High five me if you love bloody hands

My friend Krissy loaned me her bike and promised me that no matter what I did it would be impossible to hurt it.

I wasn’t thinking about that while we were biking this weekend, and I also wasn’t thinking about looking both ways so I didn’t notice a truck coming toward me until it was so late that I had to pull the brakes very fast, and the bike flipped over and I flew over the handlebars and landed in the street, just to the side of the truck.

I’ve been skinning my knees a lot lately and I am very into it. Skinning your knees is like a facial for your legs - the skin grows back brand new and glowing and fresh. But this fall was a lot worse and I skinned most of my leg, and somehow my palms AND the outside of my wrists and shoulders, which seems like it would have required some acrobatics and I'm barely capable of biking let alone acrobatics.

While I was lying in the street sort of enjoying the gravel and getting my bearings a camp of people who had established permanent residence in the bushes a few feet away from the road started panicking and going on about the little girl in a bike accident and a woman whose hair, skin and clothes were all the same blonde color yelled out “Honey are you ok?” and “That guy is lucky I don’t have a crowbar on me.” I’ve only been called “honey” maybe ten times in my life and all of them have been bad times. This is the sort of thing the honey industry or the national bee-keepers association needs to be worrying about. 

I was too shaken up but if I had been able to talk I would have first wanted to talk about how much I was bleeding, and then I would have wanted to ask her what she would have done with a crowbar. Wikipedia says they’re used to pry open wooden crates but apparently they can also do damage to trucks or truck drivers who are just minding their own business.

All I know for sure is they can’t do any damage to Krissy’s bike, because I have really been pretty aggressive with that thing and it is still in amazing shape.