Evil ice.

Have I ever mentioned how much I love the bike as a form of transportation? Rain, shine or snow, I almost always enjoy my time in the saddle. Really. I could easily file into a train car every morning with the rest of the CTA zombies, plug into my iWorld and watch brick buildings go by, but I’d rather ride.

But love is truly blind. Especially when it comes to layers of ice and snow. This all became way too obvious this morning when I completely wiped out right in the middle of the street. About six feet in front of a big ass black Suburban.

I fell fast, but my recovery was slow motion. I was surprised and a little embarrassed. My false sense of confidence wouldn’t let my brain process the situation. Fortunately the guy in the truck had a much smarter brain than I—a brain that let him know he’d have to hit the brakes to avoid putting tire marks through the middle of my ribcage.

A few seconds passed. He slowly pulled up as I scraped myself off the ground. I expected some kind of insult. Or maybe a lecture. Or a McDonalds cup pitched at my pink face.

“Are you OK, man?” he asked with a tone that suggested he was genuinely concerned. I was relieved in a thousand different ways.

I nodded my head and he kept going on down the road. Standing there, covered in slush and road goo, I felt good about the world and my fellow man. The moral of the story is simple—the guy in the Suburban was looking out for me and now it’s my turn to pass on the favor.  Every single day.

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