Crunch

I think there is a noise everybody makes without thinking when their lower level neural circuits determine that they are suddenly at great risk of injury. For me, it's "Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!". Not two or four "whoas," three. It's unconscious, erupting before you even form the thought that you are in trouble. I guess that comes from the fast circuits Daniel Kahneman wrote about in Thinking Fast and Slow. If I am not in as much immediate danger, my higher cortical functions take over, resulting in a well-formed sentence which often includes one or two four-letter words.

Today, I got doored. It happened so quickly I didn't even have time to utter my fast phrase. As I was falling I ever-so-briefly formed an image of laying down, as I usually sleep on my left side, which was the side about to contact the pavement. Very weird. I'll be fine, though now about nine hours after the incident, I do have some aches and pains. I might well be off the bike for a couple days. My bike sustained a few scuffs as well - including to my Brooks Pro :-( - but the big parts all seem fine. I guess there is an advantage (for the bike) that the rider is a skosh wider than the bike. I think I was pretty lucky, all things considered.

The after-incident was kind of weird as well. Obviously, the driver finished getting out of her car, and asked if I was okay. There was also a guy over on the sidewalk who kept asking, "Are you okay?" Sort of like Sheldon Cooper on Big Bang Theory and his "knock-knock-knock, Penny?" bit, only this guy wasn't going to stop asking if I was okay until I said something. So, after about his eighth repetition, I said something just to shut him up. I think he was in an infinite loop. After getting up, I examined my bike, concluded everything looked fine, certainly well enough to ride home, then exchanged phone numbers with the driver, so I could contact her later if I had problems.

The final icing on the cake was applied as I was getting back on my bike. The guy who just a moment before was repetitiously concerned that I was okay, started giving me a hard time for not chatting up the driver. She was kind of a hottie. Honestly, that was the last thing on my mind. I am a happily married man, and have been for 34 years. Hotties haven't been on the menu (not even the menu of my impossible dreams) for a great long while.