Excuse Me, Sir…Do you know you’re bleeding?

Around March of 2010, I began mountain biking, which in Indiana consists of climbing more hills than mountains, but let’s refrain from arguing semantics.  I am by no means an expert rider, but I have a lot of fun doing it…I do know that if you do not come home with something bleeding or at least a bruise, you were not riding hard enough!

One Thursday evening in August of 2010, there was an unfortunate mishap involving the back of my leg and the sprocket set on my Gary Fisher.  How do I know it was a Thursday, you ask?  Well, as is Thursday evening tradition, my brother and I patronized our favorite chicken wing establishment after our ride, so I know for a fact it was a Thursday.  Regardless, or irregardless as so many of my grammatically challenged friends may say, we went for a ride at SouthwestWay Park.

Back to the sprocket incident…Due to my inexperience, I forgot to keep my pedals parallel to the ground while going downhill.  Wouldn’t you know it, a stump jumped out and caught left pedal, bringing my crankset (and bike) to an immediate halt.  Newton nailed it when he said something about an object in motion staying in motion until something causes that motion to cease…

Unfortunately for me, my handlebar stem was the “something” that stopped my forward motion.  The collision of my, huh-hum…manhood, with the handlebar stem set in motion a chain of events which let to my right calf being struck by my sprocket set, leaving a series of 8 gashes in my flesh.  I am not known for my intestinal fortitude or ability to refrain from blacking out at the sight of blood, so I chose not to look at the wound and keep riding.

Unaware of how grotesque my leg was, I proceeded to the wing establishment with my brother.  He informed me that my wound was not looking all that great, but I already knew that given the pain coursing up and down my calf.  I decided to wait until after I enjoyed my wings to take a look. 

While waiting for our food, I noticed one of our fellow wing enthusiasts was looking over at me.  I assumed it was because of my dashing good looks, but apparently it was my bloody leg that was catching her attention.  She began to look bothered, and soon made her way over to me and said, “Excuse me, Sir.  Do you know you’re bleeding?” to which I replied, “Yeah, I hope it is not bothering you.”  “No” she replied, “but you may want to take along a bandage next time.”

I am not sure if she enjoyed her wings that night, but I know I did...To clarify, I enjoyed my wings, not hers (stupid English and your misplaced modifiers!).  It was not until I looked down and saw the 8 gashes in my leg that I realized how bad the calamity truly was, and how nasty my leg must have looked to that poor lady…