I'm leaving the old intro here, but adding this- it appears the doves have taken over my blog for their fiction. Just as well, I was doing a piss poor job of updating. They're doing much better.

This blog is infrequently updated, full of incorrect spellings, misused words, and general bad grammar. It started when I was trying to use google+ (which I've since given up on) and discovered there was no character limit for posts. If you've known me a long time, a lot of these stories will be old hat. If you plan to know me for a long time, you'll no doubt hear many of them in person. But, folks seemed to enjoy them, so here they are.

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

The Twenty Second Story

While I'm on bicycle accident stories- here's the velveteen rabbit story. A warning- while I think this story is funny & uplifting, there is one gruesome passage. this story takes place rather a while ago, when I first got my first "adult" bike, in Boston. He was a 1960's Peugeot road bike, named Squirrel.

For Yom Kippor, instead of fasting, I decided i was going to go on a very long bike ride, all by myself. I started from Massart, and rode all the way to the end of the minutman trail, and then kept going to that funny little petting zoo/ icecream stand out in new bedford somewhere? I don't know. Then i went swimming at a little lake near Walden Pond. Then I fell asleep. When I woke up, it was dark, and I considered just staying there, but it's not really an isolated location, and I didn't have a well hidden spot, so, I got ready to start home. I had a cheap little plastic flashlight in my bag, but no headlight, so I taped the flashlight onto my handlebars with medical tape. Technically, the bike path is closed after dark, but I didn't know any other way home, so I went back to it and started down it. At the very first road crossing, my flashlight fell off, and was promptly run over by the only car i saw the whole night. Still, things were going well- the moon was out and lit the path in silver, like some sort of magical route that would lead me to the Last Homely House. The only obstructions were ballards. The ballards at that end of the path are formidable- made of cast cement and topped with the sharp remnants of cast bronze bike seats; but the ballards are at street crossings, which are well lit. Except for this one set at a driveway. It turns out that, the way these ballards are spaced, a bike will just about fit between them- but not the rider. So I hit them, and flew through the air for a bit. No doubt, I yelled. Then I laid quietly on the ground, and thought about what hurt. Only two spots- something on my back, and something on my right leg. I felt my back- no big deal, a little raw, probably hit a pedal. I felt my leg. There was a gap. There was definitely no flesh in a place where there should be. And remember- I had no light. So I stood up, rolled my pants down over the spot, picked up my bike and, in the scariest moment of this whole story, knocked on the door of the house whose driveway this was and asked to use the bathroom. They gave me a lecture about proper headlights on a bicycle, which pretty much set me at ease that they were ok people, and let me in. Once in the privacy of their well lit bathroom, I took a look. Sure enough, there was a big chunk of leg missing, and a 1inch by 2 inch section of bone showing, but it was the front of the shin, and wasn't bleeding much at all. Still, I put some gauze over it, and taped it up. I rolled my pants back down, thanked the folks, and walked out. There is a separate, and also very nice, story about my getting a ride, but this one's already too long, so suffice to say that I made it back to the city and got stitched up.

That night, I dreamed that my piece of leg, with bunny ears, was hopping around the trail, free and happy as could be. The image still makes me smile. And while there are many bunnies on that path, and thus I am quite certain it is coincidence, every single time I use that trail, I always see a bunny right at that point on the trail. I like to think the bunny is my liberated chunk of leg.

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