Damn Cell Phone
So I roll to a stop in the Homedale, ID Paul's Market parking lot, pull my lid and ear plugs, then call my wife. 'Hi, Babe. Ya want me to pick up some hamburger?" I ask as I start to dismount my bike. Then, pain and darkness. I find myself on my back and hear screaming. I know this pain... from years back when a reel of Hawk Missile Launcher data cable slid out the rear of a deuce-and-a-half and onto my knees. I stop my scream and begin hyperventilating a mantra of, "Shit.. Shit...Shit," through clinched teeth. I force my eyes to open. My busted off left mirror lay next to my face and I see pieces of cell phone through the spokes of my front tire.
When I have a top bag on the rear of my seat I pull my self up with the handle bars so that my right leg will clear the bag. Because I was talking on my cell I only had a grip with my left hand, so I was not leaned forward as much as usual and my right foot hit the bag. Because I had a phone in my right hand rather than a twist grip, inertia transferred to my upper body toppling me off my bike with my left leg pined to the tank...and my knee blew out.
Note to self: Zero multitasking when in the saddle.
Papa, would you like your old cell?