What would you pay to become appropriately ripped for summer? For me, the price was easy. Broken nose, broken orbital bone, five other minor facial fractures, concussion, three badly bruised ribs and a dislocated right shoulder. Don’t even mention the contusions and abrasions; the giant shiner, the chipped teeth, cracked phone and the broken tip of my thumb. The thumb is interesting; although one of the very minor injuries, it persists in radiating pain and denying many minor everyday activities like using a corkscrew or texting.

The bike wasn’t even mine and now I have to buy Giorgio a replacement. He inherited two of them from his Uncle and having no place to keep them, asked if he could store the machines in my garage. 

It was a Friday afternoon and I was relishing some Yellow Chartreuse and Mezcal concoctions with an old friend. The subject of the bikes came up and we groused about how long it had been since either of us had been on one. Quaffing down the ambrosia led to opening the garage and checking them out. Soon we were both mounted and riding gingerly around the driveway. 

“Let’s ride up into the park.”

Who said it, me or her? It didn’t matter as we both wanted to do it and soon we were pedaling up the street. It is always amazing how you don’t notice the hills when you walk the same route all the time. We were halfway up the last hill when Felice declared herself finished and turned around. I said I was just going as far as the tennis courts and would be back in no more than 30 minutes.

I began my descent into the park when apparently a group of minibikes overtook me. I say apparently because I came to in an Emergency Room. It was 3:30 in the morning and I was naked and alone in a large brightly lit space. A young woman entered.

“Do you know where you are?”

“I had always thought that in death I would be younger and in much better shape, so I’m guessing hospital.”

The uber dropped me off just before 5. It is a long walk to my door from the street, capped by three flights of stairs. I moved slowly. On my door was a note; 

“What the fuck happened to you? I smoked all the cigarettes, F.”

The bicycle, of course, was gone when my friends went to look for it. They did find some blood stained slag indicating that I had fallen about 20 feet down the side of the road. They also found a badly damaged bicycle bell which the thieves apparently deemed worthless. I will present it to Giorgio when he returns from Portugal.

As odd as it seems, there was an upside. I was so tender, so sore and had so many broken parts to my face that I spent more than a week in bed eating almost nothing and drinking only water. Now as soon as I heal enough to workout, I’m going to run this newly slimmed down body through its paces and unveil my new summer superform.

Felice has forgiven me for not returning and now pops by to shake up a Vesper, help me to the deck and wave as she rides the surviving bike up and down the driveway.

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