The Kindness of Strangers - Part 2

** Story continued from previous post **

My bike pack didn’t fit correctly on the new bike, so I rigged it as best I could to the front frame and set off.

It was exhilarating. The towering pines. The still-cool, fresh air. I had been biking for only 10 minutes, not realizing that my bike pack was working its way loose from the frame.

Without warning, the pavement was approaching at warp speed. I put both hands out to meet it, attempting to break the fall and protect my head. Seconds later, I was flat on the ground, the bicycle partially perched on top of me.

I attempted to get a sense of what had happened. The bike pack was lying on the ground under the front wheel. It had fallen into the front spokes as I whizzed down the path, stopping the bike in an instant and hurtling me to the ground.

A man and his son biked by slowly. The young boy looked concerned and I heard him quietly ask his dad if I was okay. “Are you alright?” the father asked.

“Sure, yes … I’ll be fine,” I automatically responded.

I caught him glancing back at me, apparently not convinced. But, he continued on.

There was a hole in my favorite Nike workout jacket. And, the pavement had clearly won the fight in multiple places along my arms and hands.

I picked up the bike pack, then the bike – it had apparently escaped injury by landing on me. Something wasn’t right. I noticed a horrible pain searing through my wrist and up my arm as I lifted the bike. I put it back down, and attempted to lift it with the other hand. Same result.

I attempted to stay calm, but couldn’t help but dwell on the fact that I had, apparently, injured both of my arms in the fall, was bleeding, and still needed to get home.

No problem. A few turns and I would be back to the house in no time.

The homes of Sun River are laid out in a repeated Circle 8 kind of design. You can easily end up looping around the same neighborhood if you don’t know exactly where to turn. But, I knew where I was going. I wasn’t terribly worried.

Until I realized that I was looping around the same neighborhood … unfortunately not the one occupied by the house I was staying in.

By this time, I wasn’t feeling well. I was steering with the hand and arm that hurt the least. The other, which I couldn’t move at all, was holding the wretched bike pack.

I was feeling light-headed. I noticed two men, maybe 7 houses ahead of me, on their bikes. It looked like they were slowing down, heading for one of the houses at the end of the cul-de-sac.

I stashed away my pride, prayed that they weren’t crazed lunatics, and yelled, “Help … please!”

It came out as a squeak.

I yelled again and kept pedaling. Still not loud enough.

I yelled a third time. They had heard me. They got off their bikes and came toward me. “Are you hurt?” one of them asked, an obvious look of concern on his face as his eyes quickly scanned over torn clothing and bloody patches of skin.

The other simply said, “You need to get to a doctor. Are you staying around here?”

They placed my bike in the trunk of their car as I told them the address. Within a few minutes, we were there. Unfortunately, my friend and her aunt were not.

They decided to try the small, local medical office in Sun River. Our shoulders slumped as we read a sign taped to the door, explaining that the office was closed for Memorial Day weekend. They offered to take me to the hospital in Bend.

I convinced them that my friend and her aunt would be returning from their walk soon. An 8-month pregnant woman couldn’t get too terribly far!

Sure enough, as we drove up the driveway, they walked up to the house – looks of question and concern plastered across their faces as they watched me exit this unfamiliar car as the bike was removed from the trunk.

I shared a measly, but heartfelt, “Thank you so very much” with these two men who had been so kind, so concerned for the well-being of a complete stranger. Did they miss out on exciting plans while shuttling me around? Hard to say … they never uttered one word about their missed opportunities, only words of concern that I find the care I needed.

My friend and her aunt drove me to the hospital in Bend; then proceeded to spend their precious vacation time waiting with me in the emergency room. It was a long day of x-rays and exams, and my very pregnant friend endured hard plastic chairs as she waited. She uttered not a single word of complaint (though, I’m certain she was dreaming of the oh-so-soft and supportive chairs she could be sitting in back at the house!). She helped me with hospital paperwork (my wrists/hands were useless!) and – upon arriving at home – even washed and dried my hair (again with the useless hands).

In the weeks that followed, my husband got to experience washing and drying my hair while my wrists healed to the point of being usable again. I remember no words of complaint from him either (though I do remember a few complaints being uttered by yours truly about hair styling … poor guy!).

An unfortunate turn of events became a personal experience in true kindheartedness, with no strings attached … from strangers, from friends, from family. And for that, I am thankful.