I had this great idea. Since my motel room was really an efficiency apartment, I decided to go to the grocery store for dinner and breakfast. On the way I stopped at McDonalds because 50 miles of biking had left me starving. Late lunch. 

The grocery store was one of those bargain places. Surprisingly the first thing I saw was a ready-made salad display. Chicken Caesar salad for me.

Next up was Cherrios and milk since I found a bowl in the kitchen back at the motel. I brought a spoon. And then some bananas.

Finally beer and chips for the baseball game. The beer came in pints in a four pack for $3 and the chips were in a big bag for only $1. Batter up!

I rode back to the motel with my rear pannier full of the heavy stuff and the light stuff hanging in a plastic bag on my handlebar. There’s a step to get to a small porch leading to the door of my room. I pushed The Mule up to the porch, fiddled in my pocket for the key, opened the door, and the stair gave way. I promptly tumbled backwards off the porch. The bike landed on top of me as I hit the pavement on my back. I am seriously lucky that my back didn’t fall across the parking curb. 

Still there was blood from where my right elbow hit, blood on the back of my left hand, and a pain in my upper right rib cage either from hitting a landscaping light or getting speared by the handlebar.

There’s only one thing to say in circumstances like this: Fuck me! I know that even unloaded The Mule is hard to maneuver. I attribute my poor judgement to fatigue. My pathetic balance is probably genetic. (“If only he had done yoga like we told him to.” STFU!!!!)

So I medicated with Cheerios and chips and salad and Rolling Rock. And turned on the game. 

It was rained out. 

Fuck me.

I will now end the night reading the book I’ve been carrying for a week. It’s Stephen King’s Misery.