Beasties

Cycling along happily, I’d just covered 16km by the time I got to my favourite part of the home stretch – a tall and steep hill.

At the crest, I take a sip from my now tepid camel pack and adjust my helmet. You never know what could happen on two wheels. English drivers act like they have to get everywhere in a hurry.

Kind of like NYC traffic – only more space to move.

With a quick glance at the speedo, I start to pick up speed, pushing myself faster, the few cars behind slowly overtaking me.

It was a fun ride, but I needed a shower. Not just need; screw you very much, Sir, get out of my way needed a shower.

Faster, about a quarter of the way down the hill, just touching 30km/h after a glance at the handlebar-mounted computer, when suddenly this little pocket-sized rat-dog-thing suddenly dives out and attacks me. “Shit,” I say, lifting the front then rear wheels off the ground, bunny hopping like a madwoman. As I lift off, I look back to make sure I cleared the beastly little creature.

My head snaps around, just in time to see a car skidding to a halt, heading straight towards me. As I force gravity to take effect and whip the tail around, I realise I’m tilting too far sideways. The front and rear suspension compress then rebound, throwing me off and over the handlebars. I scream as I do a close approximation of Supergirl flailing ineffectually in the air and feel a sudden dull pain as my right shin connects with the hood of the rusting, aged Renault PoS.

I land heavily on my shoulder, rolling out of the fall. Adrenalin coursing through my veins making me heedless of my injury, I threw my helmet at the dog then pick up my bicycle, punching the offending vehicle as I go by, muttering about the damage to my front wheel. Then proceed to limp home.

Later I found that I’d snapped my shin right through, so now I’m stuck in a cast for six weeks.

Fucking stupid little yappy thing.