Good morning, Hubski. Haven't gone to bed yet. It's that time of the season. Got hit by a car yesterday. Or more specifically, hit the brakes in time to not leave the sidewalk in front of the car barreling through like the light wasn't even there. Tagged their rear door, launched over the back deck and sprained my shoulder. Didn't break anything - got the x-rays to prove it - but the handlebars are off by 20 degrees or so. Rode the fucker home anyway. Kind of archetypal of my time in LA that I can make it dozens of miles a day but a half mile from my fucking house? Yeah, Mexican nationals try to kill me at 5am. Then think about taking off for 5 minutes. I let 'em go anyway. I have insurance and who the fuck wants to deal with the LAPD at 5am on a Tuesday? That was after being awake for 22 hours, of course. That's the world I live in these days - 8-hour commutes followed by working 10 hours. The commute is a 30 mile drive, a 1000 mile flight, a 20 mile drive and a 15-ile bike ride and I hate the TSA so much. It's become so routine that I flew down with 4 pounds of government cheese. They pat me down every time because apparently my hair looks suspicious on the pornoscanners we supposedly retired in 2012. I won't see home for another six weeks. By then there may be drywall up on the birth center. I get the sense that this is when most of the work gets done; when I'm not there, of course. I really hurt. And I'm really tired. And I hate my roommates. And I know there are those here that actually like Los Angeles? But holy fuck, people. You live in a shithole. And if I could never be here again I would never be here again so hard.
Ouch. I'm glad to hear your are ok. Not much comfort in a second separating you from death, however. I ride the sidewalks in my town, and only venture into the street in the neighborhood, and only then to go around pedestrians on the sidewalk. Bikes are not made to share pavement with cars. Fuck "sharing the road". It has nothing to do with etiquette. It's mass x velocity.
Amusingly enough, I've been creamed three times in LA. Amusingly enough, each time involved a crosswalk. Once I was actively in the street ahead of the crosswalk, but the other two times I was legit on the sidewalk. Once at over 15mph, once at walking pace. It doesn't fucking matter. At some point you will be forced to cross a road. And in Los Angeles, there will either be disinterested Mexican nationals paying no goddamn attention or...
Oh man. How fortunate it was only a sprain (and probably a mild heart attack of adrenaline)! Obviously would've been more fortunate if it hadn't happened... This job sounds like golden handcuffs. Is the shit almost over? Or do you go back to LA after your next time trip home in six weeks? The more I hear about LA from people who aren't twenty year olds, the more I'm glad I was never bit with the Hollywood bug.
Truly sorry to hear about your shoulder and your whip. I hope both mend without serious complications. Like the many other ridiculously hard things you've made it through, you will conquer this as well. And wih it in your rear view mirror, you'll enjoy the union bennies and the stockpile of cash you bled and sweat for. Keep on rockin' in the free world KB.
I'm sorry to hear that. I love my bicycle, but I've pretty much accepted that I'm going to get hit at some point if I keep riding on the roads. I'm kind of surprised I haven't yet, honestly. I can't imagine trying to ride in LA. The suburbs of KC seem hostile enough. It is weird. I'm excited that my SO is showing an interest in bicycling with me, but I also feel kind of guilty about it too. Her going over the handle bars is a totally different thing to me.