Expiration date

So I'm riding down Rhode Islande Avenue approaching Connecticut, racing along the shoulder past two rows of cars backed up at the light 100 feet away. A blue BMW sedan makes a left turn from the opposite lane, crossing the rows of stopped traffic to enter his parking garage. I see him first, yell as loud as I can (which is Very) and squeeze my breaks in a panic stop. I don't know if he sees me, or if his burst of acceleration exceeds his reaction and braking time.

He t-bones me. I am knocked from my bike. I land on my right side. My helmet takes the hardest shot I have ever received in over 13 years of bicycle commuting. The only harder shot I can ever remember -- at least since high school football -- was scouting rapids along the Big South Fork in Kentucky, when receding flood waters left a broad, muddy, slick rock for me to slip on.

My right brake handle is bent, but the rest of the bike seems ok. We exchange telephone numbers and proceed on our way. He says the right things, about how at least I'm alright. I'm still a little dazed, and have kind of a hard time putting my sentences together. Maybe it's the adrenalin, or maybe it's the blow to the head.

The vanity plate on his car - now askew - proclaims that he is a lawyer by training. Well, good for him and his BMW. There are a few scratches on his hood now.

I've got a stinger in my neck, but I'm eating ibuprofen, massaging it, and resting it.

Frankly, I could use a day or two of rest if I am to be of much assistance during our expected home birth.

But all things considered, not too bad. Today is the expected due date for Baby August.

I am glad it is not my expiration date.