These little stories come, with permission, from emails sent by the guilty parties. Read on.
First, from Norene Barish:
Had a biking incident over the weekend which sent me flying over my
handle bars onto the tow path with some nasty road rash as a souvenir.
Big deep scrapes & several bruises but otherwise I am fine with no
broken bones to speak of.
Bob was out painting on Sat so when Terry
Masters called to see if I wanted to ride along the river towns I jumped
at the chance as I haven't done it since last year. We rode ten miles
out & stopped for a rest to slurp down a fruit popsicle at the tow
path cafe in Stockton.
When I hopped on my bike for the return trip I
rode several feet & noticed that it was not quite right & felt
funky. (This part of the story has nothing to do with the accident but
pretty funny in itself). I noticed my handlebars were pointing downward
instead of in an up & outward position. I got off the bike &
Terry thought I had picked up someone else's. We were pushing buttons
that weren't even buttons to see if we could turn the handlebars in an
upright position.
Just then two very handsome guys with their wives
stopped to see if we needed help. They assessed the situation & we
told them how we think someone tampered with my bike, yada yada. Just
then one of the guys turned the front wheel around in the right
direction..so simple.
We had such a good laugh & the men said that
they would have a good story to tell on the way back when they caught
up with their wives.
I was so embarrassed to think that I have
been riding all these years & have never done anything so stupid as
this.
We headed back to Lambertville where the path takes a sudden
jog & you have to navigate thru those pain in the neck stanchions.
Just then I was telling Terry that this was the very same spot where
Hank made that legendary ride right into the canal. Just as I turned I
had a panic attack judging the small space & flew over my
handlebars. I felt my body go into shock waves & slight pain with
some bleeding & was concerned that I broke a bone or two or three.
Out of nowhere arrives another hunk of a young man with an ice pack
& first aid goodies. He bandaged me up to stop the bleeding & I
ambled back down the path on my bike. This young man was just getting
into his car in an adjacent parking lot when he saw me take a spill.
Such nice people (bike angels) willing to help..and hunks at that.
We were laughing about our misadventures saying that despite it all we were having the best time. I then mentioned to Terry that I had hoped we wouldn't bump into the first two guys who turned my wheel around as I didn't want them to see me looking like a bike victim with my bandages. Of course there they were having just fixed a flat for someone else on the path & then they couldn't believe I showed up with those bandages.
What a day out..20 miles with scrapes & cuts to show for
it. You should have seen us loading the bikes onto the car, pumping the
tires, assembling the bike packs & hooking up the brakes. Terry at
one time was an emergency room nurse so it was good to have her along
for medical advice only we need to take a course in bike mechanics
otherwise we will be labeled "Laverne & Shirley of the Towpath."
Second is a tale from Mighty Mike about an incident that happened shorty before Norene showed the world her mechanical prowess. I seem to have deleted the email, so I'm going to have to reconstruct it from memory.
Mike was riding his mountain bike with his wife along the towpath near Alexander Road in Princeton. "I was wearing flip-flops," he wrote, admitting it wasn't the smartest thing to do, "when a bug flew under my foot." Distracted, he shook his foot, lost control, and flew over the top of his handle bars.
Unhurt, but shaken, he sat on the grass near the bridge over the canal. Alexander Road was closed for repairs at the time. Down by the barricades were two cops. One of them approached Mike.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"Cause I can't do anything to help you."
"I'm okay," Mike assured him.
"You, uh, didn't hurt your package, did you?"
Months later, at the rest stop for the Ride for McBride, Mike showed us a text from his brother, wishing him well on the ride. "Take care of your package," the message said.
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