Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 696.

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Wuthering Dormice
(aka Bike)
Part 696
by Angharad
  
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By the time I got home, I was twitchy–I don’t mean my head jerked in a nervous tic or an eye kept winking, or anything like that, but I was definitely twitchy. I was tired but the caffeine kept me awake and somewhere not entirely alert but my reactions were hyper. My legs felt restless and I couldn’t stand or sit comfortably, they kept wanting me to move them.

“Why don’t you go for a ride?” Stella suggested, “I’ll watch Meems.” The youngest of my charges was busy painting a picture of something known only to her. It looked like it might have come from another planet, it had three legs to start with. Mark Cavendish is from the Isle of Man, where the triskele is the official logo, but as far as I know, he only has two–I was going to say the same as everyone else, but Cav isn’t. He has the ability to go from cruising speed to forty miles an hour in a very short distance.

Before Stella could withdraw her largesse I ran upstairs and changed into some shorts and shirt, pulled on my cycle shoes and grabbing a water bottle, filled it at the sink. I told Mima I’d be back soon, and I don’t think she even noticed I’d entered the room, let alone spoken to her. Glancing at her painting once again–Pre-Raphaelite, it wasn’t.

The tyres on both my bikes needed some air, so I did all of the tyres, it helps to prevent the rubber perishing. Then taking the Scott, I tightened my helmet strap and set off for the downs. In about ten minutes, I was out of the city and up into the countryside, or as close as one can get to it in a sub-urban environment.

The first climb had me puffing like an asthmatic steam engine and my legs were burning. Instead of continuing the climb, I went along a fairly level road for a breather, then climbed again eventually reaching the top of the escarpment and a viewpoint where I stopped and drank some water. I removed my helmet and cooled off as much as I could. Apart from an ice cream van, I seemed to be the only other occupant of the car park.

I took another swallow of water. “You haven’t just climbed that hill on that, have you?” asked the ice cream vendor, nodding at my bike. I wondered if he was stupid or just making conversation–I mean I was dressed like a cyclist, red faced and sweating, and holding a bike at the top of a hill.

“No, I just parachuted in, I’m an illegal alien, the bike is just a ruse.”

“I thought so, you’re far too pretty to be a cyclist, they’re all ugly as sin.”

“I hope you aren’t including Vicky Pendleton or Nicole Cooke in that statement.”

“Who?”

“Olympic gold medallists for cycling.”

“Are they? I wouldn’t know ‘em if I sold ‘em an ice cream. Wanna buy one, I can do you a special offer?”

“I didn’t bring any money with me, so I’m sorry I can’t.”

“Tell you what, I’ll give you an ice cream, if you…”

“I think this car park is getting very crowded all of a sudden.” I put my bottle back in the rack and put my helmet back on.

“’Ang on a minute, I’m only joking, ya know.”

“I don’t eat ice cream,” I lied, my stomach rumbling in protest at my deceit.

“I don’t believe you, a pretty woman like you, they all like ice cream.”

“I’m not a woman, I’m a boy.” I was telling the truth and I knew he wouldn’t believe me, they never do.

“Yeah, sure you are, with ti–a chest like that, and a bum to die for.”

“The chest is silicon and the bum is all padding,” I lied.

“If that’s the case, I think I might be turning gay.”

“What’s wrong with that? Might improve your perspective on life and stop you accosting women.”

“See I knew you was teasin’ me.”

I heard the sound of tyres and to my horror, a Sunset red Range Rover turned into the car park and on stopping, out jumped a yappy terrier, followed a moment later by Mrs B-C in her green wellies. “Good Lord, Lady Cameron, fancy seeing you here.”

“See, I knew you was a woman.”

“What is this man saying? Knew you were a woman, she’s married to Lord Cameron, who probably owns your overdraft, you moron.”

“It’s my fault, Mrs Browne-Coward, he was trying to chat me up, so I told him I was a boy.”

“I don’t think you’ll ever disguise that figure as anything but delightfully female. Really, my dear, have you ever thought of modelling?”

“Cameron, as in bank?” interrupted the ice cream man.

“Yes, you oaf, maybe you need to go to the optician, get your ears checked, too.”

“Bloody ‘ell. You can pay for your own bloody ice cream, the interest you lot are charging me.”

“You can stick your ice cream,” I replied, “I’m off to increase your bank charges.”

“Bitch,” I heard called after me as I waved goodbye to Petunia’s mother and clipped into the pedals.

The downhill ride was easier in terms of physical effort, although some gravel which had collected in the middle of the road caused my back wheel to flip out at one point, which at fifty miles an hour is quite scary, especially while bouncing in the saddle on the unevenness of the road surface.

To cap it all, a boy racer decided to overtake me. There I am doing fifty on quite a narrow country lane, and testosterone knickers, decides whatever I can do, he can do faster. He was in one of those Subaru death machines, the one with the IQ of the driver indicated by the number of stars on the front grill.

Anyway, as we are approaching a crossroads, with admittedly right of way in our favour, I’m still zipping along with the metallic blue kamikaze hard on my heels, waiting for the smallest opportunity to overtake. Then maybe thirty or forty yards before the junction he revved furiously and passed me, just as a white van decides to cross the junction. In the UK ‘white van man’ is used ubiquitously to describe appalling driving. This one was well below par.

As the van crossed the junction, boy racer clipped his rear. The Subaru went up on the bank and through a hedge, the white van spun round ninety degrees and came straight at me, the driver wrestling with the wheel as he plunged headlong at me. I had no option but to fling myself off the bike and into the hedgerow and I heard the van drive over my Scott and smash into the banking–all of this as I cannoned off the banking and onto the gravelly road, leaving a few bits of skin and lycra on the tarmac.

Dazed and shaking, I rose to my feet and tried to assess the situation. The engine of the van was still revving although the van was stuck in the bank, the driver was half through the windscreen a large tree having stopped his progress but probably killed him at the same time.

I leant in through the broken window in the door and switched off the engine. Diesel was seeping all over the road. I picked up my bike, the frame was smashed. Crossing the road I looked through the hole in the hedgerow, the blue chariot was upside down and looked as if it had rolled several times.

New arrivals on the scene started to take some charge of the situation. “You alright, luv?”

I wasn’t, my favourite bike was wrecked and so was my matching strip, and I realised my leg and buttock were painful and bleeding, so was my elbow. “What happened?” asked another newcomer.

“I was coming down the hill at quite a lick, the car in the field overtook me just as the van crossed the junction, he caught the tail of it, the van spun round and nearly hit me. I jumped off but the bastard got my bike.”

“It’s only a bike, luv.”

“Only a bike, it’s six thousand quid’s worth of bike.”

“What! You’re joking?”

“No, I’m bloody well not. And the bastard who caused it is probably dead, so I can’t even sue him.”

“That’s rather harsh, isn’t it?”

“Look, mister, if some halfwit in a van had just tried to kill you, I doubt you’d feel kindly towards him either.”

“This one’s alive,” called someone over in the field.

The sound of sirens began to fill the air and as I realised what had happened, I began to feel very sick and started to shake. Next moment I was chucking up my meagre breakfast and collapsing onto the bank.

I didn’t feel them take me into an ambulance, but I was awake when we got to the hospital. I could just see them now, “Not you again?”

To cut a long story short. After a cursory exam, I was sent for x-rays and a scan of my abdomen. “You’re not pregnant, luv, are you?” I shook my head. “ ’cos we need to check your spleen.” I nodded my understanding.

An hour later, a familiar face came around the curtain, “What on earth are you doing here?”

“Go away, I’m too old for a paediatrician,” I said back to him.

“What happened?” I told him and he said he’d been passing when they called him in to look at an injured child.

“Not in a blue Subaru, was it?”

“Yeah, her mother was driving it.”

“It was a woman driving?”

“Yeah, why?”

“She was driving like a boy racer.”

“Well, you can get girl racers, too. Looking at your kit, you’re one.”

“That’s different. I had right of way, the car shouldn’t have tried to overtake at a junction, and the van should have stopped.”

“There’s a copper waiting to see you, seems like you’re the only witness.”

“What about the woman driver?”

“She’s in theatre, blood clot on the brain, there’s a helicopter en route to take her to Southampton neuro unit.”

“And the kid?”

“Multiple fractures.”

“I’m not fostering any more,” I said almost laughing.

“No need, the father is on his way, and Simon is on his to collect you.”

“The van driver?”

“DOA, left half his cerebellum in a tree, according to the paramedics.”

“It was his own fault, the bastard wrecked my bike.”

“I suspect he did the same to his van.”

“My bike is worth more than his stupid van.”

“Surely not?” Sam Rose looked horrified.

“A 2009 model is around seven grand.”

“Seven thousand quid for a push bike? What is it, gold plated?”

“No carbon fibre.”

“Even so, seven thousand–that’s a lot of money.”

“It was a lot of bike.”

“Can’t you reuse any of it?”

“Chummy drove his van over it, broke everything, including the wheels.”

“You weren’t on it at the time were you?”

“No, I threw myself off it, hence the tarmac burns.”

“And the broken fingers.”

“What?”

“You’ve got two broken fingers on your left hand.” I looked at my hand, two fingers were strapped together. “I did a similar thing playing rugger.”

“Wonderful,” I said and felt a few tears run down my face.

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Comments

Cathy sure is a trouble

Cathy sure is a trouble magnet! All that death and destruction because someone wanted to drive just a little faster! I really don't understand some drivers. And the bike, trashed again! Doesn't sound like it's salvageable this time. Good thing she still has the Ruby!

Saless

"But it is also tradition that times *must* and always do change, my friend." - Eddie Murphy, Coming To America


"But it is also tradition that times *must* and always do change, my friend." - Eddie Murphy, Coming To America

Subaru...

Puddintane's picture

Through odd coincidence, I drive a black Subaru Forester, but only because it's the only vehicle with a constellation as its logo. The logo represents the Pleiades, whose name in Japanese happens to be, you guessed it, Subaru. It also means "united," which is, one supposes, why they chose it as the name for the merger of five smaller corporations to form one big one.

They used six stars in the logo, although people with good eyesight can see seven on a good night, and of course there are many more, at least 500, although many are very small stars.

I'm pretty sure my IQ is at least twice the number of stars on the grill, though, and in the San Francisco Bay Area, Subaru Foresters are the official dyke transportation; not too girly, not too macho, the perfect sculpture transportation vehicle... and it has a cargo rack on top, so one can easily strap on a couple of bikes.

Cheers,

Puddin'

-

Cheers,

Puddin'

A tender heart is an asset to an editor: it helps us be ruthless in a tactful way.
--- The Chicago Manual of Style

Death Machines?

I'm guessing that the Subaru Impreza WRX is a bit of a terror on the country lanes in the UK as they have lots of horsepower (over 300 in Europe and the UK since 2000 or so), very high cornering capabilities, and aren't expensive (plenty of youthful drivers). Of course, with that combination, when things go bad, they go very bad.

Now that does sound like a death machine.

Puddintane's picture

Not at all like my "sensible-shoes" compact estate car at roughly half the horsepower.

Cheers,

Puddin'

-

Cheers,

Puddin'

A tender heart is an asset to an editor: it helps us be ruthless in a tactful way.
--- The Chicago Manual of Style

The Best Line Yet

I'm not fostering anymore! Maybe she will foster a new bike, though.

    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine
    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine

Ok, Cathy Should NOT Be Riding a Bicycle...

anymore! Every time she tries to, someone either wrecks next to her, wrecks her, or tries to kill her. Heck! Parliament should now ban Bicycle riding because people have the potential to die and hurt others horribly in accidents. Geez! Aunty, you make bicycle riding in England sound a bit like a warzone.

Cathy should consider staying off of one now, she has others depending on her too much to afford losing her for a silly whim that seems to be deadly. I wonder what her insurance rates are up to now anyways?

Sephrena Lynn Miller
BigCloset Topshelf
TGLibrary.com

Maybe one or more of those drivers is insured and Cathy

will get a replacement for her bike. Guess I shouldn't joke about one dead and one in critical condition though. What is it with Cathy and bike riding lately. Maybe she needs to take up track riding.

Both drivers ...

... must be insured or face being charged by the police as insurance is a legal requirement throughout the UK. Even if they aren't insured the Motor Insurance Bureau (run by the insurance companies) will pay out for Cathy's bike. I was knocked off my bike by the driver of a car that was uninsured, untaxed and had no valid test certificate and I got a full payout that way. I got a new hand-built frame and all the damaged components replaced as well as something for my injuries. I was also compensated because I had to forgo my usual week's sailing on the company yacht as first mate - can't be bad, though I'd rather have gone yachtin' in the Clyde and Irish Sea.

Fortunately I was cycling home from work so the Union's solicitor took up my case free of charge.

Perhaps Cathy would have been wiser to slow down a bit and let the nutter overtake but I must confess I don't think I would have done. In fact I did a similar thing today when a car tried to over take just before a bend I knew I could get round safely at the speed I was riding. As a friend of mine once said drivers think cyclists disobey the laws of Physics by getting from place to place at zero velocity and occupy no space on the road because they're infinitely thin.

Oh, and track riding has its moments too :)

Another exciting episode, Angharad. I'm just glad my life is relatively dull.

Geoff

Well written.

It's odd to say this, but as you described Cathy's caffeinated state, and Stella's suggestion to go on a ride, I immediately thought "Uh oh." I didn't expect this big of an uh oh, but the accident was well foreshadowed.

I especially liked the banter between Cathy, the ice cream man, and Mrs. Browne-Coward. Cathy is finally starting to accept her place in Simon's family, as well as her skills of fending off the lech (the ice cream guy). Maybe there is hope for civility between the two ladies.

I doubt the civility was due to real feeling

Browne-Coward is clearly a notorious Brown-noser and knows when she has been outclassed in the Social Pecking order department so she is just doing what she does reflexively.

Kim

Civil vs. Friendly

That's why I chose the term civil over friendly. You don't have to like someone to be civil toward them, and even that level of civility is a step up from the outward dislike she has shown in past chapters.

I WAS going to say...

thanks for more cycle riding... But, of course there HAS to be an accident...

Sounds like she actually came off pretty well. Flying through the air, and landing at that speed could easily have done a WHOLE LOT more damage. Sorry to hear the others were hurt so much. Wonder who the cop will be... The lady cop that didn't like her, or maybe PC Bond again... :-)

One wonders if perhaps someone actually DID see Cathy let the air out yesterday... Perhaps a nun that reads non-characteristic literature. Maybe Cathy should have just told the Headmistress that the girls were reading stories about Drew/Gaby. She'd understand, I think.

Thanks,
Annette

Not My Favorite Chapter

Bored, were we? Cathy doesn't have enough situations to resolve, and hasn't been injured enough times in this tale, that you just decided to throw in another near-death experience? This furthers the story, how?

By the way, the physics of purposely launching oneself sideways off a moving bicycle are a bit inefficient. There's virtually nothing to push off against. On or off the seat, you're going 50 mph in the forwardly direction. Better to stay on, pitch it into a lean and ride it off the road, out of the way of the oncoming vehicle. The physics of the vehicular collision are a bit off, too. As described, the collision should have propelled the van away from Cathy, not towards her. Inertia tends to make things move in the direction in which they were already heading. In the case of the collision, some inertia transfers from one vehicle to the other.

Then, there's the issue of Cathy's reaction to the death of the van driver. Doesn't seem right.

This is a great tale. It's amazing that it's been so overwhelmingly wonderful through so many chapters. For the record, I've thoroughly loved most of the other 695 of them!

Physics

Puddintane's picture

Interesting problem. Just off hand, the level of detail is sufficient to imagine that it represents a real road crossing somewhere in the vicinity of the author's home, or at least I'm inclined to believe so, despite that the description is not photographic. So the question is if, on a particular stretch of road, one can achieve a more rapid change in vector through veering off with a sharpish twist of the handlebars, mindful of the fact that banking is mentioned which would probably preclude actual steering, or leaning over and heaving one's body over the embankment and into the hedgerow behind.

Just as one can steer into a tight circle, angled over to present the right orientation to the combined vectors of gravity and centrifugal force, one can treat a rolling bicycle as a surprisingly stable platform upon which one may, if sufficiently young and flexible, perform quite amazing stunts.

It's not the weight of the bike that counts, but the coefficient of friction between the tyres and the road.

To me, this sounds slightly more plausible than that one might instantly convert a road bike into a cross-country mountain machine with a wish. Steering into the banking seems likely as not to bounce one back on the macadam in short order, the front wheel a pretzel which has left one hurtling headfirst into the oncoming truck, followed closely by the bike itself.

The only thing missing from the scenario is how quickly Cathy can un-click her cleats from their pedal mechanisms.

Cheers,

Puddin'

-

Cheers,

Puddin'

A tender heart is an asset to an editor: it helps us be ruthless in a tactful way.
--- The Chicago Manual of Style

Re not my favorite chapter

Pippa,

Regarding your comment:

'Then, there's the issue of Cathy's reaction to the death of the van driver. Doesn't seem right.'

I think that shock has a strange effect on most people, don't you?

Hugs
Sue

I wonder .....

Despite the typical mayhem that seems to accompany our girl Cathy everywhere, on or off a bike for that matter, that we enjoy so much, I suspect there is an ulterior motive on Bonzi's part ( it's always Bonzi when one sees devious ulterior motives in the writing :) ).

Did anybody notice that she is getting her ABDOMEN examined ? I hope, I hope, I hope ...

^_^.

Also I think Cathy is finally learning to face reality that as Lady Cameron she will have to accept certain 'stuff' to happen to her, socially and since she is a scientist one would expect one to face facts.

Kim

Ooh Angharad, Got what I

Ooh Angharad,

Got what I asked for, in spades, did I not?

I only remarked that not much had happened lately apart from the daily grind of mother and Hausfrau life, and you come back with THIS. Thank you for reminding me to be careful what I wish for.

And yes, Kimmie, I DID notice she will have an abdomen examination. That reminds me, BTW, of a chat I had yonks ago with a South Asian Houseman in a smallish hospital casualty department, about a GP who had sent a patient to him with the request "Query abdomen?".

He replied back with "Abdomen present."

Bloody good writing BTW, Angharad.

Briar

Briar

I did start

to think just after Cathy was involved in the accident and was told that a child was in the car... oh no here we go again! Thankfully the poor little girl has still got her father. Although it does not sound to good for the mother!

With episode 700 only days away i'm starting to wonder if Angharad is setting in place something to mark the occasion, I won't speculate (i'd be wrong anyway!) But there do seem to be a few clues about that something is afoot!!!

Kirri

It's not episode 700 I'm worried about ....

I'm more worried about episode 730. Angharad seems to have a thing for the "annual" episodes (at least with what happened in episodes 365 and 366).

Cathy

Wendy Jean's picture

Was almost killed there, and someone did die. Wonder if they are going to try to charge her with something, seems they have never missed an opportunity before. Why should this be different?

Brown-Cow was rather nice, wasn't she

Cathy must have the reflexes of a cheetah to only have road rash.
Her rides on the Scott have been interesting, maybe the water bottle survived.
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Maybe Simon will spring for a ladies Pinarello , in red of course!

Cefin