As he stepped through the door I knew something was wrong. It was the expression on his face. The way he moved.
And then I saw his jacket. Shredded up at the shoulders. And then the bloody knee. And the swollen elbow. And the bruised hip. And the jammed finger.
The momentum of 30 mph kept him sliding along the pavement after he hit the ground. Another cyclist hit him and ran over his leg while he was down.
It’s the moment I dread every time he goes out to ride.
He was lucky today. The cyclist who ran over him, not so much. He ended up with a broken collarbone.
For tonight and probably tomorrow, it’s aspirin and rest. Because he’ll be out again next week.
And I’ll be at home waiting.