Say I were a 1977 Buick Skylark. In pretty good shape, considering, but the paint job…a little damaged.
I’m a lifelong klutz. I’m never without some sort of minor injury. It’s apparently been a messy biking week for me. The bruise up high on my thigh is from Saturday, on my old mountain bike, when a hill and I disagreed with each other on the best method of descent and I ended up slowing down in a rather horizontal fashion. That bruise was from the tip of my seat.
The cut is a weird one, which still boggles me, but I’m going to chalk it up to the fact that I’m still getting accustomed to my new bike. I was going down to Brookside to get some cat-food after work today, and decided I wanted to hit one of the hills pretty hard, so I went to stand up on the pedals and “thock” smacked my knee on something. The something turned out to be the clamp for my front blinky light. Figure that shit out.
Somehow I managed to practically tangle my knees up in the handlebars. Klutz. To my advantage, I didn’t wreck, and it didn’t really hurt much, though it stung when I got in the shower, as scrapes will do. Out of morbid curiosity, I had to examine that clamp after I got home, and there was a little shred of dried up skin stuck to it. Gross!