I'm just thankful that I walked away with a cut finger and a grazed knee after the BMW pulled out in front of me on Southend seafront. I don't remember much - I yanked on the brakes but there was no way I was going to miss him, and the next thing I knew I was picking myself up off the road.
I reckon this is all down to a gypsy curse. I glared at one who tried to stuff some lucky heather in my face on Saturday in Regent Street, and I'm sure she muttered something behind my back. It was probably something like "you will hit a car on your bike." Yeah that's it.
The whole episode has been a bit of an inconvenience. The bike is a bit knackered, probably needs a new front wheel and brakes. There's a hole in my Fixed shorts, and my left glove is sticky with blood. That's nothing compared to the 45 minute wait at the side of the road for the ambulance, because the paramedic (himself a cyclist) said my finger needed stitches. The police (who had to be called because it was a road traffic accident with an injury) took just as long to turn up. Then there was the wait at A&E. Admitted at 8.30pm, discharged at 10.30pm. Waiting in line with the obese, addicted and foolish of Southend was like being punished for having an accident.
All that for a cut finger. I'm now off to find a cycle helmet and some lucky heather.
(Ruined) Rapha clobber
Fixed shorts
Team jersey
Grand tour gloves
Racing cap
Merino socks
PS: The evening was saved by a wonderful ambulance crew, who actually took my bike home for me, and a funny nurse, who kept me laughing while stitching up the finger. To be honest the driver of the BMW was a decent sort, who, after admitting that he totally didn't see me, waited for the police to turn up. And, of course, by LIzzie, who made a beeline for me as soon as I told her about the accident and stayed with me all the way. That's why I'm going to marry her.
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