Adrenalin. Today marks the second day I’ve been run over by a car. Someone at the intersection of Milvia and Center decided to demonstrate that I don’t have the right of way, anywhere, by turning left in front of me. I smacked into his hood.

The first time I got run over was in Massachusetts, on Mass Ave, by someone who didn’t expect me to be biking in their parking space. That time I whacked my ankle against the front derailleur and tore a sock and some skin. Managed to keep from falling over by leaning against the car after it sideswiped me; or else there would have been a lot more damage. The woman or her husband was a chiropracter and gave me a card. I wonder where that is. Also she invited me to swear at her, which I did not. I must have been overwhelmed. I calmly inspected the bike for damage (bent front brake lever; fortunately on that bike the brake lever doesn’t double as a gearshift), assured the woman I was fine, and rode off.

Today I hit the hood of his car (with my palm), swore, and when he said, “Don’t worry about the bike, are you okay?” I told him the bike was pretty damn expensive too. No damage I can find yet: the bike shifted into the large chainring (stupid gearshift/brake levers) and the front fork turned 90 degrees off the stem (easy to fix with an allen wrench, which I had on my Alien(tm) bike tool). I told him to watch where he was going next time, to which he said, “Yeah, you too.”

Unfortunately at that point I was too far away to clock him. I think it would have been justified. I had a serious momentum deficit in that encounter and I ought to be able to make up the difference.

Adrenalin: my fingers are still shaking. Oh, and the backs of my knees, which is also always where the fear and desire of love seem to concentrate themselves. Strange body I have.