My weekend

Finally over. I'm sort of still waiting for the other shoe to drop, as it were, but the disaster might be over (as I write that, I knock the wood of my desk firmly).

It started well enough- got off work, came home, and apparently picked up my friend Traci to go into town for booze cruise. I say apparently because I can't remember. This is reconstructed memory and could be wrong. We get to Regan's house and start biking from there to get Vietnamese food. While on the way or the return, I'm not sure which, I was riding no-handed, and because of the damage I did to my bike last weekend with my car rack, it was a little more unstable than I'm used to and the front wheel did something funny and I went down.

I landed on my right side. That wasn't a problem; my right side is as tough as my left, and my left is as tough as many. No, the problem is that no matter how tough you are, the concrete always wins against your skull. For illustration, see the photo in my previous post.

In my memory, there is a big blank between leaving El Reno on Friday and early Saturday morning. If we include vague memories and flashes, my memory goes to about 6 in the evening, and picks up again at 2am. Traci and Reagan told me that for about two hours after the wreck, I was babbling the same two minutes of conversation:

"How did I get here? I fell? Has someone checked for a concussion?..." and then a restart two minutes later, as everything that was happening to me failed to get into long term memory.

Thanks to Reagan and Traci, though. They've got to be saints or angels, taking care of me like that.

So, I got home around 6am- Traci drove my car to her house out in choctaw, and then I drove myself home from there. Can't blame her for driving the first leg, as I wasn't terribly lucid for most of the night. I checked my eyes one last time, not because I couldn't remember them being fine, but because I was paranoid about going to sleep and slipping into a coma. I was fine, went to sleep.

That's not the end of the story. I woke up sore but mostly all right. I figured I should go back out, show everyone that I was fine, etc. This was a bad idea.

I drove to sauced with my bike on the back of the car. Went in, got a slice, chatted a little bit, found out there was something going on at the conseratory, a club way north on western. I finished my slice, said to myself "hell, why not?"

So I'm riding up there on my bike. I see a place that looks open, says Bar on the sign, but I get closer and realize it says "Make Up Bar" and despite the lights being on (should have been my first clue, most bars here black out their windows) they were closed. So I'm leaving the parking lot, and there's a couple lights out, and I hadn't truned on my headlight yet, and out of nowhere, this curb/island is in front of me, maybe two feet wide, and I hit it hard. I hit the pavement harder.

As I'm falling, I have time to think. I say to myself at least I'm wearing a helmet this time, but it's too bad there's nobody here to see. Just before I hit the concrete, I think, yeah, there's nobody to pick me up either.

Impact.

I laid there for a minute, inventorying myself, realizing my neck hurt, but if it was broken, I was fucked anyway. I screamed a great gutteral curse, and sat up. The kind of word Tom Waits gargles in the morning after he brushes his teeth. With thorns. I stand up with no less effort, but a lot less whining, and go on to the club. What else?

The club was dead. More than dead, it was goth night. I went in, found out there's no live acts, and gave up for good. Rode back to sauced, and on the way, I lost my hat. The hat was in my back pocket while I was wearing my helmet. Gone. So I made myself scarce too.

But sunday was solid. I slept in, woke up in pain, ans sat around for most of the day. Spent a few hours at coffee slingers drinking the best coffee in town, and that helped a lot. I'm still limping around a bit, but its cool. My neck is sore, it hurts to laugh still, but I'm alive.