Sidebar: Breaking Falls
The good news: my foot broke the bike’s fall. If I irreparably damaged Teddy’s two months before we left for Los Angeles, I wouldn’t forgive myself.
The bad news: my foot broke the bike’s fall.
In the background, I heard the engine putter to silence as I remembered the last time I laid the bike down. It was in an abandoned parking lot, and the bike was at a standstill. I put her down to the pavement gently, and Teddy was right there.
“Well, good; at least now you can see how hard it is to lift that back up after laying her down,” he said.
I crouched down and heaved. The bike barely budged. How many pounds is it? I asked.
“About 500 pounds.”
Shit. At peak condition, I benched 200, dead lifted 225, and squatted 250 pounds. That was about forever ago.
Teddy helped me get the bike back upright. “Don’t worry about,” he said. “Just don’t do it again.”
I wish I listened to his advice.
There was no one on the street. My cell phone was charging back at Teddy’s house – two blocks away. My foot was trapped, but I didn’t think I broke it; my leg neither. The sweet smell of gasoline wafted into my nostrils.
My father said to me once, “It’s funny what people are capable of when they have no choice.” The discussion pertained to restaurant management. Applying the wise words towards lifting motorcycles wasn’t his intention.
But whatever works.
It took two tries, but I got her back up – armed with one foot and enough adrenaline to resurrect a dead rhinoceros.
I rode the bike back to Teddy – first gear only; trying to shift into second sent shooting pains into my left foot. After profuse apologies and some arguing, he convinced me to go to the hospital (“Why wouldn’t you go? That’s why you’re paying for your health insurance.”)
He drove me back to my house first – I drove a manual, and couldn’t use the clutch with my foot. Then I took my family’s minivan and drove him back, and returned home.
Afterwards, I called my cousin, asked her if she could drive me to the hospital. And to bring crutches, because I was getting tired of hopping around on one foot.
We’re sitting in Albany Medical 45 minutes later. I know the attending nurse; she’s a regular from the Restaurant. My x-ray’s are taken immediately, she writes me a prescription, and I’m back out the door in record time. My cousin drives me to the pharmacy, and helps get me inside the house. I heat up leftovers, and watch an episode of Entourage.
A smooth day, all things considered.
Had this happened in Los Angeles, it’d have been a different story.
No extra vehicle that happens to be available when I needed it.
No family available to help chauffeur me to and from the hospital, the pharmacy, back home.
No established relationships – from business or my personal life. In Los Angeles, I’m another face, another customer, another patient.
No house.
Probably no leftovers either. Certainly no on-demand cable.
It’s not easy to make the choice to give up everything. It can be done; but you must know how much you’re giving up.
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