Was sitting at work today, the Cannodale leaning against the cube wall, when I got a sad call from a friend. Turns out his father passed away this weekend. He’d been found lying in the middle of the road with his bike. Maybe he’d had a stroke, or perhaps had fallen and hadn’t been able to protect himself. Either way, he never recovered.
It really hit me later, as I put on my bike clothing for the ride home, that this is a dangerous pastime. Even with helmets, gloves, all that, there is still a risk. Orlando is one of the worst cities in the country to ride in (we mulch cyclists here). Discounting cars, biking can be risky. I remember hitting the pavement once and feeling my ribcage bend. And there was this time earlier this year where the bike slid out from under me and I ripped up big patches of skin on my left shin. I’ve had my share.
So I stood out on the loading dock in my bike togs in the failing afternoon light, thinking about it all.
My ride home was very somber and very, very cautious.