I love to ride my bike. But I hate when I have to stop at traffic lights. That always means a loss of momentum. Then when I start up again, the pedals are not flat under my feet, and I have a few seconds of ineffective pedaling. I’m usually embarrassed by this. This is when I feel like a real dork. At least I hardly ever fall off.
When I was about six or seven, a neighbour kid was showing off his “no hands!” riding skills. “Look at me!” he said. I did, and whilst I was watching I hit a parked car. :smack:
There was a canyon near my house. Much of San Diego is made up of compacted sand, and the walls of this canyon were heavily eroded. I thought it would be fun to ride down one of the “ridges”. Of course I went into one of the foot-deep ruts. Word: Stick shift + testicles = not-a-good-thing. :smack: :smack:
I uh, fell off a week and a half ago. My front wheel slipped off the edge of an extremely well-maintained asphalt trail and turned out from under me. My boyfriend said it looked like I went over the handlebars, but it happened so quickly I don’t really remember that part. I ended up with silver-dollar sized scuffs on my right shoulder and left knee, a smaller scuff on my chin and a gash on my right knee that’ll leave a nice angry scar. I’m leaving this week to attend a family get-together with cousins I haven’t seen in 4 years. Talk about feeling like a dork. I’m just hoping the last of the bruises and scabbing go away before then.
Meanwhile, I’ve been telling people who’ve asked about my shoulder that the warning they put on irons about not ironing your clothes while you’re wearing them is there for a good reason. At least it gets me a laugh in addition to the “you clumsy putz” sympathy look.
Last September (I think, it might have been August), I got a new bike that had my first clipless pedals, hoping that they’d make me better on the bike.
Because it was my first time out, my friend (who is actually a good biker) and I decided to take a nice little walking/bike trail on our ride. We started out, after a bit of fussing, I got clipped in. It felt great - I was riding along, feeling fast (I wasn’t, but it felt cool and fast) and everything was going perfectly. And then we approached an intersection.
I take this trail quite frequently, so I knew it was a blind intersection and I should stop before crossing, just to make sure that no cars are coming. I began to slow down, and wiggle my feet to get unclipped, but they wouldn’t come loose. So I slowed down some more, and kept wiggling and twisting, and my feet were still stuck. So I kept slowing and twisting and nothing was happening, until finally about 5 feet from the intersection, I came to a complete stop, right next to some bark. And I knew what would happen next, and I knew there was nothing I could do about it.
The bike couldn’t stay upright for long, now that I wasn’t moving, and I couldn’t get my feet off the pedals, so all that was left was for me to fall. And I did. Just fell over to my right. And there I was, lying on the ground, with my feet still stuck to the pedals. On a very crowded trail, on a sunny weekend afternoon.
It is very hard to take off your shoes, while they’re attached to either side of your bike when your bike is horizontal. I wouldn’t recommend trying it for fun. But I did - because there was no other way out of it…my friend had to help (after I convinced her that i wasn’t injured, just humiliated) Then we had to unscrew the pedals to pry the shoes loose.
The rest of the ride went well - as have most subsequent rides. I do have Gail’s problem in intersections, though, I have a horrible time getting my feet back on the pedals.
I shall relive some of the hilarious times that I have seen while my friends have ridden bikes. They were about 8 at the time.
Friend one:
A group of about 8 of us all lived in a court, and one day we decided to have a race from the street till the street lamp in the end of the court. My friend was in first, and won the race. So while yelling “SEE YA LATER…SUCKERS!” and laughing madly…she ran straight into the street lamp. It was a head on crash. Her bike went one way, she went the other. She wasn’t hurt, and it was hysterical. We still tease her about it.
Friend 2:
After a windy storm, a few trees were blown over, so some neighbors cut off all the broken branches at put them into a large pile in the middle of the court. My 2 friend and I were riding around it, and while one of them turned around to tell us something, she ran headon into the large pile of branches. Funny crash, but it required 4 stiches on her chin. Otherwise, she was fine.
I have many more, but I’ll leave you with those 2 for now.
When young, I was showing off how I could balance on only my hands on the handlebars, no seat, no feet. I slipped and crushed my bits against the top tube. Drew blood, even.
When in college, I was going to ride my rollers. I got everything set up, my bike on the rollers and me on my bike, got my cleats locked onto the pedals and the toe straps cinched down tight and was pedalling away when I got thirsty. I reached down, grabbed my water bottle and took a big swig. In the instant before swallowing, I puzzled over the fact that I didn’t remember filling my water bottle. And it wasn’t water. The last time I’d filled the bottle was with orange juice. When I’d ridden three weeks ago. Completely rancid by now. I was indoors, so I couldn’t spit it out. Quick! Get off the bike! No, first unstrap the clips! Then pull the feet out! Then stop the bike! Then try to climb off without falling over! Then run to the bathroom in slipper cleats and slip on the tile! PTOO!
Too bad for you. Falling off REALLY makes you feel like a dork. It’s even dorkier when you do it in front of God and everyone! Actually, if you look up dork in the dictionary, you’ll find a picture of me falling off of a bicycle. This is something I quite proudly mastered. 
Dork to the First Degree:
I don’t like intersections either especially when riding a bike that’s too tall for me. One of my many bike accidents as a teen occurred while riding my dad’s ten-speed home with a big paper bag of groceries in one arm. Came to an intersection just as the light turned red. Now stopping a ten-speed one-armed while trying to avoid crotching oneself is a feat I’m not all that good at. So I thought doing slow donuts in the gas station at the corner while I waited for the light to change was the way to go. Apparently not. Unfortunately, my first donut resulted in cutting too sharply causing me to fall off the bike, spilling the bag of groceries (and breaking some glass bottles), in the middle of a gas station at a busy intersection. During the fall some part of the bike (the kickstand, maybe?) pierced my knee just to the left of my kneecap. It bled profusely to my sheer horror and had me thinking I had done some major damage. As I panicked, a gas station attendant wrapped my knee with blue paper towels and I walked home with what was left of my groceries. I seriously thought my dad was going to flip over the broken drinks, but he was more concerned about my knee and butterfly taped it. Only when I realized Dad wasn’t going to get mad, did the pain set in. I still have the scar to remind me of my dorkness.
Dork to the Second Degree:
I apparently didn’t need a scar to remind me of what it feels to be a dork lying on the side of the road tangled in a bike as cars drive by slowly. I left a friend’s house only blocks away from mine, riding nonchalantly down the side of a suburban street as cars passed on my left. Not a few houses down the street, a car approaching from behind revved up. Startled, I looked over my left shoulder removing my left hand from the handlebar to see if I was about to get hit. As I turned around again, I am surprised to see a parked car directly in front of me. It only takes a split second to react badly. Of course, I slammed on the brake with only my right hand stopping my front tire cold and sending the rear tire and me flying over the handlebars. I really couldn’t say how many times the bike and I rolled in tandem, but when the world stopped spinning, I was lying facedown on the street with the bike on top of me, my arms pinned underneath me and legs wrapped around and through the bike. Unable to move or scream for help very loud, I pitifully begged for assistance as, one after another, people in cars slowed down to get a good look before driving off. I don’t know if my friend (incidently, one of the “popular” girls at school) witnessed the accident, but she came running out to untangle me. Utterly mortified, but only slightly banged up, I walked home. Never to speak to popular girl again. Why on earth would she have ever invited Your Dorkness over to her house is still a mystery.
I’ve achieved several higher degrees of dorkness, but it would be tedious to tell the sordid details of my journey. Suffice it to say, that if I hadn’t given up biking altogether, you would now be in the humble presence of Supreme Exalted Ruler of Dorks.
I came to a near-stop at a small intersection across from a supermarket, looked and determined that no cars were coming or were poised to make a turn, and then let go of the brake calipers to continue on. And somehow overbalanced forward, and as my bike continued to wobble forward at a tenth of a mile per hour, I slowly fell over the handlebars and landed badly with bike-parts interwoven with elbows. I’m sitting there in pain and badly humiliated and by now cars are coming, slow, stop, people get out and ask if I’m okay. Borrowing a line from Madeleine L’Engle, I explain that I have a sprained dignity and hobble off.
My Dad did me one better many many years ago, though. He had one of those annoying tick tick ticks coming from one wheel or the others, so he headed down a nearby college street that had no side streets for a long stretch, and leaned forward to listen carefully to hear where the ticks were coming from. And ran WHAM into an illegally parked car. Bike stopped, he kept going up over the trunk up the roofline and partway down the windshield. Bike = totalled. Said he hurt for weeks.
Ahhh bike dorkness…
I was 13. It was Friday the 13th. (I couldn’t make this up if I tried!) I was riding my bike (actually, my dad’s bike, and slightly too big for me) to the commissary and BX. I was waiting to turn left onto a side road, looked and judged it safe, and turned.
Next thing I knew, I was on the other side of the road, dazed, and a very panicked looking man was floating towards me. Honestly, his truck was stopped a good fifteen feet from where I had landed, and I don’t think his feet touched the ground between his truck and me. Obviously, I had misjudged how far away he was, or how fast he was going, and he had nailed me. So I’m sitting there, looking at the remains of my dad’s bike, and trying to figure out how I’m going to break the news to him, waving off Franticman and telling him that I’m fine. And really, I felt like I was. But of course, they called an ambulance, which took all of 2 minutes as the hospital was just down the road. The EMTs checked me over, asking me to move various body parts, and when it came to my right hand, I couldn’t wiggle my fingers. Off to the hospital for me with a broken arm and a seriously banged up knee. Turns out the guy that hit me was a pizza delivery guy (part time; he was an Air Force sergeant as well) and was doing deliveries. Worst part was getting my knee cleaned up - there’s pain I’ll never, ever forget, and at one point I fainted coming out of X-ray. I was pretty much ok, but I do find it slightly amusing now that I honestly would have just gotten up and walked the bike home if they hadn’t made me go to the emergency room. I doubt I’d have made it too far though 
When I got home, my dad came in from the mailbox and told me I had mail. This struck me as odd, since I was only there with him for the summer. He handed me a postcard - from the pizza place the guy worked for - touting its new “30 minute safe delivery!”
I still have a pretty messed up knee from the affair, but I was overall really okay, and generally just felt really stupid that it happened at all.
Dad’s new bike: 200 dollars.
Pizzaman’s new hood: 450.
Watching Pizzaman float from his truck to me: Priceless.
Wish I had a video of that; he certainly defied some physical law that day!
After years riding a mountain bike, I finally had saved enough to buy a road bike. I spent a week fixing it up before taking off on a fifty mile ride.
Eveything went well until I reached a major highway intersection south of town (the Y in Oak Hill, for Austin Dopers.) All the people driving on the highway got to see me coast up to a stop light, stop and then fall over sideways as I remembered that my new bike had toe clips.
Eight years ago, I was riding my bike through a nearly-deserted supermarket parking lot at dusk. I’m going along at a fair clip, then I look up and a car has turned down the aisle I’m in. So I plan to miss the car completely, sail around a concrete abutment and keep going. That’s not quite how it worked. Instead of the abutment (a long aisle of sidewalk that also has the streetlights anchored to it) having square or rounded ends, some daft bugger of an engineer figures it’ll be cool to make the end of it look like a T.
So, of coure, I go rounding the corner to bypass the car at, oh, 10 MPH, and the front wheel hits the T end. I went head first over the handlebars and landed on my face on the concrete. My arms were all scraped up, and my face was bleeding from multiple locations. I guess that’s why the guy at the sub shop let me use his washroom to clean up. When I saw myself in the mirror, that’s when I started to worry. I spent the next 8 or 9 hours in the waiting room of the ER, bleeding all over the floor, before I was looked at, made to wait more hours, and released without as much as being given an aspirin.
My ears are still ringing from hitting my head on the concrete. It’s never going to go away, either. 
The Straight Dope has done it’s job. I have been educated. I always thought that if you went into an Emergency Room actively bleeding all over the floor they would see you fairly soon. Maybe it has to be a spurting artery.
My embarassing bike story: One night I left a fine local drinking establishment with several friends after an evening of philosophy, discussing politics, critiquing art, and yelling MULTIBALL!!! at the pinball machine. I was the only one with a bike, as everyone else had walked there. My body was coursing with energy and skill on loan from Bacchus, so I decided to ride my bike slowly down the sidewalk next to them as they walked. Slowly walked my friends and slowly rode I. Half a block, half a block, half a block onward. Inching along at walking speed.
And then at one point I simply fell over sideways. Luckily there were no cars in road at the time because my friends fell over laughing and one rolled into the street. They helped me up and I hobbled home in intense pain clutching the elbow that had given it’s all to save the rest of my body. To speed my recovery, my friends recommended black bean chili, Godzilla vs. Megalon on TV, and more beer. The cure was, alas, only temporary. Elbow hurt for months.
In HS, I was riding an old ten speed up a long hill with a middling grade, a ride I made every day (to school) and there wasn’t much traffic so I was relaxed, looking around and daydreaming. Whilst glancing to the side I rode v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y into the rear bumper of a parked car. The rear wheel pitched up v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y and I went face first, dead centre, into the trunk of the car, v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y.
I could anticipate the impact but couldn’t seem to do much about it; everything was in slo-mo. My forehead made a sad little bonk upon impact. The bike fell sideways under me and I rolled off the car and onto the road. Couldn’t move for laughing for about 5 minutes.
7 of my 11 or so stays in the hospital have been bicycle releated. So rest assured that I have a backpack full of dorky moments on a bike.
I will relate just one.
Just out cruisin’ on my 12 speed with roll handle bars. You know how it is, you are one with the bicycle, you are on and off the sidewalk just humming along. I saw that there was too much traffic in the street (they had come to a complete stop) so I hopped the bike onto the sidewalk. Now, I saw the telephone pole, but I didn’t see the cable anchoring it. I had just the wrong angle. Thus it was the left side of my hook handlebars go on the left side of the cable and me and the bicycle go on the right. So I go riding up the stupid cable until my back wheel just leaves the ground. My pedal by this time wants to get in the act and it too becomes entangled in the cable. My bike tips over still suspended by the handlebar and the pedal. And of course, since I am wearing toe clips, I am on my back still contected to the bicycle with my bike hanging over me like some sort of strange modern piece of art.
And all that traffic I mentioned earlier, they are now all pointing at me and laughing. Even the one lady who rolled down her window to ask if I was OK, was surpressing laughter.
TV
I have several bicycle stories, But I will bore you with only one for now.
Parents were out one night and My best freind Ralph and I decided we needed to go to the local grocery for a soft drink. Problem was only one of our bicycles was operable at the time. Being enterprising 14 year olds we ascertained that the best way to accomplish this was for me to ride on the handle bars and since Ralph was bigger he would be the driver. We made it to the store and were on the way back with our drinks. I was again seated on the handlebars and resting my bare feet on the friont axle bolts. We hit a pothole and of course my foot bounced right into the spokes. I completely lost my second toe. The big toe was hanging by a cartilage or something and they were able to save it at the hospital.
I STILL cringe every time I see kids riding on handlebars!!
All is not lost though! My grandkids think I am kinda cool. They take great pride telling all their friends “Papa’s only got 9 toes! Wanna see?” Otherwise I have no problems walking or anything.
I had just gotten my new hybrid bike with the super low gears, so I decided to bike up a hill to a nearby state park. This was a * very * steep hill and even in the lowest gears it was very slow going and I was out of shape. So I stopped for a moment to catch my breath, then pushed off. Steep slope, very low gear – I pedaled furiously going nowhere while I slowly toppled to the side and ended up inverted in a ditch. No harm done except a scratch to my new bike and I brightened the day of a jogger who got to watch the whole sad episode.
Steep slope, very low gear – I pedaled furiously going nowhere while I slowly toppled to the side and ended up inverted in a ditch. No harm done except a scratch to my new bike and I brightened the day of a jogger who got to watch the whole sad episode.
Posted by Finagle
There’s a state park I ride my bike in and it does have a really steep hill. I’ve considered riding my bike up it, but I always end up walking…Now I know why.
When I was in college I rode to and from class several times a day. One time I was coming home in the evening, and came up on some small defect in the rode, a bump or pothole or something, and rather than go around it I just popped my front wheel up a little bit to avoid the jarring of the front wheel. And that’s exactly when my front wheel decided to come off. Just wasn’t part of the bike anymore. The front forks hitting the ground suddenly, now that was a jarring impact. Getting thrown over the handlebars wasn’t too much fun, either, but I avoided anything more serious that scrapes on my knees and elbows.
Still can’t figure out how the wheel came loose enough, and then managed to get out from between the brake pads.
When I was around 12 or 13, I was riding my bike around the neighborhood for lack of anything more interesting to do. I was sort of slaloming in between parked cars, a game I invented and called “hot dogging” for no reason that it obvious to me today.
Of course, my pedal clipped the bumper of a parked car and the bike and I were catapulted over the back end of the car into the middle of the street. My glassess went flying. I landed on my back with the bike on top of me. Not one single stinking neighbor spotted this and came out to ask if I was okay.
A freaking ambulance was the only vehicle that came down the street as I was trying to extricate myself from my bike and get up out of the street. Did the ambulance even slow down to see if I was okay? Hell, no. Evidently that day nobody cared about a random teenager sprawled in the middle of the street with a bicycle on top of her.
I walked the bike home, with mere scrapes and bruises, no big deal. Told my parents I wrecked my bike. Did they ask if I was hurt? No. We went bowling that night, at which point in time I discovered I had a concussion. (I didn’t learn the symptoms until later when I realized I must have banged my head pretty hard on the pavement.)
Funny, the result of that accident is that I don’t go bowling anymore.
Mind if I change the title to “Stoned Moments on Bicycles?”
I had just come back from purchasing some smoke (and you can never just purchase, you have to taste it, too - just to make sure you’re not being cheated), and was riding through campus in the dark. I remembered that they had just poured a new section of sidewalk and that they had created a little ramp (maybe a foot off the ground) over the new section. I proceeded to ride up the ramp, veer off, and flip (feet still in the toe clips) right in front of a police car.
I’m fine, just a few scratches, but, of course, the police have to come see that I’m OK. I try to play it off, but can’t get my shoes out of the clips, so I’m sort of flailing away, 'til my feet just pull out of my shoes. Well, paranoia has now officially set in (“Oh fuck, what if they find the hash I’ve got in my pocket? I’m too young to go to jail…my cellmate’ll want to make me his wife…how long can I get for quarter ounce of hash, anyway? Oh, hell, don’t make me take out my ID? I’ve got my ID, right? No, I think I left it at the house…”).
Flashlight on me - “You OK? That looked like a nasty spill.”
“Naw, I think I’m OK. Probably shouldn’t have been riding in the dark anyway, but it’s my only transportation…so, you know how it goes.” (My heart is racing a mile a minute, my knees and elbows stinging from the scratches).
Flashlight up in my face now.
“You sure you’re OK? You look a little dazed.”
(Great, now they KNOW I’m high.)
“No, really, I’m cool. Just live right around the corner. Think I’ll just push it on home from here.”
“Sure you don’t want to go over to the hospital? Didn’t land on your head or anything, right?”
(Please, PLEASE, PLEASE, just leave me the fuck alone. I’m high, have drugs on my person, have just fallen off my bicycle and want to go home. I’m not hurting anyone…honest. I’m just a stupid college kid…MOM! I want my mother!)
“Really, officer…I’m OK. Really. Just took a tumble.”
“Well, OK. But be a little more careful. You could hurt yourself out here in the dark.”
<Cut to scene inside my house>
“Damn, man…where the hell have you been? How long does it take to ride a bicycle five blocks and score some hash? Hey, what happend…you look like you took a fall…”
Embarassing on so many levels.