Simon got hit by a car last week.
Dont worry, he’s fine.
We had just been to the bicycle shop to get a new, more comfortable saddle fitted to my new bike. The lady went through the options with me first. The most popular one they sell didn’t look much more comfortable than my current one to me, but the other style was more for old ladies apparently. We both paused when she said that, me wondering whether she was including me in that category, and her afraid that she’d made a faux pas. She then said that of course, I’d prefer the first type and I agreed, looking wistfully at the softer looking seat but too relieved to object.
While the new saddle was being fitted, we had a look around the store and I tried to persuade Simon to get a new bike. The sad truth is that my new bike is ugly, and the process of purchase too torturous for me to enjoy it fully, and I wanted someone in the family to be excited by getting a new bike. However, he stubbornly refused to show any interest, and we resumed our bike ride once my new saddle was in place.
Simon was ahead of me as we were crossing the road to leave the shopping complex. I was looking left and right to check the road was clear when I heard the squealing of tyres and a quieter bang. I looked across the road to see Simon still astride his bike but standing up in the far gutter. Between us was a station wagon with skid marks on the road behind it and the driver gesturing with his arm out the window as if to say “WTAF were you doing??”
I quickly raced across the road to make sure Simon was OK, and saw that he seemed to be fine but his back wheel was buckled. I couldn’t see the driver but I saw a female passenger looking stunned and a dog in the back. Simon kept saying “No, no, it was all my fault, you did an excellent job of braking, thank you! Well done!” I couldn’t hear what the driver was saying but I gathered it fitted with the arm gestures i.e. angry and defensive rather than demonstrating any concern for my husband. After a few minutes they just drove off without getting out of the car at any point. I was most worried about Simon’s wellbeing but was a little dismayed at his craven attitude. This is a man who has hardly ever admitted the possibility of being wrong in any of our interactions in coming up to thirty years of marriage. Just extraordinary.
The bike was unrideable now, the back wheel was so warped, so he wheeled it back the best he could to the bike shop we’d just come from. I must admit I did try to persuade him that here was the perfect opportunity to upgrade his bike, but he stubbornly refused to entertain the idea, preferring to get our son to pick him up in the car, and wait the several weeks for his bike to be repaired.
I wondered whether his take on the whole episode might change once the adrenaline wore off, but in fact he felt even more that it had been entirely his fault, and his biggest concern now was that the car might have sustained some damage. I must say, I disagree. He felt bad because he’s got limited movement in his neck due to previous radiotherapy, so he didn’t do a good enough job of checking to see if the road was clear before crossing. I say, if a bicycle is slowly wobbling across in front of you, you should be prepared to stop. Luckily, a slightly sore knee is the only physical injury suffered.
It may be that the subsequent few days have led to a softening towards the idea of upgrading the bicycle. There was an interview on the radio the other day about a New Zealand E bike company who nearly got an award in some German green transport awards recently. The company is called Le Velo Studio, and their bikes certainly have all the style and class that my new bike lacks. If he orders one, it will make me happy as well as supporting a local business. Fingers crossed.
