I cycled to the post office collection point over lunch today, using Dublin Bikes, to fetch a birthday gift. My rear tire hit a wet manhole cover and slid out from under me. My body hit the ground, belly first, flying toward an oncoming car. I stopped 18” short of its tires. The driver didn’t stop or apparently even consider it.
I am a bit bruised and had quite a scare but I’m okay and I’m home now. I might stay in my home office for the rest of the week as this experience was terrifying! I’m kidding of course, but I will stay put until my afternoon research appointment.
At least I discovered I can ask the Post to convey my packages to their local office, across the street from where I work. (The intercom in my flat doesn’t work and won’t be fixed. C’est la vie.)
So it appears I’ve used up another one of my nine lives, and just one day short of my 50th birthday, I’m down to fewer than six lives now. The precise count is unclear, but I definitely squandered one in 1979 when my crazy acrobatic attempt landed me in the hospital. Hopefully the remaining number, whatever it is, will see me safely through the coming 50 years.
Cheers—here’s to a happy but purple-kneed birthday!