Camille’s Journal Entry #3: On how I broke my wrist and why I hate bike paths (and taxis).
One fine Monday evening this past August, I broke my wrist in what might be the dumbest and lamest bike crash.
On Monday August 4th, I met up with Eric at his work place. The plan was to go to his apartment, pick up some of his stuff, enjoy the sunny evening with friends, then head back to my place to work on the launch of the blog.
We made it to step 3.
The sunny evening was not so sunny in the end, so we decided it would be best to just call it off and go work on the blog. As we were leaving the Plateau and making our way to the South-West, using the Laurier bike path and respecting all road signs, might I ad, I broke my wrist.
At the impressive speed of 15 km/h (or even less), I crashed and broke my wrist. Also hurt my ass (and ego) a little.
I actually crashed into Eric. He did not fall though. He’s good like that.
However, in my defence, it was the fault of a car, a taxi-van for handicapped people to be precise.
As we were starting to cross Henri-Julien Street, where cyclists and cars alike don’t have a stop sign, the driver in the van decided it was really time to go home and accelerated to cross Laurier Street. Right behind us, also about to cross the street, literally with a foot in it, there was a bunch of pedestrians. Also, a group of three lovely old ladies had just barely made it to the other sidewalk. Well, you get it, it was definitely not the taxi’s turn to move.
But he did. And quite fast.
Very scientific reconstitution of the scene.
See, Eric and I were riding slow, pretty close to each other as we were discussing dinner plans or something like that. So when we had to turn to avoid crashing into that dumb taxi-van, well my front wheel caught into his back wheel, causing me to fall/slide slowly onto my left side. Told you it was a lame accident.
Eric went after the van, to tell him he was a reckless driver and that he made me fall.
And I was just sitting there, in the middle of the Laurier/Henri-Julien intersection, very confused, a little out of breath, and holding my wrist with my right hand.
Little old ladies: Miss, are you fine?
Yours truly: Yes, I broke my wrist. (Louder) Eric, I broke my wrist.
To which everyone was like, yeah no, it’s not broken.
Eric picked me up and sat me on the curb and went back to school the taxi driver on road safety. I started to worry about a potential u-lock-in-the-windshield moment, but Eric kept kinda’ cool and made the driver take me to the hospital. It was super convenient, there was even room for my bike in the cab, ha! (Wish I had a picture of that, but I was concentrating really hard not to puke)
So yeah, I now hate bike paths, taxis, and Laurier streets always makes me a bit nervous, but my arm is now fine-ish.
And in a funny way, breaking my wrist just made Eric and I’s friendship/relationship stronger. I guess that’s what happen when you assist someone to undress in an emergency room.
Also shout out again to Bianca for making us (especially me) look like a decent, not overtly awkward, humans.