1) Riding home from Manhattan to my deep-in-Brooklyn apartment, 4:30 a.m., drunk beyond belief, and light snow is becoming heavy snow. Slogging up the incline of the Manhattan side of the Brooklyn bridge, I become very tired and actually consider getting off an walking the bike. Luckily, alcohol amplifies foolish pride, and I become determined not to give in. I dig in and start to mash with all my might, just as I'm reaching the first suspension tower. The problem, of course, is taht mashing mightily on slick tires and snow-covered wooden bridge walkways causes total loss of traction and fishtailing. So the stone wall of the suspension tower is suddenly approaching me at what seems like an ungodly speed while the bike seems to be going totally sideways. Somehow I managed to catch the wall with my hands and sort of vault off the saddle in such a way that I spun in the air and came crashing down on my back while the bike rolled a little farther, glanced off the wall, and came to rest about fifteen feet from me. I spent about 20 minutes looking up into the snow, feeling aches all over me, and wondering whether I would freeze to death if I just lay there and slept till morning. I finally decided to get up because I was worried that if I fell asleep someone would jack my bike.

2) Very drunk, going from a bar to a party, I came across a very small tricycle in the trash on the street and resolved to ride it, despite my buddies' yelling at me to just keep walking. I mounted the thing, gave one push forward with my legs, and went over a kerb. The front wheel was so small that it just stopped when it hit the street, but my big body had plenty of momentum, and my stupid hands continued to grip the trike handlebars, so I pitched forward and slammed my chin against the pavement, causing me to spend the rest of the evening discreetly bleeding into the sleeve of my (thankfully) dark-colored coat.