Another 5 Minutes of Life

I’m on the ground sliding along the pavement. It’s like a dive in Frisbee, but my body not oriented with my direction of motion. More speed but less incline and the same wetness as a waterslide. I’m not with the bike anymore, but I’m still moving. ROLL! I tell myself. It takes a bit but even with my backpack strapped on, I manage a revolution. As I roll, I glimpse the bike behind me tracing a trail of sparks as it slides. I slide another distance and come to a stop. There’s no pain, and I don’t even do a mental check of injuries, there are none. I’m looking forward, and the car responsible has stopped and is certainly watching me while I get up. Shit! I think to myself, what happens if the bike is unrepairable? What happens if my laptop is busted?

I walked back to the bike in the middle of the road, the rear wheel still moving and in gear like an insect twitching after it’s been crushed. There was a pang of guilt. I haul it up, my shoes squishing from being so waterlogged, turn the bike off. I rolled it to the side of the roadway, cringing with every grinding complaint from as the bike was still in gear. I can’t find the clutch lever, I see the left mirror on the sparkling black pavement. How will I get home? A bystander from the gas station above motions worriedly and inquiringly with the thumbs up signal. I give two thumbs up in reply. I’m fine. The car that blocked me is still waiting there at the intersection, a deer caught in the headlights of morality. To none but myself I demand like Picard on the bridge: “Damage report!” “Scrapes on my arm. Front turn signal cover. Rear turn signal bent. Left mirror and gear shift lever need to be replaced. “ The other car, seeing me walking and alive, leaves. That’s odd. I don’t think I would drive away if I just witnessed/caused an accident. There are scratches on the exhaust and turn signal, but it looks drivable. I put it in neutral. God I’m lucky. That was a motorcycle accident. After my inspection the bystander waves again, as even though I’m close the freeway noise is too much. “Are you really OK?” she motions. Yes, I confirm with my thumbs, I’m fine. I can put the bike in neutral, which means I can put it in first, which means I can at least get up to the gas station.

The bystander is still there, and before she has a chance to speak I comment wryly “That must not have been fun to watch.” She responds, “Are you sure you’re OK?” I’m feeling around my pockets at this time for my debit card. She clearly wants to help, but there isn’t much she can do. “What happened with the other car? They just drove off?“ She even offers to pay my gas, but I assure her I have money for that and that it’s not a problem. I walk in to the station, and ask for Band-Aids, disinfectant, and a pair of pliers. They don’t have pliers. At least I can use their soap to clean the wound and use a few small Band-Aids to cover it. Without pliers, I resort to using the window washing squeegee to attempt to fix the gear shift lever. After a few poundings, it looks all right. Before leaving, I unscrew the useless mirror and throw it into the trash bin full of candy wrappers and soda cans. 40 more miles of rain before home.