I do believe this is called irony.
So, yesterday was the May Cupcake Ride (which was the April route, only not rained/snowed-out). We started at Dlish on Queen, then took the Western Railpath, which I have always meant to try out, up to the Junction, then down to the south end of High Park, going through it up a mother of a hill, and finally going back to the Junction to finish at Bunner's Bakery. It was a gorgeous day; thunderstorms were threaten but held off until evening, and I wore my long blue skirt as a test of the Opus's skirt guards. They worked perfectly. The cupcakes were yummy. It was a great afternoon.
I left early because I needed to get home and set a test and mark others. I decided to go home directly along Dundas, which is always a bit hairy because there's lots of traffic and the parking lane, which usually becomes a de facto biking lane, is quite narrow. Then there's that weird left turn at Roncesvalles. South of Bloor, the street is riddled with streetcar tracks, every cyclist's nightmare.
Especially the left turn onto College. There are six sets of tracks (2 going straight, 4 turning, which means lots of metal triangles where the rails intersect) and four lanes to negotiate.
View Larger Map
Weirdly, there's a bike lane over the bridge, but nowhere else on Dundas. It sort of continues after the turn on College, but stops a short block away. If there's a lot of traffic, I sometimes wait at the side until there's a suitable break and then cross over. This time, however, I did a quick shoulder check and saw that the cars were stuck at red lights on both sides, so I opted to take the turn immediately. I've done that turn before, and I usually manage the streetcar tracks well. The trick is to hit them not too quickly, at a greater than 45 degree angle, and not leaning to get the maximum traction from the tires.
The astute reader will see where this is going. I may have been a little hyped up on sugar and going a bit faster than I should have been, and my physics students will tell you that it is necessary to lean over when turning at speed. I also hit a triangle of solid metal. The result was that I lost traction, and I performed a non-traditional dismount from the treacherous Opus. I got some first-hand knowledge of the coefficient of friction between human skin and road. It was painful. And embarrassing.
Warning to the squeamish: The next bit might be a bit graphic. Here are pictures of cupcakes to take your mind off it.
I have to say, if you're going to wipe out in such a spectacular fashion, it's good to do it in front of a police car. They stopped as I was struggling to my feet and asked if I was okay, if I needed an ambulance. As I got awkwardly to my feet, I thought I just had a massive scrape on my elbow and said no. Then I looked down at my right leg and saw rivulets of blood running into my shoe. Lifting my skirt, I saw... let's just say I saw rather more of the inside of my leg than anyone is supposed to. No bone, but, well... have you ever seen tenderized meat? Yeah, like that.
Sorry -- it gets worse. Here's another cupcake photo.
I'll say here, since I was asked about it by no less than five people over the course of the adventure, that 1) yes, I was wearing my helmet and 2) no, I didn't hit my head.
The cops called for an ambulance and helped me and the Opus to the side of the road. They got me a gauze bandage to hold against the gash. The female cop went off to get me some ice from Tim Horton's, lights flashing, and the male cop stayed to write it up and take my information. When he handed back my driver's license, he said "If it's any consolation, I thought you were thirty."
They were really nice, especially since my dramatic dismount had taken them away from an expired plate from 2008 -- "That's one for the locker room!" I held the newly acquired ice to my knee and tried not worry about the blood and bits of flesh sticking to my skirt, and hoped that it wouldn't start raining, because wouldn't that just be the perfect addition to the day. The female cop cleaned the road rash on my elbow ("This is gonna sting like a mofo!") and I told her about the Cupcake Ride. We cracked jokes (my standard response, because you might as well laugh about it) and I got lots of concerned looks from passing cyclists until the ambulance arrived.
As it did, who should also come over the bridge but the rest of the ladies from the Cupcake Ride (sensibly walking their bikes along the far sidewalk). When they saw me, they all came over, so I had a sympathetic audience for my transfer to the surprisingly comfortable gurney and then to the ambulance. I felt rather like a queen.
Incidentally, many thanks go to Hyedie from the Cupcake Ride, who saved my bike from police lock-up. While we were waiting for the ambulance, the cops were considering what to do with the Opus. They wondered whether it would fit in the ambulance, but then who would take charge of it at the hospital -- and would I have to ride home afterwards? Then they said they could store it at the station (which is a mere hop, skip, and a rather long jump from my apartment) for a few days. The male cop took out a pad and I was thinking "Dude, are you seriously giving me a ticket?!" but it was just a receipt for the bike. However, Hyedie lives near me, so I gave her my keys (and she also took charge of my helmet and jacket) and the Opus spent the night safe in her garage.
When I was safely loaded inside, the ambulance (no sirens -- so disappointing) took me along College to Toronto General. As we passed my apartment, I jokingly asked if we could stop in so I could pick up some marking to while away the no doubt long wait I would have. The ambulance guys were lovely. The one in the back with me asked me how Bixi Bikes works and we talked a bit about teaching.
At the hospital, I got to ride in a wheelchair. In fact, I got to drive the wheelchair. Turning is fun. I can see why they have wheelchair races in TV hospital shows. I can also see it getting old after a while.
I waited for about an hour (reading a book on my Palm Zire, because I'm so high tech) and then the nurse wheeled me into an examination room. Or rather, tried to wheel me in. After attempting a 10-point turn, I realized that it would be easier and faster to just hop out and over to the bed.
If you're wondering how I stayed so calm throughout this, I have to say a large part was because the gash, deep and gross as it was, didn't hurt that much. The road rash on my left thigh was more irritating.
This next bit involves needles, blood, stitches, and more blood. Here's another cupcake.
The doctor came in, cut off the paramedic's dressing, and stuck my knee with several needles containing the miracle liquid that would keep it nice and frozen. I thought he had put rather a lot in already, then he went to get more. Then he poured the contents of a couple of large bottles of saline solution over the wound to clean it out. It was cold, and the resulting blood and water combo falling into the absorbent pad under my leg was gross. Then he went in with some tweezers to see if my knee was frozen. One spot wasn't (Yelp!), so back came the needle. Then out came the suture thread.
It's ugly. It's strong. Each stitch takes a while to do, so I asked him how he was at sewing jeans. He laughed and said it turns out the knots don't work on jeans. When he was done, I had bits of black wire sticking out of my knee but no more ugly gash. He told me that I should go to my doctor or a clinic to get the stitches out in 10 days and to clean and redress the wound every day. If there were signs of pus, go get some antibiotics.
Then the nurse came back in to dress the wound and give me a tetanus booster, since I couldn't remember if I'd had one in the past 10 years. She asked me about the Cupcake Ride, so maybe we'll get two new riders out of this mess. When I asked her if the stitches would hurt when the freezing wore off, she gave me the look I often give my students when they say something silly like that. "You don't think you can get six stitches and not have them hurt!" Apparently, only Tylenol or Advil hurt, not drug-that-will-make-me-loopy hurt. Then they let me go.
The whole thing only took about 2 hours. Not bad!
I took a cab home and had fun trying to negotiate the stairs, toddler-like, up to my apartment. Then I remembered I had to buy TTC tokens, so I had to deal with the stairs twice more. Remind me again: why do I live in a third-floor walk-up?
I've loaded up on antibiotic ointment, non-adherent gauze pads, gauze wrap, tape, and scar cream. I'm ready for armageddon. Ask me how difficult it is to wrap an elbow with one arm.
And that is why today, on this gorgeous Bike to Work Day, I sat on a streetcar, staring wistfully out the window at all the people zipping past me on bikes.
To find out about the next Cupcake Ride (now with fewer stitches), check out the blog.
So, yesterday was the May Cupcake Ride (which was the April route, only not rained/snowed-out). We started at Dlish on Queen, then took the Western Railpath, which I have always meant to try out, up to the Junction, then down to the south end of High Park, going through it up a mother of a hill, and finally going back to the Junction to finish at Bunner's Bakery. It was a gorgeous day; thunderstorms were threaten but held off until evening, and I wore my long blue skirt as a test of the Opus's skirt guards. They worked perfectly. The cupcakes were yummy. It was a great afternoon.
I left early because I needed to get home and set a test and mark others. I decided to go home directly along Dundas, which is always a bit hairy because there's lots of traffic and the parking lane, which usually becomes a de facto biking lane, is quite narrow. Then there's that weird left turn at Roncesvalles. South of Bloor, the street is riddled with streetcar tracks, every cyclist's nightmare.
Especially the left turn onto College. There are six sets of tracks (2 going straight, 4 turning, which means lots of metal triangles where the rails intersect) and four lanes to negotiate.
View Larger Map
Weirdly, there's a bike lane over the bridge, but nowhere else on Dundas. It sort of continues after the turn on College, but stops a short block away. If there's a lot of traffic, I sometimes wait at the side until there's a suitable break and then cross over. This time, however, I did a quick shoulder check and saw that the cars were stuck at red lights on both sides, so I opted to take the turn immediately. I've done that turn before, and I usually manage the streetcar tracks well. The trick is to hit them not too quickly, at a greater than 45 degree angle, and not leaning to get the maximum traction from the tires.
The astute reader will see where this is going. I may have been a little hyped up on sugar and going a bit faster than I should have been, and my physics students will tell you that it is necessary to lean over when turning at speed. I also hit a triangle of solid metal. The result was that I lost traction, and I performed a non-traditional dismount from the treacherous Opus. I got some first-hand knowledge of the coefficient of friction between human skin and road. It was painful. And embarrassing.
Warning to the squeamish: The next bit might be a bit graphic. Here are pictures of cupcakes to take your mind off it.
Sorry -- it gets worse. Here's another cupcake photo.
I'll say here, since I was asked about it by no less than five people over the course of the adventure, that 1) yes, I was wearing my helmet and 2) no, I didn't hit my head.
The cops called for an ambulance and helped me and the Opus to the side of the road. They got me a gauze bandage to hold against the gash. The female cop went off to get me some ice from Tim Horton's, lights flashing, and the male cop stayed to write it up and take my information. When he handed back my driver's license, he said "If it's any consolation, I thought you were thirty."
They were really nice, especially since my dramatic dismount had taken them away from an expired plate from 2008 -- "That's one for the locker room!" I held the newly acquired ice to my knee and tried not worry about the blood and bits of flesh sticking to my skirt, and hoped that it wouldn't start raining, because wouldn't that just be the perfect addition to the day. The female cop cleaned the road rash on my elbow ("This is gonna sting like a mofo!") and I told her about the Cupcake Ride. We cracked jokes (my standard response, because you might as well laugh about it) and I got lots of concerned looks from passing cyclists until the ambulance arrived.
As it did, who should also come over the bridge but the rest of the ladies from the Cupcake Ride (sensibly walking their bikes along the far sidewalk). When they saw me, they all came over, so I had a sympathetic audience for my transfer to the surprisingly comfortable gurney and then to the ambulance. I felt rather like a queen.
Incidentally, many thanks go to Hyedie from the Cupcake Ride, who saved my bike from police lock-up. While we were waiting for the ambulance, the cops were considering what to do with the Opus. They wondered whether it would fit in the ambulance, but then who would take charge of it at the hospital -- and would I have to ride home afterwards? Then they said they could store it at the station (which is a mere hop, skip, and a rather long jump from my apartment) for a few days. The male cop took out a pad and I was thinking "Dude, are you seriously giving me a ticket?!" but it was just a receipt for the bike. However, Hyedie lives near me, so I gave her my keys (and she also took charge of my helmet and jacket) and the Opus spent the night safe in her garage.
When I was safely loaded inside, the ambulance (no sirens -- so disappointing) took me along College to Toronto General. As we passed my apartment, I jokingly asked if we could stop in so I could pick up some marking to while away the no doubt long wait I would have. The ambulance guys were lovely. The one in the back with me asked me how Bixi Bikes works and we talked a bit about teaching.
At the hospital, I got to ride in a wheelchair. In fact, I got to drive the wheelchair. Turning is fun. I can see why they have wheelchair races in TV hospital shows. I can also see it getting old after a while.
I waited for about an hour (reading a book on my Palm Zire, because I'm so high tech) and then the nurse wheeled me into an examination room. Or rather, tried to wheel me in. After attempting a 10-point turn, I realized that it would be easier and faster to just hop out and over to the bed.
If you're wondering how I stayed so calm throughout this, I have to say a large part was because the gash, deep and gross as it was, didn't hurt that much. The road rash on my left thigh was more irritating.
This next bit involves needles, blood, stitches, and more blood. Here's another cupcake.
The doctor came in, cut off the paramedic's dressing, and stuck my knee with several needles containing the miracle liquid that would keep it nice and frozen. I thought he had put rather a lot in already, then he went to get more. Then he poured the contents of a couple of large bottles of saline solution over the wound to clean it out. It was cold, and the resulting blood and water combo falling into the absorbent pad under my leg was gross. Then he went in with some tweezers to see if my knee was frozen. One spot wasn't (Yelp!), so back came the needle. Then out came the suture thread.
It's ugly. It's strong. Each stitch takes a while to do, so I asked him how he was at sewing jeans. He laughed and said it turns out the knots don't work on jeans. When he was done, I had bits of black wire sticking out of my knee but no more ugly gash. He told me that I should go to my doctor or a clinic to get the stitches out in 10 days and to clean and redress the wound every day. If there were signs of pus, go get some antibiotics.
Then the nurse came back in to dress the wound and give me a tetanus booster, since I couldn't remember if I'd had one in the past 10 years. She asked me about the Cupcake Ride, so maybe we'll get two new riders out of this mess. When I asked her if the stitches would hurt when the freezing wore off, she gave me the look I often give my students when they say something silly like that. "You don't think you can get six stitches and not have them hurt!" Apparently, only Tylenol or Advil hurt, not drug-that-will-make-me-loopy hurt. Then they let me go.
The whole thing only took about 2 hours. Not bad!
I took a cab home and had fun trying to negotiate the stairs, toddler-like, up to my apartment. Then I remembered I had to buy TTC tokens, so I had to deal with the stairs twice more. Remind me again: why do I live in a third-floor walk-up?
I've loaded up on antibiotic ointment, non-adherent gauze pads, gauze wrap, tape, and scar cream. I'm ready for armageddon. Ask me how difficult it is to wrap an elbow with one arm.
And that is why today, on this gorgeous Bike to Work Day, I sat on a streetcar, staring wistfully out the window at all the people zipping past me on bikes.
To find out about the next Cupcake Ride (now with fewer stitches), check out the blog.
ACK! I can't believe I only just found out about this now. I hope you're ok and will be feeling like yourself again soon. Next time you're in the hospital you'd better call me so I can come and be with you; or I'm going to be giving you heck!! ;)
ReplyDeleteHeh. That's sort of what Aged P said. I hope I never find myself in a hospital again. But good to know.
ReplyDelete