Yesterday, I got on a bicycle for the first time in 34 years.  Well, check that, I tried to get on a bicycle.  My 14-year-old daughter Kari and I went down to the bike path by the Jordan River Parkway beside the apartment complex. I attempted to get on the bike and pedal, but realized, I had, in fact forgotten the sequence of steps of how you seat yourself, reach for the pedals, balance yourself.  What is this sequence?  Can any of you describe it? I think the seat was also too high.  At any rate, I didn't even manage a full revolution of the wheel before it wobbled sharply to the right, pulled me off the pavement, and then neither Kari nor I is sure what happened.  I was thrown, landed face first on the embankment, sliding down to the river.  Blood everywhere.

Kari, though terrified, had the presence of mind to run for a neighbor, and yelled this to me as she left.  I managed to crawl back up onto the pavement while she was gone.  The neighbor cleaned me up and got me to an Instacare. Diagnosis: “really badly” (doctor's words) broken nose, gash on right leg, banged up left hand, but no fingers broken, road rash on face, and bad cuts on nose and chin.  No concussion, no eye injuries, no knocked-out teeth, no broken limbs or back or neck injuries.  I am so lucky for Kari being there, for my neighbor being there, and for relaxing on impact which reduced the injuries.  It could have been so much worse. As I write this, my face is incredibly swollen, but I can still see, I haven't needed the pain medication, and my left hand is splinted, but I can still type. The business trip to Mauai Wednesday will likely be canceled, but I should be able to return to work this week and scare the heck out of my colleagues with my bloated, bruised face.

So when someone uses the expression, “like riding a bicycle” about memory of basic experiences, tell them it ain't so.