A police officer just pulled away from my house, where he’s been sitting and writing out a report after a guy crashed his scooter.
I heard the accident – it woke me up – so I went outside to see a 50 cc Vespa knockoff firmly wedged under the rear bumper of a minivan parked across the street. The guy’s pants were shredded and his shorty helmet was tucked firmly under his arm as he got the cops on the phone to make his report.
Aside from a cut on his hand and his knee, and needing a new suit (he was on his way to a wedding, and dressed for the occasion), he was all right. His scoot was worse off, with loads of scuffing on the left side, a smashed mirror, his front indicator knocked off, and on closer inspection his front fairing had a foot-long crack and was twisted. Still driveable, and the indicator could be epoxied back into place, but if he doesn’t replace the plastic he’s got a brand spanking new ratbike.
Why’d he crash? Because one of the neighbourhood cats ran into the road. The guy doesn’t know if he hit the cat, or how he stopped under someone’s rear bumper. I figure he turned his wheel as he grabbed a handful of front brake, which is always a good way to introduce the shiny side to the road.
I let him come inside and patch himself up, and picked up his scoot and parked it while he waited for the officers so he could make a report. His brother came along and brought him a new pair of pants, and they just left for the wedding. I hope for his sake they have some good drinks at lunch.