Puppy Rescue!!!

We went camping with the kids last weekend. And I came home with a large purple bruise on my side: thank you bicycle for the lovely color. At least the purple is not visible when I'm dressed. I'd be more grateful if my own bike had not stabbed me in the ribs. Wait, from the sound of all this, you'd think I did not have control of my own bike.

This could be Cotton's basket,
it's not but it could be.

Let's talk about control: I was stopping. There no obstacles. All systems in working order. Cotton behaving in his little basket. I was coasting up a slight incline, already slowing down. Gravity in my favor. Does that not sound like control? For the record, it felt like control.

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

Did you know that bikes are not at all like horses? When you "give a horse his head," he checks his pace and heads toward home, water, feed. Anything familiar. Bikes do not crave the familiar. They relinquish. They tumble, turn, twist, tangle. Nothing familiar to themselves or to their riders. Bikes are acrobats with hammers and knives. 

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.