Body (paste into WP):
We live right next to the rail trail — our property literally borders it — so we end up using it a lot. I walk the dog there. I ride my bike. The section closest to us is the rough version, just packed dirt that gets muddy after rain and stays covered in sticks and leaves. Other stretches have stone dust laid down, which is much nicer to ride on, but you have to get a ways from the house before you hit any of that.
Living next to the trail is great, but there’s a quirk to ours: heading away from the house, toward town, the grade is slightly downhill the whole way. Going that direction is effortless. You barely have to pedal. Coming back, of course, is the opposite problem. You’ve already ridden however many miles, you’re tired, and now you have a long, slow uphill climb to get home. It would honestly be better the other way around.
The thing about sticks and leaves on a trail is that snakes look exactly like them. They blend in perfectly until you’re right on top of one and realize the stick just moved. The other day I was riding along, not going fast, kind of zoned out, and came up on a garter snake stretched out across the trail. Not parallel to it — across it, blocking the line.
I try not to hit things. I ran over a chipmunk once when it darted in front of me and I felt horrible about it for a long time. So when I see a snake I’ll usually slow down or swerve. This time I saw it late, swerved hard, and went down. Not fast, not bad, but bad enough — rocks in my palms, ripped pants, bleeding knee. I think I missed the snake. It was gone when I looked. I’m not a hundred percent sure I didn’t roll over it, but I’m choosing to believe I didn’t.
That was the first crash. I don’t think I’ve fallen off a bike as an adult, ever, that I can remember. And the reason I fell was to save a garter snake. It’s kind of silly.
The second crash came less than a month later.
I’ve been trying to teach Hobbes to run alongside the bike. The idea is that he gets to jog instead of waiting around while I ride, and eventually I’ll get one of those little dog trailers so we can tag-team longer adventures — he runs until he’s tired, then hops in and gets towed. The trailer part is going to be a problem because he hates riding in the car and apparently hates the trailer just as much, but that’s a future issue.
Three rides in, he was doing great. Sticking close, only occasionally slamming on the brakes to pee on something. I was going slow, so it wasn’t a real problem, but it was clear he didn’t fully understand the assignment. Still, he was figuring it out.
We were wrapping up. Coming off the trail, headed up our driveway, which slopes gently down toward the house. The bike was picking up speed. Hobbes loves to race down the driveway, so I figured we were fine to coast a little faster than usual. About halfway down he decided he wanted to do his other favorite driveway activity, which is plant his face in the grass and shove it along like a snowplow. This is dramatically slower than a jog.
I saw the whole thing unfolding in slow motion. One hand on the leash, the other on the brake, foot reaching for the ground. None of it was enough. I went over the front, arms out, and caught myself on my hands. Didn’t really hurt anything. Hobbes was fine and seemed mildly confused about why I was suddenly lying on the ground next to him.
The strange part was that even though I wasn’t hurt, the second I hit the ground I felt instantly drained and old. I can’t really describe it. It wasn’t pain, it was more like — oh, that’s what falling does to a body now.
So apparently I’m going to have to start wearing gloves, knee pads, elbow pads. These rides are getting dangerous in a way they weren’t supposed to be.
And — to top it off — I’d forgotten my helmet. Getting Hobbes situated for these rides is enough of a circus that it slipped my mind, and by the time I noticed I was already out, and figured if I was going slow it’d be fine. Then of course I went over the bars, and only didn’t smash my head because the angle of the fall happened to spare it.
Lesson learned. Go back and get the helmet.
Even that's Odd 
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