Well, it finally happened. After several years of cycling, I had a significant fall, breaking my right collarbone and scaring to death the two ladies on the square who came to my rescue. Finally, after all those admonitions about being careful from my mother to the president of the university, I managed to fall and hurt myself.
It was such a simple misstep, and I couldn't believe it when I saw the damage on the X-ray that I had done to my body. Another irony was that in all the chances for a severe injury such as crossing busy streets (thanks to all my friends who have been watching out for me and throwing on their car brakes), the accident was a simple failure to throw my leg over to the opposite pedal before the front wheel fell a few inches off of the curb while I was doing at least a half a mile an hour. Unlike some of my other exercises, like going around curves at maximum speed, I didn't even consider this fall-producing move as taking a risk.
The adventure of thrill-seeking, I think, is the factor that has kept me two-wheeling all these years. I do like the idea of exercise and also the thought of saving the environment by not burning gasoline as well. Exploring neighborhoods and countrysides at a slow pace interests me too, but it is the daredevil risk that I sometimes take that keeps the sport alive.
The fall has imposed a vacation from work. I couldn't lift my right arm without pain, which essentially temporarily stopped my office practice. The really bad thing was the timing of the accident, falling (no pun intended) just before the dove hunting season and keeping me from being able to shoulder my shotgun. Well, my grandchildren have been doing the bird dog retrieving for me up until now, so this year I'll have to return the favor.