Bikes gone wild: Ups and falling downs of biking

I think my bike was trying to get back at me. I let it sit outside and get rusty in the cold rain. It also caught me checking out another bike. Oh, but it had

I think my bike was trying to get back at me. I let it sit outside and get rusty in the cold rain. It also caught me checking out another bike.

Oh, but it had some nice handlebars! I’m sure they weren’t real. OK, maybe I should stop talking about my bike as though it’s an animate object. I guess it’s my fault that I almost died, twice.

In two weeks I had two bike accidents. My head didn’t break off and fortunately, I didn’t lose any of my gold teeth. Both mishaps were relatively minor and pretty freakin’ funny.

The first one came out of nowhere and happened while I wasn’t even in motion.

I was ready to park my bike, so I halted to a smooth stop. While stopped, for some reason my feet didn’t come off of the pedals to touch the ground like a normal person’s would. With nothing to hold me up, my two-wheel bike was apt to fall over. Sure enough, my amazing balancing act failed.

The bike and I toppled over. Picture my arms flailing and my mouth gaping open in shock. Pretty funny, right?

Luckily, three gleaming Glad garbage bags held out their arms and caught my fall. It was nighttime and no one had seen my descent into the garbage heap … with my bike on top of me.

My knee bruised like a banana, but the garbage saved my face from making out with the sidewalk. Then I devoured the rest of a banana that I picked out of the trash. Yeah, so what if I’m a trash picker? Jealous?

The second accident happened early in the morning and was probably a little more serious than the first one. I was in panic mode because I was afraid I’d be late for an important class.

There was no time to be getting hit by minivans on my bike … I had to get to publication design class. As I peddled furiously with my eyes half-open and eating a breakfast bar, a minivan stopped at the crosswalk of a small side street. I stopped too, thinking the minivan would make a right turn on a one-way street.

But the car didn’t move. Assuming the driver saw me, I began to cross the street. The driver inched as soon as I got in front of the car, hitting my leg and sending me sprawling onto the asphalt. I was so annoyed.

This was going to make me even later for class. As I picked myself and my bike back up, the driver, looking as though she just found out she contracted Ebola, asked if I was OK.

I nodded and got back on my bike. Then, out of nowhere, a biker wearing a helmet atop his noggin rode by to see if I was all right.

Though, I think his true intentions were to make me look bad since I wasn’t wearing a helmet. I could just see the headline now: Death by minivan. Subhead: Biker Chick rides sans helmet, stupidity reigns.

The moral of the story: Don’t fall off your bike. People with helmets will laugh at you if you fall and you’re not wearing one.

Plush garbage bags won’t always be there to save you – unless you live on 21st Street, where garbage abounds like lilies in a field.

Ellen Minsavage can be reached at

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