|This could be Cotton's basket, |
it's not but it could be.
1/10 of a second later: I braked. The bike came to a dead stop. In the bike's defense I'm just a toe short of being able to sit with my feet flat on the ground. This is generally not a problem as I've learn to hop off the seat, stand between the seat and handlebars, and manage the bike. I'm good like that. Of course my feet are not on the brakes--they are on the ground.
1.5/10 of second: My feet were on the ground, my body was in a forward motion, the bike chose to go with gravity. Gravity did its thing, the bike rolled backward toward the bottom of the hill. Thank you gravity for always being on the job.
Cotton produced a look of fear and prepared to jump ship. A ship too high to jump to safety on asphalt. To save his life, I gave the bike its head, let go of the handlebars, and snatched Cotton as he sailed toward the back asphalt of death.
|FYI: a horse with a head|
A hammer caught me in the ribs. A knife peeled a thin layer off the back of my right knee. I may have passed out for a moment when a second hammer (from the left pedal) found my Achilles heel.
Cotton waited for my recovery then demanded an explanation for putting his life in peril. My apologies, Cotton, and you're welcome for the midair hustle.