When I bought my scooter, everyone that I'd talked to and everything I read said that a motorized two-wheeler was about risk management, not risk reduction. So, I can't say I was entirely surprised when I got into an accident on mine last week and messed myself up decently.
I was riding home after a concert, going east on Fleet Street and turning north onto Bathurst. It's a route I'd taken countless times and even in the dark, I knew to swing wide of my turn to get out of the crisscross snarl of streetcar tracks at that intersection. It only took one losing end of meeting streetcar tracks that knew better than to tempt fate each time, and avoiding them as much as possible is usually the best option. That night, I was making my left and I saw a car wanting to make a right. It was inching forward but going slowly enough I knew it saw me, and was waiting for me to go ahead.
So I did, and not wanting to hold the other car up from making its turn because I was going into its lane, I accelerated. But as I was accelerating, I suddenly saw a huge piece of construction styrofoam right in my path. Measuring about 3 feet by 3 feet and about 4 inches tall, only two thoughts leaped into my mind: go over it, or go around it on the right. I knew my bike could handle go over several inches, as I take it over a curb each time I park it in front of the house, but this was at a greater speed, and over something soft and not anchored to the ground. That left the other option, swerve to avoid it.
I tried to move as much to the right as possible, but I couldn't miss it entirely and clipped a triangular edge, causing me to fishtail several times before sliding out on my left side. As my body neared the ground and finally made contact, I lay on my left side and watched as my scooter skittered away, flashing sparks as it came to a stop about 10ft away.
Man, was I ever in a lot of pain, especially my left leg. It felt like someone had taken a few cricket bats and thumped my leg good from knee to foot, and as much as I thought about getting up, I knew it wasn't going to be an immediate thing. Unbeknownst to me, a family of three — a father and his two daughters — were behind me and stopped. One of the daughters asked if I wanted the ambulance called and my first thought was, Just let the pain subside and then you can get up and shake it off. It'll hurt, but just get yourself home. But as I continued to lay there in pain, helplessly clutching my knee in a futile attempt to ease the shocks that ran through my leg, I thought that at least getting checked out wouldn't be such a bad idea.
As the family kept me company and talked to me — and a passing cyclist stopped to check, and then came back with frozen veggies — I rolled my sock almost all the way off and started to survey the damage. My left shoe had flown off; it was a Skechers slip-on shoe, and the elastic covering the tongue was severed, so the top gaped open like an overstuffed burrito. So far, the damage wasn't too bad: some road rash at my outer ankle joint, a couple of small patches on my leg, and one near my knee (I wasn't sure if it was then or later I became aware my elbow was bleeding, too). None of it, though, compared to the blinding pain in my leg, and nothing I did and no matter how hard I gritted my teeth, it wasn't abating.
My hands were buzzing hard enough to light up the Rockefeller Christmas tree, but I pulled the last cigarette out from my bag and shakily lit it, wondering where the hell the ambulance was. I knew it'd take about 10 minutes, but with the sheer, raw pain I was feeling, I knew every second was feeling unnecessarily long. But it did pull up, and two paramedics got out and walked over with a stretcher.
The question of what to do with my bike came up, and the father and I were trying to figure out where it could be stashed. Couldn't legally go on the sidewalk; had to go where a pay-and-display parking area was. Eventually, we settled on him riding it home, and for that, I am so grateful, I can't find the words to express it properly. A total stranger, a man whose name I didn't even think to ask, stuffed my extra-small helmet on and got on a scooter that had just been in an accident and followed his daughters to my place to make sure my bike would be okay. His daughters kept checking to make sure I was okay by talking to me and trying to take my mind off the matter at hand. I knew they were just checking to make sure I hadn't suffered a head injury and wasn't going to pass out, but it was sweet and I appreciate it more than they'll know. And the cyclist? The cyclist that I saw for not even all of five minutes? Out of the kindness of his heart, he got a bag of frozen vegetables instead of a cup of ice from Subway, knowing it'd be better.
I really got out of this one by the skin of my teeth, but it in no way could have prepared me for what happened at the hospital.
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