Road Rash

If you ride a bike in any great amount you'll eventually get it. It is a fact of life. I got mine yesterday at lunch.

It happened at Teddington, just as I was about to enter the park on my way back to the office. The weather was great; the roads were dry; I was making great time! Then some [insert your own unkind epithet here] decided that he had to pass me on the curve. He did so not leaving enough room to get back in before the oncoming traffic would have hit him so he just moved back into the left lane - with me in it!

Back at the office later, a friend asked me if I got the van's registration number. "Nope." Was my immediate response, "I was too busy falling to do much else." But seriously, who thinks of such things at the time? You don't go around remembering registration number of every car and van that passes you, you have no need of doing so and on the off chance that one of them clips you and takes off, you have other things on your mind at the time like: "I wonder if that asphalt is as hard and rough as it looks like it is."

I am sure I had other thoughts that raced through my mind. Mostly things that I would never put in my blog. Words my mother would not have approved of her middle son saying; if you catch my meaning. But this is not an entry on the accident, the person who caused it or the colorful language it elicited from me. None of that warrants much coverage. The guy who hit me isn't worth the time to write about, I've already told all the interesting bits of the incident itself, and as for the language, well, if you want to know what I said, go find yourself another blog to read.

This is dedicated to the four people who deserve to be written about. The first is the driver of the white van (why do these guys have a bad reputation?) who executed a three-point turn ten feet past me and came back to check on me.

"Are you alright?" He called as he pulled up alongside where I lay sprawled on the side of the road. "Do you need any help?" I assured him that I was fine as I pulled my bike up onto the walk and off the road. He wished me well, waved to me through his window and pulled off. Somewhere out of my sight, he executed another course change and came back past me again tooting and waving as he passed.

"Goodness! Are you okay?" Asked another driver out her window between the departure of the van driver and the time he came back. "Do you need me to call someone?" As I started checking myself over to make sure that what I was telling this second Samaritan in as many minutes was true. Again, I assured the nice person who had stopped to offer assistance that I was fine, a bit shaken, but otherwise undamaged. (This I was to find-out in a bit was not quite true.)

My third angel took the form of one of the workmen from across the street. He had pulled into the fore court of the house just as the second driver had pulled away. He saw me lying there on the path and starting to dust myself off and get up. "You okay? Take a spill did you?" he called. I assured him that I was he told me to take care and have a good day.

It was more-or-less at this point that I discovered that my PDA (which had been in my pocket) was not protected by the hard case. I guess the case had done its duty in that the PDA was still in once piece, but the screen was beyond use. (Oh well, that's why God invented insurance!)

I righted my bike, checked it out to make sure it was in good condition, dusted myself off and went on my way. Those of you keeping track, I said that this piece was dedicated to four people and I have only told you of three. The fourth is the barman at the King's Arms. I decided to stop and have a glass of pop and wash-up a bit before going on. Seeing me come in, he offered assistance and I said that it was okay.

I went into the restroom and washed the wound (it's not that bad, really!) and started patting it dry with a piece of paper towel. Carlos came up to me as I emerged from the loo; he was carrying a first-aid kit. He would not take "no" for an answer. He had an antiseptic wipe out and was pushing it in my direction. Once I had wiped the area with the thing, He brought out a gauze pad with a bandage attached. He covered it before asking what I wanted to drink.

I had my Diet Coke and it did steady me a bit. I then rode home with a stop at the chemists in the High Street of Thames Ditton for more first aid supplies. I headed home, cleansed and dressed the road rash and then changed to clothing that wasn't all ripped and blood spattered and headed back into the office.

I hope that the trip you take (wherever it is) doesn't end with a sudden and painful stop at the ground.

Don Bergquist - 04-April-2006 - Thames Ditton, Surrey, United Kingdom