The Story of The Lost Bike Ride

Hey folks! I need to get this outta me, so just bear with me. Actually, you might even enjoy what I’m about to say, because as far as I can tell, this story is probably going to be the most exciting one posted here yet. I mean, it includes action, gore, romance, humor-well, that’s because I’m writing it! – And lots of other cool, attention worthy stuff. So, here goes. Grrrrrrr.

The day was really humid, and I felt like sitting in the air conditioned house forever. However, that wasn’t an option, because of my superb calculations. You see, I really needed to take a shower. I figured that I might as well work out before showering, since I’m going to be washing dirt and sweat off anyways, so I might as well make sure there’s a lot to get rid of. And also because of the four pound gain from this past summer, but never mind that. I needed a workout. My 17 yr. old sister agreed to take a bike ride with me into a cute little neighborhood we had just discovered two days before.

Our plans were made, but they kept getting pushed off. Finally, at around 4 p.m. on Wednesday afternoon, we made the attempt to leave the house. As we were finding our bikes in the garage, my sister moaned aloud,
“Do we have to wear helmets?” Now, normally I wouldn’t give it much thought, and I would say no, I mean, having a sweaty, heavy foam contraption on your head is the last thing you want while you’re perspiring profusely, but this time I had heard a story that made me think twice.

You see, I take karate classes and last week my teacher told me that her 60 year old aunt had gotten hit by a car while bike riding. She had bleeding in her brain, broken bones, and some type of holes in her lungs I think. Point being, I wasn’t taking any chances.

“Yes.” I told my sister, telling her the story about the poor lady. “We are wearing helmets.”

So we wore them. Then, as we were biking, my sister realized she forgot sunscreen. Back home again, I waited, annoyed that it took forever to leave. We kept getting pushed off. When we had finally left, I don’t know the time, but it had definitely been at least a half hour.

I pedaled hard, exhilarated by the strong breeze rushing past me, through my helmeted hair. My sister was a little bit behind me. Last time we biked this way we had given ourselves less than 20 minutes to bike a 20+ minute ride, to Jazzercise. We didn’t make it, but it all worked out…that’s another story, though.

This time, we weren’t rushed, but we were still going pretty fast. Thank goodness we had brought water, because, BOY, it was hot outside! We made sure to drink a lot; we were both wearing sunscreen. Everything was covered; only neither of us had a cell phone. While leaving the house I knew neither of us had one, but I didn’t really care. I really liked riding without an annoying piece of plastic bumping against me.

Still loving the breeze, my sister and I crossed into the cute neighborhood we had planned on going into. Let me pause a moment to say what I was wearing- like this is so relevant, but hey. I was wearing sneakers and short socks, no tights (!), a short flared skirt, a white T-shirt and a black zip-up over it. I looked semi-normal, not calculating the helmet. My sister looked cute, wearing a short-sleeve-over-long-sleeve ensemble with a cute skirt and sneakers, too. Plus the helmet. We were quite a pair, let me tell you.

I realized I was quite far ahead of my sister, and suddenly I thought that if she fell, I wouldn’t be able to hear. I looked behind, but she was fine; I get these random thoughts…. So I just slowed it down, and we began to enter the cute neighborhood.

Now, here’s where things begin to get blurry. My sister has a different definition of what happened, but basically, we were riding down a main street and suddenly I heard a scream. (Later, my sister said that I had said, “Slow down!” and I guess she tried because…) I turned in alarm to discover my sister lying flat on the pavement, with her bike on top of her.

“Oh, bleep” I thought. I don’t remember the next couple of seconds, but I obviously jumped off my bike and put it aside. The next thing I remember, I was pulling the bike off her and we were both panting, “OMG, OMG!” or something like that. Then I heard a voice say,

“Don’t move! I’ll be right there!” And I froze and a middle-aged lady had pulled her car over and was running towards us. As she said those words, everything I ever learned medical-wise flooded back; until then I had just been telling my sister… I don’t know what, really.

She looked really bad; she had blood dripping down her face and by her mouth. The lady was all over her, asking her name, checking her head, neck, etc. She thought my sister landed on her head, but she had actually landed on her face. We were both being pretty cool about it, telling her, “It’s OK, its OK”, but the lady wouldn’t hear of it.

Another, rather attractive, young black guy with a huge white tractor had stopped, but he was just standing on the sidewalk, uncertain.
“Man,” he said, “I saw her fall. I pulled over right away. You gonna be alright?” he asked. My sister nodded and smiled, we both did, actually, and then the lady was back at us again. After a while the black guy left. It was really nice of him to stop, though.

People walking by on the sidewalk stopped to stare at the phenomenon- a teenage girl sitting next to her sister, with a scratched up face, next to two bikes, and a middle aged lady with bangs hovering over them, handing out paper towel which she found in her trunk- it was clean.

We started dabbing at my sisters’ many wounds- her teeth got unaligned, a corner of one chipped, both her knees were bleeding and the area under her eye was all red. Thank G-d she didn’t hit her head, neck or anything else important, and she was just banged up, as my mom puts it.

I realized we should probably call my mom; my sister didn’t want to bike home. She had stood up by this time, and was really doing OK. I gave her a hug, and then asked to borrow the lady’s phone.

“It’s so nice of you to stop, by the way.” I told her, taking her BlackBerry, or was it a Palm? “What’s your name?”

“Kris” She responded. Gosh, I am thankful she stopped. I dialed my house number but I couldn’t get through. The phone was a bit confusing, and it took me a while to figure out how to unlock it, because I had accidently locked it after my call. I didn’t want to ask Kris, because I was embarrassed- I mean, aren’t teens supposed to know this stuff off the bat? Once I had figured it out, I texted my Dad but he was at work, so he didn’t answer.

I was wondering what to do, and Kris offered us a ride home. I politely refused, and she wanted to know if it was because she was a stranger. I don’t remember what I said, but that was definitely one of the reasons. I mean, she was really, really sweet and all, totally being super helpful and I don’t know what we would have done without her, but I couldn’t take her offer.

She got a phone call then, and I realized we were outside a Doggy Grooming place. Now the fun began. I decided to go in and use their phone to call my mom to pick us up. A car drove by, slowed down, and a guy that reminded me of Channing Tatum leaned out with a concerned look on his face. I put my hand up to tell him it was cool, but thanks anyways. He smiled and sped off.

I went into the store. Almost immediately, I breathed in a mixture of mold, smoke, rust and old, old doggy. I nearly choked, but I was on a mission; I needed a phone. A big fat man with a white beard was leaning against the old wooden counter, and his bug-eyed pooch started to yip at me. I hesitantly circled around the fluffy white dog and said,

“Excuse me; can I please borrow a phone?” At the sound of my voice, two old grizzled heads seemed to pop up from the counter. A lady in a pink shirt with bright red lipstick applied way past her lip outline looked at me with squinty eyes. The other woman was black, with an old lady blouse, extra-long fake nails and spiked, gelled black hair. They looked at me for a while, as though not comprehending my simple request. I tried again, asking for a phone and explaining my need. “My sister fell off her bike,” I told them. “So I need a phone to call my mom.” Pink shirt slowly, cautiously handed me an old Motorola flip phone from 1867, as though it were actually valuable- maybe it was to her-and I thanked her and began to dial.

Suddenly, one of them said, “She just fell again!” I whirled around, the phone ringing by my ear, to see my sister with a terrified look on her face, running towards the door and opening it. In that second, I put two and two together and came up with seventeen.

My sister had been standing on the sidewalk. If she just fell, that must mean there’s probably something wrong with her brain! The lady was right; she DID hit her head! As I was hyperventilating through my discovery, my sister shattered my thoughts by saying, “She fainted!”

I know this is wrong, yet I cannot describe my feeling of relief. Everything would be alright, and luckily, because a friend of mine had fainted in my presence this past summer, I knew what to do. My sister didn’t seem to, though.

“Can you call 9-1-1 please? A lady fainted!” I barked at the old crones. They stared at me, the same as when my friend fainted.

Here’s a little something for you people. If there is G-d forbid a crisis, and someone else is taking action, just follow. If they say call 9-1-1, whip out your ultra-cool piece of slide-out plastic, dial the three digits, and just tell them where you are. They’ll come. And if no one like me is taking charge, then that is what you’re there for. Ok? But whatever you do, don’t just sit there and stare at me like I’ve got three heads or something. That position is reserved for the injured.

Well, the ladies continued to stare, and by this time the forgotten phone by my side had been answered; my mom was saying,
“Hello?” At that second, I was saying,
“Call 9-1-1!” Then I quickly said, “Mom, a lady fainted but it’s cool, don’t worry, my sister fell off her bike, but its fine…”

Luckily my mom isn’t the panicky type, so she waited patiently while I grabbed Kris’s phone from my sister’s hand. Thankfully, I already knew how to unlock it. I dialed the quick and easy number as I stepped over to Kris’s car, where she was sitting on the seat with her head against her arm. While I waited, I asked her her name, and she seemed to be OK, just very tired.

I nervously told the operator the wrong location (I was one block off, but at least I thought I was being calm and logical! Because that helped me to be calm and logical!) I kept asking them if they were coming and he said they’re sending someone out, but he was more intent on getting my information. He wanted a number, but stupid me didn’t have a cell phone.

Thankfully, Kris was doing Ok, and was able to give me her number, which I should have asked her anyways, aside from her name, to make sure she didn’t get brain damage or whatever.

After I hung up with 9-1-1, I remember talking to Kris, who told me she was on medication, hadn’t eaten all day, and faints a lot when stressed out. She sat by the a/c, she had water, and we both just stood there and watched her. I remember waiting and waiting for the ambulance to come. Five minutes is a long time when someone is so pale that they look dead. I think they came in four.

By this time, I had either called my mom back, or she had been on the phone the whole time- I don’t remember which. I was still using the Crone’s Motorola, and I asked my mom if my sister should get checked out by the guys, because that might require a parent to be there.

As the ambulance roared up, I waved slightly, and they pulled over. The first thing I remember is a nice looking fat guy saying, “This isn’t Woodward!” Where I had told him we were. “Oh,” I said, “I thought it was. I thought it was.” I think he said it wasn’t again, and I said I thought it was…I remember repeating it a lot.

The rest is such a blur-the crones and other gawkers filling the sidewalk as a Tom looking guy helped Kris out. All the by-standers wanted to know what had happened, and as I told a crone the story, some big guy walking by misheard it and asked if there had been a car crash. I patiently corrected him and told the story again.

“Is her shoulder OK?” he asked, looking at my sister. I looked at her shoulders; they seemed fine. Maybe a little bulky from the two shirts, but hadn’t this guy seen double shirts before?

“Yeah, I think so, why?” I was totally curious.

“I fell off my bike one time, and I busted my shoulder,” he replied, rubbing his shoulder as though it hurt.

“Oh”. I bit back a laugh. Just because he hurt himself there doesn’t mean someone else did. I asked my sister if her shoulder hurt, and then explained why I had asked. We were both cracking up.

Meanwhile, the ambulance guys, realizing Kris was stable and all, hung around and talked to my sister and I, which was easily the best part of the whole event because they were cute and hilarious. They seriously stood there, joking with a girl who had blood everywhere, although she was still wiping it up.

I let one of them talk to my mom, but he told her that my sister would have to go to the hospital if they checked her out. They said she looked OK, and just her cuts and scrapes would probably be fine.
I told one of them about Hatzola, and how fast they were, but he had no idea what I was talking about.
I explained to him that Hatzola is a Jewish Emergency response service, located all over the East Coast and Israel, and it comes in under five minutes, and sometimes less. I think I was still mad that they had taken their time.

The guy was all cool about it, although surprised that they were faster than he was. Loser. I told him that although we loved them, Hatzola is better.

At one point, my sister dropped the paper towel she’d been using to mop up her blood, and they all said,
“Hey, no littering!” But then she dropped her ice pack, and the funniest guy said,
“I think we better check her out for neurological disorders; she keeps dropping things!” But as she picked up the ice pack and dropped the other paper towel, the sergeant said,
“Nah, we just have that effect on women. When they’re around us they go all numb and drop things.” I was cracking up, but please, women do not go numb in his presence.

There was another funny guy who had a space between each tooth, freckles and ginger hair. The sight of him just cracked me up. So we hung around talking to them, and old Crone asked for her precious phone back, and I think-hope I thanked her.

My sister’s arm started to hurt a lot, and I made her get it checked out. They said it was swollen, and she should go to a doctor. They left after a while, taking Kris with them. I couldn’t thank her enough for stopping to help; I don’t know what I would have done if she hadn’t. Probably, I would have relied on the cute black guy, but still!

After a while of waiting in the boiling hot sun, my mom came with my little brother, aged 12. My sister got in the car, and he came out to ride the bikes home. I nearly got us killed while crossing the main street, rode over someone’s lawn because I lost balance, and got my shoelace caught on the pedal. One more rotation and I would have been thrown head over heels.

I was figuring that today was not my day, and maybe my number was up, because of all that stuff. But thankfully, we made it home safely, drank a lot, and then my father took my sister to the ER to get her painfully blown up arm checked out.

I showered. Wasn’t that the purpose of our whole adventure? Somehow, it wasn’t as fulfilling as I had thought it would be, although it sure felt good enough. Then I ate really fast and went to my sisters babysitting job. They thought she had been in a car crash; they were wrong. Thankfully. The job was great, the kids loved me and the feeling was mutual. But it just felt so good to come back home!

I knew I wouldn’t’ be able to sleep that night; stress and trauma don’t generally mix to a sound, dreamless night. So I stayed up, reading my friends blog from June-September, until 1 a.m. Then I slept till 5, tossed and turned till 6, and finally dozed fitfully until around 10.

My mother took my sister to some type of dentist on Thursday, so I had to babysit all day. So much for me starting school. I babysat. At least I got to hang out with my friends later that night. That was fun.

There are a couple of “Hand of G-d” things I’d like to point out, before I release you from my clutches.
1. We both wore helmets. Self-explanatory.

2. We had brought water. No one got dehydrated, and it was useful for the scrapes.

3. Kris stopped for us. She had been on the way to her doctors’, and ended up in the hospital. Not good, but at least she was able to help us and still be in medical hands.

4. I had used her phone, and figured out how to unlock it. The reason my sister, who took Kris’s phone out of her hands, hadn’t been able to call 911 is because she hadn’t been able to unlock it. Thank G-d I had figured it out before.

5. The ambulance came from the opposite direction. They had to pass our street before they reached the street we were supposedly on. If they hadn’t, I don’t know what would have happened.

6. My sister had gotten a root cannel in third grade, so when she chipped her tooth this time, it was the same tooth, and it didn’t hurt, so we didn’t have to rush her to the ER or anything.

7. The ambulance guys were so nice; they made it all fun and not stressful, like they do sometimes.

8. We didn’t go in the car with Kris; otherwise, as the funniest guy put it, we would have been in a CAR CRASH! (Because she would have fainted on the road.)

9. My neighbor lent us her car so my mom could pick us up. She is LEGIT the nicest lady I know. She also made us supper because she knew I was overworked and my mom was out all day Thursday.

10. Remember I had been biking and realized I was too far ahead? If I hadn’t realized that, I may have been way too ahead to know where my sister was. That would have been petrifying.

11. My sister had gone back for sunscreen, taken forever to choose a helmet, and finally leave; maybe that was to give Kris time to be there at the exact second.

Point is, you never know why things happen. Maybe my sister fractured her elbow to give me a higher work ethic. I hung up her laundry last night. Sigh. And guess who’s in charge of the dishes? And all other things required by a two armed girl over the age of twelve.

Ah well, it’s all good. Anyways, have a great weekend, y’all, and thanks for reading. I won’t ask for comments, because I know you guys know how much I like them, and I know you’re commenting right now.

Also, if you all want to see some of my pictures from Baltimore first half, my friend posted them on her blog. Here’s the link.