Nine Life Lessons from Falling Off a Bike
1. Accidents beget accidents.
This was almost four weeks ago. I had turned off a Chicago side street into a bike lane on a big street when in an unexpected second I slammed into a wall of chaos.
A strange black crud gurgled over the pavement. A firefighter blasted it with a power hose. Stalled cars jostled like bulls in a cage, oblivious to the bicycles. I instantly knew I needed to get off the street, but how?
For several seconds, I pedaled, slowly, a few feet forward, toward a curb cut, hoping to get onto the dry sidewalk. I turned the bike through the black water. The pavement hidden below was slick. The bike and I crashed down onto the concrete. The crud, it turned out, had been dumped by a sewage truck. That accident led to mine.
2. The safe choice may not be.
Another bicyclist escaped by weaving through the car mob and darting into oncoming traffic. That seemed risky, which is why I stayed in the bike lane. Now I was in the sewage while he was on his merry way.
3. The faster way may be slower.
I was riding my bike that day because I thought it would be faster than walking or driving my short route. By the time the paramedics had gone, a five-minute trip had turned into an hour.
4. Every accident brings a glimpse of death.
Even accidents that don’t kill us remind us of how quickly one could. In a split second, the normal explodes, a day shifts course, and sometimes, a life. I know a man who had a bicycle accident in his late 40s. After a long rehab, he realized that aging would be a succession of such surprises, so he and his wife soon moved into a house where they could live on one floor and make growing old a little easier.
My epiphany wasn’t as radical, but limping home with my bike, I sensed the next fall was not likely to be so kind.
5. Walk as if it doesn’t hurt.
A bruise spread along my right thigh, and invisible knives stabbed my right hip. For days, it hurt to walk, to laugh, to sneeze. Climbing stairs was penance for every bad thing I ever said about an editor. I braced myself against the pain by leaning into my other leg. Then I realized that walking unevenly didn’t relieve the pain and was likely to create a new problem. “Walk as if it doesn’t hurt,” a little voice said, and in that counsel I heard a good policy for life-at-large.
6. Good news: Fresh pain cancels old pain.
Before I fell off my bike, I’d been annoyed by a couple of other tweak-y body parts. After I fell, I forgot the old pains. When it comes to pain, the mind is like an obsessed lover: it holds only one grand passion at a time.
7. There’s not always someone to blame.
Pain always clamors for blame. Who could I be mad at? The guy who drove the sewage truck? The firefighters hosing down the street without taming traffic? The cars that wouldn’t give the bikes a break? Myself? All of the above, and none. Accidents happen.
8. Before you despair, wait.
I worried that I’d never walk quite the same again. I considered rehab. Then four days ago, the pain vanished. Oh. So time really can heal.
9. What you learn from one thing always applies to others.
