Team

Riding a bike is inherently somewhat dangerous; I learned that the very first time I got on one and pedaled across my neighbor’s driveway, veered down their side lawn and ran into the drainpipe on my own house.

That was only a skinned knee and injured 6 year-old pride but it still stung.

Nevertheless, I got back in the saddle and continued riding all these years since, despite numerous other spills, resulting in sprained wrists, chipped teeth, bruised ribs, skinned chins, bloody appendages, and various aches and pains that generally have taken on the order of 6 to 8 weeks to have me feeling better.

I’ve also had the distinct displeasure of seeing several friends and acquaintances crash with injuries much uglier: busted faces, sliced-open foreheads, crumpled fingers—no, sir, I don’t like it, couldn’t we just turn back the clock a few minutes and try this one again?

But in each of those unfortunate incidents, I’ve also seen the best in the characters of the characters I’m with, imperfect people to be sure, who in those moments of need, behave with perfect competence and compassion, stepping up to help a fallen comrade with patience, care, and a sobriety you wouldn’t expect given the overall sense of bacchanalia with which events had been transpiring.

I hope I will never be the one with my bloody head in the lap of another rider as the paramedics attend to me; I hope no one will ever be that person again! 

But if I were (and here I’m burning some sage and spitting in my palm so as not to jinx myself), I would want to be among the usual gang of imperfect subjects, people who would stay with me from the beginning, would see I got to the hospital safely, would collect my bike and stuff, and who would, I hope, seeing I was on the way to mending, pedal on to the bar and toast my health together.