So, I was just about to pull the plug on this blog. (Not to worry, my new blog explaining why I almost stopped blogging will be up soon with a Twitter account synched to my Facebook status updates and Google Latitude). Before I decided to kill this one, I thought I’d check my BikeNewHaven e-mail account one last time. It was cluttered with bike shit as expected, and looked like it would take hours to sift through, but at the top was a glimmer of hope. A turd blossom, if you will. There at the top of the inbox was, to my surprise, a message indicating that someone had left a comment on my “about” page the day before.
Since I hadn’t posted in months, and since I didn’t know anyone by the name that was left, I thought this was a bit strange. Even more odd, I wondered what had driven me to check this e-mail account after months of neglect. Was it a supernatural phenomenon drawing me to that particular in-box? A case of e-ESP? Was it just another bot stopping by to say, “nice$@blog*# checfdk out these sites:”.
These questions and many more took up the better part of 10 seconds this morning as I decided whether or not to open the ominous e-mail. I put on my safety goggles and a fresh pair of latex gloves and clicked the link, only to find a bizarre tale of cycling misadventures, complete with a paranormal encounter with a famous historical figure. I’m sure you’re all dying to hear, so without further explanation, I give to you, “The Very Strange Tale of Scott Leventhal,”
This morning, 10:30 Memorial Day, started my ride from Orange Street near Nikita’s Market. Doing everything I’m suppose to be doing, traveling in the Bike Lane (which is a fucking joke) towards East Rock when I got T-Boned by a Minivan coming from the other side of Lawerence (where it intersects with Orange). I woke-up on Lawrence Street with my bike about 15 feet further down the road and my glasses in pieces still up on Orange. A witness/ jogger stopped and asked me if I was OK so, after I rolled over and spit out some blood I told her I thought I would be able to get-up and get out of the road. She turns to me and says “well the driver stopped, wasn’t that good of him.” Are you fucking kidding me? Am I really suppose to be appreciative that the shit head who blew through the stop sign and flashing red stop signal therein almost killing me was good enough to stop? WTF, do people out there really hate bicyclists that much where it’s now considered merely politeness that they pull over to see if we’re still breathing rather than just go about their own business? Turns out the guy who hit me was an Alien (don’t know yet if he was an illegal) with an (I shit you not) ID listing him as Abraham Lincoln. I was en-route to the Hospital before I could learn the final outcome of the police investigation but the police officer stuck a business card and case number into my hand before I left the scene. Un-Fucking believable, of all the Yale Grads in Town this weekend for graduation I have to and get hit by the namesake of the 16th President on Memorial Day who likely has no insurance (but likely a valid New Haven Alien ID).
Thanks Scott, the only thing I would add is God Bless America. You’ve got everything else though, a good intro, an interesting hook, introduction of conflict, and then just when the reader thinks he knows where it’s going, BAM! Abraham Lincoln comes to the party.
In all seriousness, Scott, if you’re reading, I hope you got to the graduation ceremony and are now back home resting.
We’re lucky enough to have the law firm of Jonathan Mills located here in New Haven. They’re good at representing cyclists in these situations. If you haven’t already, give them a call.
BTW, I’m assuming you’re from out of town for these three reasons:
- You called Nica’s Market Nikita’s.
- You actually used the bike lane on Orange Street.
- You used the phrases “Un-Fucking believable” and “I shit you not.”
Nikkita’s. Okay, that’s an honest mistake. No harm, no foul.
Orange Street bike lane – not okay, but also an honest mistake. You, like countless others, assumed that bike lane means “safe for cyclists to travel here” (—–>). That’s a logical assumption. Unfortunately, the Orange Street lane was installed as part of the bike lane pilot program several years ago. The planners, in their naivete, thought Orange Street would be perfect since it’s a good mix of residential and commercial, well-traveled but not too busy, and quite scenic.
It is all these things and more: it’s too narrow! In fact, by today’s standards Orange Street would never be considered for a bike lane. I’m sorry you learned this the hard way, Scott. For everyone else: the safest place to be is in the street!
The last point still had me confused though, and once again reaching for paranormal explanations. Your choice of words in the story signaled to me that you are a foreigner of some sort, though I couldn’t quite figure out from where at first. I researched some of the language you used and according to this webpage, you may be a time traveler from the 1990s. This would also explain your astonishment with our treatment of alien residents.
I’m sorry to blow your cover, Scott, but I think it maybe necessary to save humanity. Clearly you have come here to learn, and we have much to teach you in 2009.
There will be a man from Texas, the son of a bad man, as prophesied by Flava Flav in “Son of a Bush,” who will come to power and say some of the most hilarious phrases ever uttered by a world leader. (If you don’t believe me watch this video hosted by a time-eradication device we invented named, YouTube). The rest of the World will then laugh at how stupid we’ve become and as a result stop purchasing American made cars, leading to the second Great Depression. This is why grammar is so important, Scott!
Also, sometime in the early 2000s, we will grant immunity to our least fluent citizens and name them after our country’s forefathers in honor of our inarticulate 43rd President. This fills at least one gap in your story.
What about the perp, you ask? Well, I was able to track down the whereabouts of that maniacal minivan driver. It seems he has already repatriated and in a twist of irony has set up his own driving school just to mock us from afar.
I know this is a lot to take in right now, but to put it in the parlance of your time; “It’s All Good!”