Bike Ride

Bike Ride

Lifting my cumbersome bike I ascend the craggy stone steps of my basement flat. Seagull cries and rocking, rolling, rippling waters expand across the landscape as I emerge ready on this warm August morning for the ride to work.  Taking the saddle, I peddle off gingerly, wobbling as always for the first few moments of the ride. All the while I am steeling myself to the task of climbing the hill that will take me out of my seaside village to work, well aware that in moments it will be upon me. Sighing inwardly as I approach my nemesis I wonder ruefully if this hill will ever get any easier. Bearing heavily down on the pedals, my breath begins to come faster and my heart is pumping. Teeth gritted and sweat pouring down my face, the brow of the hill slowly emerges into view and with one final push I’m there. A sense of achievement and relief washes over me as I reach it. The beast is slain (for today at least) and happily I am free to enjoy the rest of the journey.

The next stage is clear and flat, and I gain pace. I have recovered from the exertion of the hill and enjoy the speed of the open air against my skin. I hum to myself as my mind switches onto the day ahead. Cars pass me, some more respectfully than others. Having not been riding the roads for long, I show careful caution and deference towards those that cross my path. I am mindful that my fragile, organic self is wide open to the elements juxtaposed against hard, inert metal machines travelling at inorganic velocities. I push on to the next roundabout. The traffic to the right of me is clear and I can hear a car approaching behind me as I enter. Everything is fine. Everything is right. I’m over halfway there and with any luck I will be in early enough to enjoy a quick cup of coffee before I start.

Then suddenly, slam! I am hit by something dense, crushing and fast. It is upon me, twisting me painfully, forcing me hard against my trajectory. I cry out, awash with fear and confusion. Hardly a moment to think yet somewhere a tiny niche of my mind remains sensible and calmly explains it all to me. A car has overtaken me and I have ploughed into the side of it of course! At the same time I am rounding in on myself, I spin and hit my head on the side of the door before being flung across the road in a heap, scraping my knees and palms on the gnarly tarmac. Then all is still. I straighten myself up and assess the damage. Bits of bike are scattered about me. I am ok but sore and bleeding and in shock.

As I limp towards the pavement in a daze, out of the corner of my eye I see someone jump out of the car so I mentally prepare myself for their questions and concern, ready to reassure them that I’m ok. However, instead the figure starts to shout at me “What the hell is wrong with you?” Walking towards me angrily. “Why weren’t you signalling?!  I’m astonished, I simply cannot believe that she doesn’t take a moment to check I’m ok, surely any reasonable person would do so no matter who’s fault they thought it was. “Please don’t shout at me” I say in disbelief, “You’ve just hit me with your car!”  Meanwhile a man, my knight in shining armour in the guise of a middle-aged builder with ripped jeans and paint splodged T shirt, stops his car to offer assistance. He deals with the angry woman. “I think you and the young lady ought to swap details” He suggests helpfully. The woman quickly looks over at her car “No need to bother, I think the car is fine.” She replies, assuming recrimination on my part. “No” He insists patiently, “The young lady needs to get checked out and I’d be happier if you could give her your details please.” So she does, reluctantly but I’d sooner she just disappeared. Despite my protests that I’ll be fine (which is braver than I actually feel), to my relief the helpful man insists on taking me and my bike in his car. He is kind and concerned but reassured by the fact that I work at the hospital and is happy to drop me off there. He makes me promise I will get checked out, although I have every intention not to.  I have every intention of getting the first aid kit out and getting myself patched up before anyone else gets into work and sees how stupid and vulnerable I am.

As we arrive at the hospital the man retrieves my bike for me and checks again that I’m ok. I reassure him and thank him, so he drives away. Much later, I regret not taking any details from him. I didn’t even catch his name and realise I will never be able thank him properly. So here please know sir that I was fine and thank you for rescuing me. Thank you for restoring my faith in humanity.