In a previous blog entry, I documented one of several almost-near-death experiences I’ve had. I feel like one of the best parts of that story however is that about 15 hours after I had someone stick a gun in my face, I was in the worst bike crash of my life. It sorta seemed like that day was determined to kill me at any cost.
The earlier events took place about five in the morning, then about nine pm that same day, I’m riding my bicycle up Laurel St toward the dorms to meet up with the nurse girls and a car – a green civic if I remember correctly – stopped at the corner of Albemarle but didn’t look both ways and took off at a breakneck pace and smashed into me.
It should be noted that I’m not positive about the legal nature of the situation here. The driver hit me when he had a stop sign, but I was riding the wrong way on a one way street. But since it is legal to ride a bike on sidewalks I could have in theory been riding up the sidewalks, or I could have just been a pedestrian for that matter. Either way I don’t think either of us was in a very easily defensible position legally speaking.
Anyway, when the car made impact I was tossed in the air and went in a very different direction than my bike. Someone with a better grasp of physics should give me some idea of how the hell that could happen. I hit the ground and laid there for a moment to get a handle on what just happened. These are the thoughts that I can grip immediately:
1. Fuck that hurt.
2. I have no idea where my right shoe is.
3. I can’t see my bike.
4. I landed on my arm and my tattoo is bleeding. I really hope I don’t need a touchup.
5. The car stopped.
So I stand up and realize that my leg is also really hurt. I look around and spot my bike, both of my wheels looking like tacos. I pick up the heavy chain I use as a lock and march (i.e. hobble) over to the car and start to scream for everyone to get out and fight me. I’m beyond livid at this point and when no one gets out of the car I reel back with my chain and smash out the back passenger window. At this point I’ve assessed that there are four people in the car, three dudes two girls. The girl in the car starts screaming because I’ve smashed the window of someone who has nothing to do with the actions of the driver.
I’m still screaming “everyone get the fuck out of the car” as I walk around the car to the driver’s side to smash out his window and pull him out of the car to beat his ass. I reel back to take out his window and I realize that the guy driving is a casual acquaintance. His name is Eric. So I pause.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine…..sorry about your window.”
“Do you want to get the police involved? I don’t really.”
Needless to say the whole exchange was fucking awkward. I figured that I’d deal with my wheels and he’d deal with his window and we’d call it even. If I’d had some money I’d have helped him out but I was dead broke.
I eventually found my shoe and some nice girl banged my wheels on the ground until they were – just barely – able to be ridden. I made it to the dorms and the nurse girls bandaged up all my wounds which were painful as fuck once my adrenaline wore off. My tattoo was fine though.
I ended up needing a whole new bike because my frame was bent as well as my wheels. Pretty shitty.