Abstract: Time: Uncertain 50:19 (old ride; had an accident and forgot to shut off the timer twice—once at the accident scene and again back at the house).
I was having a better ride than yesterday when as I said, I rode like a sandbag. I was thinking about something I heard on the radio, well specifically a podcast. Michael Lewis was on the Motley Fool radio show and commenting on his book, “Lessons On The Game of Life”. His book details the story of an older era coach who would yell at his kids, ’til the paint peeled off the wall. But, as the author, intimated, that was one of the better experiences of his life which helped him learn to deal with difficulty and imperfect situations.
Well, the thought, was “You have to earn your self-esteem”. His point was that too many people come into situations, particularly with their kids and think that their kid deserves special respect for his or her existence… You know “Well, Johnny’s special”. The attitude of this coach in part derived from Bobby Knight’s attitude towards coaching was you have to earn you’re respect. And I had been thinking about that.
Ruminating on why I’m not a better cyclist… and/or a better designer and I thought that in many ways I haven’t earned these things. It was the fuel behind a pretty good ride. Until …
I was going about thirty through the York and Woodbourne intersection when a car tried to hurry into the gas station just after the intersection. The rest was a stream of consciousness: Yelled out as the tip of the car came into the southbound lane and in my way… My yelling out … The fall … Getting up to curse the driver out … Our brief argument … His eventual melting into admission of fault … Getting the lady to stop touching my shoulder which had just met the ground… The passers-by/wintesses who gathered around me to ask if I was alright (and, quizzically, him as well.)… The lady who suggested I was hurt and if it were she, she wouldn’t get up off the ground.
Ironically, I was hurt less today than I was when I got hit by the cat running across the street straight into my tire. I scuffed my shoulder pretty bad. I was initially worried about my bike, though. Anyone/Everyone who saw the accident swore I would be hurt. About 20 people came over to the accident and many seemed intrigued that I got right up. Those people were felt like my protectors—saying that they saw the whole thing. The driver apologized and I did a shakedown of myself and felt okay and just took his number incase my liver falls out. But I feel okay.
Health notwithstanding, I won’t call the number because I wouldn’t want the number to be fake. It would erode the sense of goodness that seems to bubble up even in the most suspect of people … But I did get his tag … What’s interesting is that I have no real malice towards him because he simply accepted that he was wrong and that means alot.