (or worse yet, some techie nerd afraid that his electronics might fry) I started driving faster to get home. I was already soaked by this point, and I should have just slowed down (driving fast only makes it hurt worse) and enjoyed the shower. I was almost home and slowed up for a more major intersection…and… I don’t exactly remember what happened. No, I didn’t hit my head. It’s just that it happened so fast. One second I’m applying the brakes, and the next my knee is hitting ground and my hands are scraping across the pavement.
Neither I nor the bike were hurt. My hands are kind of road-rashy and my knee is banged up and scrapped…but only my pride was in critical condition. I jumped up, picked-up the bike, waved off the old man who was coming to help me (nice guy…), and got home without further incident.
Below is a picture of me after parking at home, as a way of commemorating the event. (And to prove to my modeling agent that my multi-million dollar face was in no way injured in the accident.)
In other “casualty” news…I’ve only broken a couple more things since I’ve last posted. The first was another tire on my moto. This left me “au pied” as they say (on foot). It was late in the evening and I was eating dinner with Doug’s family that evening, so I hitched a ride to their home and Doug took me home (always cleaning up after me…poor guy). I knew that I could get my tire fixed right across the street from the hospital in the morning (another $0.40…whew!), so I just needed to walk to work the next morning.
The distance from my house to the hospital isn’t anything prohibitive—I run past the hospital on my morning runs. So I set out on foot, trying to enjoy the walk and the time to think (and trying not to get run over…). I had completed the larger part of my trip when around the corner comes Elizabeth on her moto.
“C’est comment?” (lit. trans: “How is it?” More accurately: “What’s the deal?”) She says this with a half-smile while wrinkling her nose and eyes tightly, which gives the distinct impression that she is either about to laugh hysterically or spit in disgust. She slows to a stop. I start explaining the situation, but when I get to the part about my tire popping, I can neither remember the word for tire nor for pop, so I point at her tire and make toddler noises. This conveys all the point she wants to hear. She turns the moto around and insists that I climb on, now with the distinct air of walking being below her boss’s dignity.
I climb on and she takes off to the hospital with a sense of urgency. Fine. But then she starts beeping her horn like she is some kind of ambulance. She wasn’t driving incredibly fast, just determinedly and she wasn’t stopping for anything. The more crowded the intersection, the longer and harder the horn. We arrive at the gate of the hospital, which has a chain across it that has to be lowered. She holds the horn down as we approach and a guard looks around the wall and immediately lowers the chain. (Good thing, because I don’t think she was going to stop, regardless.) The ruckus this causes is noticed by the staff, who is gathered for morning devotions. So everyone sees me come flying into the hospital on the back of Elizabeth’s moto accompanied by horn blasts. Funny…I thought it would have been more preserving of my dignity to slip into the hospital on foot.
The second thing I broke was a plug that someone had just fixed. I’m incredible. We were gathered for our Wednesday evening prayer time, and Barry had just fixed a broken plug-end for a fan. He asked me to plug it into the power strip right behind my chair. I bent down and tried to get it in. Of course, it did not go. So to a crowd of on-lookers, I am failing at something as basic as plugging something in. They start to offer encouraging comments like, “It can be tricky.” “Wiggle it a little bit.” “Sometimes it gets a little stuck, just push it.” So I wiggle and push, and it breaks. Awesome! It was almost not-funny.
I think that’s all the damage I’m confessing to…for now.
This is the story I’d like to tell:
It was late at night. I was rushing into the hospital to help save another life—maybe two, if I hurried, since mom and baby are at stake. I was rushing through one of the back alleys when a little child stepped out into the street. Having no way to avoid him otherwise, I intentionally laid down my bike-thrusting it out of his way, and taking the fall myself.
Alas, I’m no such saint. The truth is that I was heading home on a Friday afternoon and it started raining. Like some witch from Oz afraid of melting, (or worse yet, some techie nerd afraid that his electronics might fry) I started driving faster to get home. I was already soaked by this point, and I should have just slowed down (driving fast only makes it hurt worse) and enjoyed the shower. I was almost home and slowed up for a more major intersection…and… I don’t exactly remember what happened. No, I didn’t hit my head. It’s just that it happened so fast. One second I’m applying the brakes, and the next my knee is hitting ground and my hands are scraping across the pavement.
Neither I nor the bike were hurt. My hands are kind of road-rashy and my knee is banged up and scrapped…but only my pride was in critical condition. I jumped up, picked-up the bike, waved off the old man who was coming to help me (nice guy…), and got home without further incident.
Below is a picture of me after parking at home, as a way of commemorating the event. (And to prove to my modeling agent that my multi-million dollar face was in no way injured in the accident.)
In other “casualty” news…I’ve only broken a couple more things since I’ve last posted. The first was another tire on my moto. This left me “au pied” as they say (on foot). It was late in the evening and I was eating dinner with Doug’s family that evening, so I hitched a ride to their home and Doug took me home (always cleaning up after me…poor guy). I knew that I could get my tire fixed right across the street from the hospital in the morning (another $0.40…whew!), so I just needed to walk to work the next morning.
The distance from my house to the hospital isn’t anything prohibitive—I run past the hospital on my morning runs. So I set out on foot, trying to enjoy the walk and the time to think (and trying not to get run over…). I had completed the larger part of my trip when around the corner comes Elizabeth on her moto.
“C’est comment?” (lit. trans: “How is it?” More accurately: “What’s the deal?”) She says this with a half-smile while wrinkling her nose and eyes tightly, which gives the distinct impression that she is either about to laugh hysterically or spit in disgust. She slows to a stop. I start explaining the situation, but when I get to the part about my tire popping, I can neither remember the word for tire nor for pop, so I point at her tire and make toddler noises. This conveys all the point she wants to hear. She turns the moto around and insists that I climb on, now with the distinct air of walking being below her boss’s dignity.
I climb on and she takes off to the hospital with a sense of urgency. Fine. But then she starts beeping her horn like she is some kind of ambulance. She wasn’t driving incredibly fast, just determinedly and she wasn’t stopping for anything. The more crowded the intersection, the longer and harder the horn. We arrive at the gate of the hospital, which has a chain across it that has to be lowered. She holds the horn down as we approach and a guard looks around the wall and immediately lowers the chain. (Good thing, because I don’t think she was going to stop, regardless.) The ruckus this causes is noticed by the staff, who is gathered for morning devotions. So everyone sees me come flying into the hospital on the back of Elizabeth’s moto accompanied by horn blasts. Funny…I thought it would have been more preserving of my dignity to slip into the hospital on foot.
The second thing I broke was a plug that someone had just fixed. I’m incredible. We were gathered for our Wednesday evening prayer time, and Barry had just fixed a broken plug-end for a fan. He asked me to plug it into the power strip right behind my chair. I bent down and tried to get it in. Of course, it did not go. So to a crowd of on-lookers, I am failing at something as basic as plugging something in. They start to offer encouraging comments like, “It can be tricky.” “Wiggle it a little bit.” “Sometimes it gets a little stuck, just push it.” So I wiggle and push, and it breaks. Awesome! It was almost not-funny.
I think that’s all the damage I’m confessing to…for now.
I am so glad you are OK and I really thought that the red at your neck in this photo was blood and then I realized it was your necklace. lol Jake you look great! I mean in a "rain-soaked-just-laid-down-your-bike-and-survived-it-sort-of-way"
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