where the rubber meets the road

don't read if this sort of thing gets you worried, please. no. really.


"i should have taken the midtown tunnel", the bastard said to the fireman as he asked me what exactly happened.

"well, you'll know better the next time"

"well i was heading back to manhattan, "

"ok? do you know what day it is?"

"it's sunday, superbowl sunday, and this guy started fishtailing all over the road,"

"ok? do you know who was playing in the game sir?"

"yes (eyes roll), the steelers and the cardiinals, the steelers pulled it off with 2 minutes 35 left on the clock, it was a great play. ANYWAY, so the guy is swerving everywhere and i start downshifting and,"

"ok? sir, do you know who the president is?"

"yes, barry obama" i stop and look hard at joe fucking ensemble cast member of the fx original, rescue me and continue my story. "and just as i'm trying to judge where he's going he slams on his brakes and comes to a stop"

finally, the fireman is satisfied that i know what year it is, the bastard finishes his tale of woe.

really...stop reading now.

"ok? go on."

"so he comes to a dead stop and my bike goes under his car and i go over the trunk"

my thigh stopped me from going any further (props to my knee armor for that).

then i hit the windshield with my head with a resounding pop (the bastard has alot to say about this helmet. thank you so much kevlar helmet) and glass was everywhere.

then i rolled off, onto my feet and all i saw was headlights.

then i saw the bike. she was done and i didn't have time to be sad. what i had was time to get off of the road.

first thing i did was call 911 and then i called my ladyfriend to let her know i was alright.

not too much after that did the ambulance arrive. the firemen told me they were requied to put me on a board but i thought it was a training exercise for their new guys.

let me stop here: the bastard complains alot about procedures but, that's only because i knew that i was okay. i walked away from it and i was lucky and these guys are out there putting their shit on the line so, if they wanted to strap me to a board to make sure i was ok, then i'm ok with it. so that said, i really appreciate that the fire department was the first on the scene and they did their jobs with great efficiency despite my "knowing" i was ok. i'm sure everyone thinks that they are ok when they get up and walk away from it.

the paramedics put me in the ambulance and the younger of the 2 emt's ask me if there is any pain elsewhere and i tell him about the pain in my thigh and he asks me if these are my favorite pants. i just start taking them off and the older emt starts screaming on me about how i have this collar and board here so that i am stabilized and i scream back at him asking him what the hell does he think i'm going home in? my underwear? they acquiesce and i get to keep my pants.

and my pocket knife.

i might have lost the change in my pocket but who cares. i walked away.

i had a similar argument with the trauma ward staff about my sweater. did you see what i look like without a shirt? come on? i'm going home in my jacket and no shirt?

i swear to god. these people are by far the most top notch people in their field.

top notch.

bar none.

but they sure are crazy about their scissors in this field.

apparently dr ricky, found the bastard to be the most entertaining thing to hit the trauma ward all night, so he asked if he could be assigned to me and he was. and i put on a show.

it's a coping mechanism. you see, when you smash into something, you don't have time to get scared. you've almost left your body.

you're watching this on television.

hell, you don't even get to see your life flash before your eyes. it's all bullshit.

so you have nothing left when you're in a trama ward with no pants on and a cut on your chin but, to make jokes. it's all you got.

at 1:30 my ladyfriend calls up to ask me what the status is, and i tell her that i love her and that everything is going to be alright. i feel awful about getting home so late. i'm not even worried about the accident. i'm just worried about getting home.

all throught the ct scan. i don't care about what they find, i just want to go home.

the x-rays on my leg? fuck this, i want to go home to show her that i'm alright.

i call the chairman so he knows. because, it's who i would call, he lived down the block from me for two years and he's family and i owe him alot. he should know i'm ok.


at some point.

after all of my calls. to my lady, my cousin and the boy's mom, the nice lady, i realize that i lost my cross.

the bastard isn't religious.

never have been.

but i had this cross since i was 16. it meant alot to me and tonight, i gave it to the road in exchange for my safety. it's when it all hit me. and i just sat there with my busted helmet on my lap and what was now an empty neck chain. and it hit me hard.

it hit me what i lost.

and what i got to keep tonight.

and as i stepped out into the early morning air at 4:15 am with all my stuff in bags, and the new york city corrections van in front of me, i realized that i was lucky.

lucky things played out the way they did.

lucky that the gear i purchased did their job.

lucky. just fucking lucky. stupid and lucky and glad to have the wind still blowing in my face.

i usually thank god for small shit. not getting fired. getting me home before the rain starts. for good friends. for good timing. hell, for good times. but i was just thankful i could walk away and ride another day.

—the bastard