Tuesday, May 06, 2008

Tuesday

Just a few lines today.

Here's a list of my accidents over the years:

1. DeWitt, last Summer. Broken thumb.
2. Dubuque, RAGBRAI, maybe 1995. Wounded pride. Alcohol may have been involved.
3. Bettendorf, Middle Road, East of Whitey's. Maybe 1990, right before TOMRV. Deep high thigh bruise. No TOMRV.
4. Bettendorf, Devils Glen near Tanglefoot. Maybe 2000. Deep hip, non-displaced fracture. Excessive orthopaedic fees.
5. Bettendorf, Hy Vee parking lot, maybe 1994. Grooved my front tire in an expansion joint in the concrete. Scratches and abrasions.
6. RAGBRAI, maybe 1993, some small town in Eastern Iowa. Scratches and abrasions. Alcohol was involved.
7. Bettendorf bike path. Various incidents over the years. Laying down my bike when others do stupid things. Scrapes.
8. Davenport, Scott Street alley 1993. Trying to learn to ride my new rode bike with click-in pedals. A very humbling experience.

I'm sure that there are a few others, but nothing overly serious. I could get my list to 10 by breaking up those bike path tumbles, but who's counting?

So hope this was worth a chuckle to the peanut gallery.

BCOT

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

Remember that time i took a spill on the way home from whitey's via Mercy park?

Much blood, many tears, and someone sent home to get mom and the station wagon.

I think my all time favorite dad injury is when you ran into the basketball pole playing with the boys from the hood. Was that at Lindsay Park?

Least favorite dad injury was post- acl replacement. You took me, on crutches, to the Beaux Arts Fair to find a Mother's Day Gift for mom. All I could think about was how HUMILIATING it was to have a gimp for a dad. Those crutches did come in handy for the tire swing at the playground though, I must admit...

Anonymous said...

let's be clear on the basketball incident. the pole ran into dad.

i clearly remember your biking accident on the way home from whitey's, but not who was sent home...although it makes the most sense that it was me.

your memory of the acl is the beaux arts fair; i remember dad sitting in a lawn chair (because he was on crutches) at the top of the side yard hill at the old house with a laundry basket making me shoot baskets into it and do defensive shuffles up and down the sidewalk while a tornado was approaching. we literally almost ended up in oz.