Tonight, I had my first bike accident in the city of Toronto.

I’m OK thanks, just major road rash and a bruised rib.

Right near the Yonge and Summerhill Liquor Store. Shots please!

I was biking through the only “real” place where the presence of a bike is a gray area: a path through a city park. Not quite a sidewalk, certainly not a bike path. Right by the entrance to the park, two 8yr old girls decided to dart out in front of me, thankfully at a distance that allowed me to stop.

But unfortunately that distance included a slight downward grade. The following 4 things happened within a matter of seconds: I was

1. braking
2. reaching for my bell to warn the kids
3. trying to shout something
4. fighting the left turn of the handlebars as the wheel fought the downgrade

I found myself going over the handlebars.

Then time slowed down, as it does, when you have an accident. Like the last violent punch in Batman Arkham Asylum, I could see myself start the 215lb launch over my K2 hybrid bike. Curiously enough, I could imagine the look on my face as I went down: one of utter dissapointment. Suddenly I was worried I was going to hit one of the kids. Nope. They’re a good distance, but their eyes look like dinner plates. Then I felt really relieved that I was falling on a sidewalk and not the road.

Then the cement hit me.

The back end of the bike came up over me but didn’t crest my body. I instinctively (or so I will brag for the rest of my life) tucked into a perfect Aikido roll and minimized the damage done to my person: a scraped right pinky knuckle and a gash on my elbow. As the bike and I stopped our downward fall, forward roll, I immediately put my right slip-on dress shoe back on.

Yeah, instead of anger, pain or concern, I was worried about my shoe.

Standing and surveying the damage done to my bike, a woman jogger asked, “Are you ok?”

“Yes thanks,” I say. I think I’m in shock. I’m starting to pick up the little tiny plastic bits from my gear changer display from my handle bar. I think, “Why the hell am I picking this stuff up?”

“I think you’re in shock,” she says, “Do you have a cell phone? I can call an ambulance.”

Holy shit is there a bone sticking out somewhere?

Nope.

“I’m… I’m OK. I’m more embarrassed.”

“I understand,” she says taking the hint to minimize the moment. As she puts on her headphones: “I ran face first into a wall once.”

As I turn and test the gears (thankfully only cosmetic damage to the bike), I hear what I assume is a Filipino minder yelling at the girls. I assume this because I was riding through one of Toronto’s most expensive neighbourhoods, Rosedale, and no parent in their right mind up there would take their kids to a park right after rush hour.

Without a word, I get back onto my bike and ride off.

I assure you, I have gone through the gambit of emotions, including bitching out the little girls in an internal shouting tirade that results in a steady stream of tears and emotional scars for life.

Not really.

Now, my chest hurts. I think I’ve bruised an ovary. I’ll most likely take pictures of my damage tomorrow for greater visual impact.

hahahah… impact! I kill me!