Black ice is a wonderful thing. Inconspicuous, but full of excitement
I mean, you can't see it. I should have been looking out for it, but late at night, yards from home, you get complacent. Then you sweep into the last corner before you get to the house, and the back wheel pulls away and the whole bike starts to slide sideways and in an almost elegant movement you're sliding along the road, thinking "this ain't too bad". There no traffic, so you're not worried, and there's no pain yet. The slide stops and you're lying there on the road, almost comfortable, buffered in layers of wool and leather and the shoulder bag has swung clear so that you didn't land on it and hurt your back. Clack, the helmet bounces off the road beside you because you didn't think of cinching on the chin strap before you set out. Clack, the second bounce and you look up to see the man walking his dog beside you, wanting to know if you're OK. Still, it all feels wonderfully comfortable. It's going to take a second or two to get your breath back, but really it's not been at all bad as uncontrolled skids late at night go.
You struggle out from under the bike, realising that the bad leg has taken the hit and that this may not be as much fun as it felt like a few moments ago, and you stagger upright. It's fine, it's fine.
Luckily the house is only yards away. You hobble the bike back to where it belongs, and let yourself in. AM is back a little while and is predictably bothered, but it still all feels manageable.
In the morning, not so much. The ten feet from the bed to the bathroom is an ordeal. Getting down the stairs takes thought. Going to work is not even an option. The right leg won't take your weight, won't straighten out fully. And you had plans for today and no real way to fill the time just sitting at home.
The bike is fine. How long it's going to be before I ride it again is still up for grabs.