Crash

My front wheel rejected the command to go up the curb, instead slamming into it and turning parallel to my line of travel. I was pitched forward and went down hard, seeming to meet the pavement in fast and slow increments as I felt my helmet smash hard on the ground and then felt my actual head meet the pavement. Which wasn’t supposed to happen, I thought in the moment. My left side in general hit quickly after that. Get the bike off the road. Get out of the way. I scrambled up and dragged my bike onto the sidewalk, surprised to see blood running everywhere. It was in my eye and dripping onto the ground, on my bike. “Are you ok? Oh no, sit down, you’re bleeding everywhere. You’ve hit your head’. People materialized and were telling me I was hurt. “I’m fine”, I said several times. Was I hurt? I hurt, but…I took inventory: left hand shredded and bloody (no gloves on), head hurt – keep an eye out for signs of concussion – but not cracked. My left shoulder was pretty sore, but operable so nothing broken. Left leg bloody and missing flesh at the side of my knee, scraped elbow. Everything else felt intact. “Where’re you from, luv?” asked the woman. “California.” I replied, noticing that taking felt a little odd. “California?!” They both exclaimed, “what’re you doing here, luv?” asked the woman incredulously. “Riding my bike. I’m going to Newbury”. “Newbury?? Why on earth…We’ll, you’re not going to Newbury now!” she exclaimed. “Come over here to the petrol station – let’s get some help”. “I’m fine,” I repeated, embarrassed at the fuss being made by strangers who felt the need to help. I imagined my crash had been a bit of a visual treat. “Why don’t you come over to my bit then luv – I’ll make you a cup of tea and you can get yourself sorted”, the woman was saying. I looked at her for the first time. She was missing two teeth in front had some bad tattoos. In other circumstances she might be someone to be wary of. But she was concerned, and true kindness showed in her eyes. The man who was there was grappling with my bike – the handlebars now faced a new direction – and we walked a few yards away from the street toward the petrol station. “Why don’t we go in and see what they have in their medical kit that can help” said the woman, indicating the shop. “We can have my daughter watch your bike”. I assessed the situation – was this a setup to take my shit? The man wasn’t with her, he’d been driving and pulled over when he saw me go down. “I’ve got your bike”, he said. Then he said, “I’m going by Newbury – on my way to Swindon. I could drop you there”. Blood continued to run down my face as I tried to this in. It was all so strange. “Let’s get you sorted” said the woman, taking charge again and leading me into the convenience store. People swung their heads as we entered – Jesus, I was feeling like a side show. “Oy – where’s your medical kit?” I stood at the counter with my new friend while the manager scrambled madly to find his first aid kit. I felt like we were holding up the store. He handed over the entire box to the woman and suggested it might be best to go to the toilets to deal with my wounds. He pointed. I went. I set my helmet down and looked in the mirror. Ugh. I turned the water on and stuck my grated hand under the tap. Better to do it now while I couldn’t feel as much – it would only hurt more later I thought, wincing. The water ran red and then I could see my hand better. It was raw and shredded. I washed it hard to get any grit out. I selected some toilet paper and wet it and wiped my face. There were two small cuts at my temple. I blotted them and they stopped bleeding. I cleaned the blood off the rest of my face. The woman, whose name was Sara, came into the toilet. “Oh, that’s much better! You don’t look half as bad now!” We walked outside and there was the man with my bike. “So, would you like a ride to Newbury then?” he asked and pointed to his work truck. “I can put the bike in the back”. I hesitated – again, this was so surreal. How was it that he even had a truck for my bike? I looked at him. He had a kind expression, but so did Bundy. I didn’t feel threatened, but I was shaken so maybe my instinct wasn’t working properly. The woman chimed in with her opinion that this would be perfect, and while I couldn’t say she was a great judge of character, I decided that yes, I would take his offer. There was something bigger at work it seemed, and I needed to go with the bigger plan at hand.

I thanked the woman (and her daughter, who I was introduced to along with their bulldog puppy) again for her help and her kindness. I could feel the positive energy emitting from her in response to her actions of helping a stranger. It was a good energy to be a part of and I carried some of it with me as I got into the man’s truck. Oz was his name. He seemed a kind and gentle person. He drove me the 30 plus miles to Newbury, all the way to my campsite. Along the way we chatted abut life – how short it can be, missed opportunities, and how we as a society focus on material status rather than true happiness. It was a meaningful conversation, deep. I knew I was where I was supposed to be, doing at that moment what I was meant to be doing in that moment – driving along the motorway with a stranger having a deep conversation about the meaning of life. I wasn’t worried, my wounds hurt but I was ok. I looked out the window – it was a sunny evening and I felt warm and secure. The adventure had begun.