If this were a traditional folk song, it would begin,

"Come all ye brave and carefree lads,
A warning take by me..."

Yesterday, after a warmup ride with the bight and shining center of my universe, I packed a 750 ml water bottle and a VitaTop ( it's a 100 calorie bran muffin top ), and set forth.

"From Ushant to Scilly 'tis thirty-five leagues."

Up the coast I rode as the sun climbed in the sky. Through Revere, through Lynn, out the causeway and around Nahant, where the hills whupped my butt.

"O, fare you well, my bonny young lassies,
Hurrah, my boys, we're homeward bound!"

I ate my muffin and finished the last of my water going through Point of Pines, then pushed on through the stiffening Revere Beach headwinds. By the time I got back to the Winthrop shore, I was feeling beat, and somewhat thirsty.

"Come, messmates, pass the bottle 'round
Our time is short, remember,
For our grog must stop,
And our spirits drop,
On the first day of September."

I should have turned for home, but the trip odometer read 28 miles. Two more miles, besides being a new trip record for me, would make a nice round number. Just one loop of Shore Drive would do it. Surely I had enough left in me for two short miles. What Would Lance Do?

"Now, the bravest youth amongst our lot
'Twas his misfortune to be shot
His deeds will never be forgot
By all of us below."

I don't know how I got so close to the curb, I usually assert my lane. But suddenly my tires were rubbing the curb, and I went down. I skidded across the sidewalk and banged headfirst into a concrete porch. Fortunately, I was wearing helmet and gloves, but my pinkie was bent at an alarming angle and my forearm was laid open and dripping an equally alarming quantity of blood.

I got to my feet and started walking the bike home, but it became clear after half a block that I wouldn't make it. With my left hand, I dug my phone out of my back pocket and called my wife. She overrode my objections and took me straight to the emergency room. Here I am after being cleaned up a bit:



"So we'll go no more a-roaming..."

The Bianchi seems to have survived, but with 16 stitches and my right arm in a sling for the next ten days, I'm sidelined.

Biggest mistake: I allowed myself to become dehydrated. I'm sure the bright and shining center of my universe will have some other pointed commentary...

"At the old Bailey sessions,
The judge to me did say:
The jury found you guilty, lad,
So you go to Botany Bay."