I just finished my workout at Fisher’s Gym, I’m on my Honda zooming up Troy Street, and I immediately drive between two flashing construction road-markers, which I fail to see until I am next to the flashing lights. Now I see one out of the corner of my left eye, and a fraction later the other out of my right eye. The moment I register how close I came to disaster, I plow straight into a third sign right in front of my blind hole.
My motorcycle flips over its front wheel and stalls. I sail through the air, and I instinctively tuck and roll, as Murphy taught me to do after being flipped. Luckily, I land on the back of my shoulder rather than my helmetless head, rolling and pulling out wads of my long hair as I come to a sliding stop right in front of some construction workers. They see me stand and shake my head clear. One shouts with an amused snicker.
“Do you run over everything that doesn’t move out of your way?”