The Third Fall
Those of you keeping track of my personal life and wondering what the third break would be following my experience with a pedal and a swivel chair, will be happy to know that you should get a life.
Assuming that doesn’t make you happy, I can let you know that yesterday in midtown, on a perfectly flat footpath, my ankle rolled one hundred and twenty degrees, and after I picked myself off the ground I watched it grow all bigger and purple.
The best bit was what was going through my mind in the two seconds before my drama-Queen collapse. But that’s a whole other post. For now, just be aware that if you thought I was posting slowly and boringly because I am moving slowly as a man without bicycle, well now I ‘m moving even more slowly.
And while I think of it, when I was first cycling in France in a former life, I had very limited abilities in speaking French, although I never forgot the French for window - which is either ironic or sad for somebody traveling on a bicycle with no windows.
But anyway, what I wanted to tell you was that - putting aside my quaint use of bicyclette instead of velo - unable to express myself in the possessive, when I was in hotels booking rooms I would announce in French to the proprietors that “I am with bicycle” almost as if I were planning on giving birth to a bike in my room. Extra towels please. And WD-40.
See Other Stories of Personal Injury & Pain:
• When I Really Hurt Myself: Cycling Across America
• Seriously, It Really Hurt: Cycling Across America
• Like Being Unable to Walk: Cycling Across America
Eolaí gan Fhéile:
