The Day Curious George Went to the Police Station

17 Aug

On Saturday, I called the cops.  Well, first I narrowly avoided being squashed between a row of parked cars and a drunk guy trying to run me off the road.  One second, he was hollering and swearing, the next second his car was so close that my knee felt the edge of his bumper. Then he disappeared and I started breathing again and I thought “Did that just happen?” and then he came back.

It was scary.  It was fast.  And my friend biking far in front, saw and heard nothing.  Nothing from the drunk driver and nothing from me.  When I caught up, a few stoplights later, I didn’t say a word but took the lead and started biking <23 mph and we were not going downhill.  After about 10 minutes, my friend said “Someone ate her Wheaties this morning!” to which I didn’t reply, I just picked up the pace.

Please note: anytime I let someone have the last word, bike faster than the cars on a flat road and am completely unaware of my surroundings, something is not right.

Then I calmly pulled in front of a cute row of shops, pulled out my phone and called the police.  I don’t know why I was ready to call them then, and I wasn’t ready 5 miles beforehand.  I don’t know why I remembered the license plate number of the car but not the actual color of the car.  I don’t know why I called the police before I told my friend what happened.  Being scared leads to illogical responses.

I was one of three phone calls about the drunk driver.  You have to be pretty far gone to be drunk driving at 11 am on a Saturday in a city. In fact, you have to be pretty far gone to pick a girl on a bike as your victim.  Especially if she is wearing a Curious George in Space bike jersey.  Seriously?  Curious George, to my knowledge, has never harmed anyone.  He’s cute, he’s mischievous (but in an adorable way). He’s not let-me-attack-you-with-my-horsepower-engine-material.

The rest of the bike ride was externally uneventful.  And by that I mean: we saw a gorgeous red bridge and tried to find a route to the bridge but failed.  One of us, not me, got some painful embedded thorns in an attempt to find the bridge.  One of us, me, decided to do bike sprints up and work on cornering.  I saw rivers and red barns and mansions and ultramansions and a waterfall and someone complimented me on Curious George and I smiled and said (while biking up a hill) “Thank you so much!” and I meant it.

Internally, the bike ride was frightfully eventful.  I alternated between rational thoughts of “I want my Dad” and “how dare that person try to ruin my day!” to wrongly placed anger “how could my friend not notice what was happening” and “I deserve to find this breathtaking red bridge after what just happened!”  Each hill was an affront, each dead end was an affront, each car horn was an affront.

In short, Little Miss Stoic met Little Miss Scared Female and there was an internal skirmish.  I won the battle – I did not cry.  But I think I lost the war – I was moody, grumpy, and deathly silent until I blurted out “I’m sorry I’m being so miserable and I’d change if I could but I don’t know how to change! And I don’t want to bike back on THAT road and would you please stay close to me so I’m always in your line of vision because I am really scared and I’m trying not to be.”  Poor Curious George, I don’t think he appreciated being stuck in the middle of this female outburst.

We biked back.  And Miss Stoic kicked back in and I biked the evil hill of destruction where I had my last bike accident.  And then I tacked on a lonely 10 miles by myself, to prove that I was not scared and I was not going to stop biking because of one disturbance.  And then little Curious George and I visited the police station and our written testimony was taken.

I felt a little stronger after that – I’d done something.  And then I apologized to my friend for being a terrible bike companion.  And I felt a lot stronger after that.  And then Curious George said, in a small voice “Maybe we should do something else for a while?  Learn to play bridge or fly kites or something?”  And I said “CG, you’re a bike jersey.  It would be stupid to wear you if I was doing anything but riding a bike.”  And I put him out to air dry.

Today Curious George and I tackled some more hills.  And despite the Red Sox losses and the Yankees annoying wins, Boston was not full of drunk people and nothing of interest happened on my ride. Sometimes boring is a blessing.

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