Well, there was the time back when I was in high school: I turned off the alley into our back yard, and ducked under the clotheslines like I usually did. But this day one of the props had fallen and one line was drooping down and caught me just under the chin. It stopped me dead, and lifted me right up off the bike - but I wasn't smart enough to let go of the handlebars. The line snapped back and dropped me right astride the top bar of the bike. No lasting injury, but still memorable!

But today - nice day to ride but I'm sitting at home taking Tylenol for cracked ribs and a scuffed up hand that I got on a ride last Sunday. Crossing a bridge on an MUP trail I came up behind two lady walkers. I slowed to a crawl because there was oncoming traffic, and when it cleared I announced that I would be passing on their left. They turned, saw me, and waved OK. I started to ease past them when the one lady began wandering to the left into my path. I tried to clear her but in doing so my left bar end caught the bridge rail, spinning the bar back into my ribs, stopped the bike in it's tracks, and dropped me on the deck - with bar in my side. The ladies went into a panic, wanted to call help, etc. but once I caught my breath it seemed like I was basically OK except for a sore side and a bloody hand that had lost a lot of skin. I assured them I would survive and rode several miles to home. A hot shower, some bandages, two Tylenol, and I thought I was OK.

But the next day I was hurting, couldn't sleep laying down, etc. so after two days I went to the local sports medicine urgent care. Two badly cracked ribs. Interesting medical plan for cracked ribs: "They will be painful for a while, suck it up . . . " They did give me a Vicodin scrip so I could sleep, but that just made me feel goofy and after two days of that stuff I went back to Tylenol. A week later I'm still sleeping in my recliner, hand is slowly mending, ribs are still sore.

Worst part was explaining to my daughter that her 81yr old dad was not nuts for still riding . . . . . . .