Last Thursday was supposed to be just another day when I didn't have to turn up and do my day job. Instead, I had to go to Bedford to pick up my rucksack from the University which I had left there the day before. What a pity. 15 years of accident free cycling were about to come to an end as I cycled across the Greyfriars roundabout in the centre of town. Now being a car driver, I know how to negotiate roundabouts - give way to traffic from the right and, if clear, off you go across the roundabout. This i did faultlessly. However, suddenly from my right, overtaking me came a white van. The driver, a moron, a dangerous moron, decided that he could overtake me and then turn left. Actually, he timed it to perfection, as he cut across in front of me, the van missed me by inches, however, the trailer he was towing did not.
Now when you are flying through the air heading for a fall, strange things pass through your mind. I remember years ago, in the bad old days when there was a dog at home, which was allowed to crap in the garden, my falling off the ladder when I was cleaning windows. As I headed towards the turf, I remember thinking 'please don't let me land in the dog shit'. And I didn't. On Thursday I remember thinking as I headed towards the tarmac in the middle of the roundabout, 'please don't let there be a car coming round the roundabout that's going to finish me off'. There was, but it didn't. Instead the driver swerved to a halt and enquired, as I stumbled to my feet, blood pumping from my hand which had been sliced open by the road surface, after my health. Which was good of him. Meanwhile van and trailer accelerated into the distance.
Luckily, I know Bedford and as I was getting myself together, I realised where I was. The roundabout was right in front of the poice station. So in I went. More good fortune followed. The desk sargeant was a Luton Town supporter and immediately spotted my Hatters team shirt which I was wearing under my cycling vest.
I was soon being attended to ahead of the other 'visitors' to the police station which included a dishevled looking chap sporting a pork pie hat and a serious drinking problem. He was soon ushered through the door behind the desk and they also knew his first name. Either a police informant called 'Lonely' as seen in Callan that well known spy series of the seventies or an undercover cop I thought.
There was also two old biddies that sat on a bench that was not covered with the blood which was still dribbling from the gash on my hand, who were giving me the once over.One of them asked me what happened. When I told her she said 'ohhh terrible, did you get his number?' I refrained from informing her that I had stupidly failed, whilst lying on the tarmac, to whip out a pencil and pad and quickly jot it down.
The rest of the day was spent either at the police station being tended to by paramedics called to attend me by my Hatters supporting friend, the local Bedford (crowded) hospital, and finally at the Luton hospital being stitched up and cleaned.
So what if anything did I learn? Well, the fact I was wearing a helmet was a plus point, a fact the paramedics pointed out. They also pointed out that had I beeen wearing cycling gloves I would have been relatively uninjured apart from the kind of injuries that are usually sustained as a child when taking a big tumble on the school playground. I also learned that police stations don't have first aid kits so carry your own, and if you are going to A and E take something to do (I manged to mark all my college work in the three hours I was waiting to be stitched up), and lastly if they want more people to cycle in this country bike lanes would be a really good idea in the middle of busy cities.
On reflection, I had been very lucky. Others will not be. And yes, I'm back on the bike.
