road rash

It had to happen. It was just a matter of time. I realized as I was getting on the bike to come home that I hadn't actually ridden up every hill. No, I had forgotten about the steep ramp coming out of the parking garage. Well, damn it, I've seen other people ride up that hill, I can do it too (what was that phrase, vanity coming before a fall?). So, I tried it, and I almost got all the way up before it was clear that I wasn't going to make it, and indeed, I fell over backwards, landing on my backpack and my elbow. I was mortified.

The parking garage guy, who is very nice, came over to assess the situation, and help me up. I was mortified. I was a mess. And it didn't seem right to take the bus or the train. No, I needed to chin up and just ride home. And I did. The road rash on my elbow--well, you don't want to hear my whining. I hear chicks dig scars (the boyfriend was mortified).

I rode home slowly. And, I actually encountered someone who rides slower than I do! Unfortunately, he was having an animated conversation, I think with himself, so I suppose I can't brag about this.