I’m going to give you the ending to this story before I begin to tell it, not because it’s some clever film noir script, but because if my Mum reads the title she’ll freak out and worry that I’m lying in a ditch yet somehow able to write this post with my dying breaths. So, obviously the end is that I’m fine. I’m nursing a rather swollen right knee, feeling extremely stiff and sore the day after but I’m alive and walking and there’s no stitches.

Now for the story behind said injuries. The so called “Summer” here in Toronto seemed to last the first week I was here amidst the humid heat wave of mid 30′s, pffft, whatever… mid 30′s. Since that first week there’s been a mixture of rain that seems scheduled to start at 5pm each day and torrential downpour that just ruins the entire day. With that said I haven’t really had the opportunity to ride my lovely new bike to work; that is, until yesterday.

It was such a beautiful day, the sun was out, some light cloud cover of the fluffy white variety adorned the sky and a cool breeze flowed over me as I rode through the streets of downtown Toronto. So there I was, happily riding down King St heading towards work, a small bird had perched itself on my shoulder, the two of us whistling to the tune of Metallica’s “Enter Sandman” when all of a sudden a car door begins to open about 10 metres in front of me.

Now I can’t blame this guy for causing what was about to ensue but it was the catalyst. The door opened gently as they’d obviously not checked for anyone coming, be it car or bike for that matter, and I did what any cyclist would do, check my left shoulder and swerve out to avoid smashing into the door. That was all well and good, no problems getting out of the way there but in swerving out of the way of the car door I’d managed to get my bike tires firmly lodged in the rather deep rut of Toronto’s street car (tram) tracks.

From realizing I had my tires caught in the track and picking myself up off the ground to a resounding yell of “f@#k” took about 3 seconds, most of which was spent sliding along the asphalt in a sort of baseball like position on my right knee and shin. Brushing myself off inspecting the scene I’d remarkably not scratched any part of the bike frame nor any of my body besides the now large hole in my jeans and a sort of cheese grated knee. I was pretty happy with my fall skills, who knew that those two months in Boy Scouts would actually pay off!

The worst part of it all, other than today’s throbbing pain and swelling, is that because I’d passed the car a while back and slid so far on the ground it looked like I’d fallen off for no reason what so ever to those viewing the spectacle. I just looked like a complete numpty that didn’t know how to ride a bike. Good thanks!