instography

Whatever that means

Exit stage left

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It seemed appropriate to celebrate Ellen’s 1 mile to Charleston harbour (and the expectation of the 1 mile back) with a wee HUBshot, especially since I judged my performance at cycling up Arthur’s Seat to be better (5’14” compared with 8’27” the first time) but still not really worth celebrating. I still had to stop and let my heart slow down although paid for that with needing to get started again on a hill on a single speed bike. But improvement.

There was nothing much else to celebrate having continued on to Milton Road, down to Joppa and through Portobello before getting swept off the bike and under a parked car by a young lad keen to get a parking space. Nothing dramatic. He was in a line of traffic hardly moving and I was moving up the inside when his girlfriend (I assume, they may have married young) saw the space, pointed to it and he went for it. Through me. Scuffed elbow, bruised hip and I’m expecting some thigh bruising where the handlebars hit me. He’s got a big dent in this wing and a wing mirror hanging by its wires.

It would probably all have been over with a dusting down and apologies but for the concerned pedestrian (bless him, he was genuinely very concerned) who was convinced I’d cracked my head on the road and insisted on an ambulance. I didn’t think I’d hit my head at all although you can’t really tell at first but as time passed I became more convinced although by then it was too late – they were on their way. It turns out that through some misunderstanding somewhere, this was passed on as a collision between a motorbike and a car so everyone turned up, sirens wailing, expecting carnage on Portobello High Street only to find a minorly injured cyclist and a shamefaced driver. I’m afraid we didn’t brighten their Sunday afternoon. But it still took the best part of an hour to have my completely unscathed head examined and make a short statement to the polis. But, no, I didn’t really think he was to blame. It was, you know, one of those things. He could have paid more attention and so could I. He could have stopped and looked, I could have waited in the line of cars rather than ride up the inside. Shit happens, no harm done.

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This entry was posted on October 16, 2011 by in The Bank of Me.
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