The Goat Got Me.

Why haven't I been doing my usual, you all ask?

Heartbreak got you silent? Politics got you flummoxed? Masturbation got you distracted?

Certainly! Actually, no. The goat got me - not just any goat, rather, Chupecabra, the Demon Goat of a bicycle that I had been riding through the faulty streets of New York City.

No more. I'm on a break from that. This rider was bucked a little to hard, and now I have the fire of Hades in my chest, burning me up, preventing me from getting anywhere near the reins (and the horns) of that bastard ride.

Surely your interested is piqued (does anyone use that word anymore?) - what could possibly dissuade a demon goat rider from doing what comes naturally?

-Injury!

So, I went to this Blue Stockings event, dealing with women and incarceration. Should have stayed long, there was a cool speaker there, but I got offended by a bullshit speaker and bounced out. Had dinner with a friend, tried some Lower East Side Tacos. Bullshit speaker, and bullshit tacos. The burrito wasn't shit either. Where's the Mission District when you need it, like every fucking day because a Mission Burrito is truly something to behold (and taste, for that matter).

Have I ever discussed the nirvana that is a Mission Burrito? I sometimes overlook the important things in life, like spanish rice, over black beans, with grilled chicken or steak, sour cream, guacamole and cheddar cheese, with tomatoes and peppers, and spices, all rolled into a hot, steamy yet dry on the outside flour tortilla, wrapped in aluminum foil, and smelling of nothing but goodness and peace.

Where was I? Oh yeah, Demon Goat. Anyways, so leaving the dinner, I'm riding back over the Manhattan Bridge... going down the Brooklyn side bike path... fast - like as in 30mph or so.

Some idiot bicyclist is around the bend at the bottom, riding at like 5 mph, and is swerving through both of the bike lanes...

...of course, I didn't know this at the time. I saw the bicyclist change to the left lane and went to pass on the right...

...only for them to suddenly swerve to the right, leaving me two choices: into them, or into the fence.

Naturally, I tried to shoot the gap between them and the fence, favoring the fence. Hit fence. Chupecabra stopped. I didn't. The impact wasn't remembered too well... I couldn't roll out of it, because the fence was preventing my movements... so it was a plant instead.

Note to people that habitually fall: difference between cold plant and hot roll? Night and Day. Rolls leave me with bruises and minor scrapes. This plant left me with two microfractured ribs, an inflamed lung, Most of the skin missing on my right forearm and elbow, and a gimp knee.

There's still a blood spot on the bike lane, evidence of my impact. The Demon Goat sits in the hallway, snorting in total contempt of me. Somewhere out there, in downtown Brooklyn, is the trail of blood that leads back to my apartment. Chupecabra hadn't been fed in so long, he turned his demon horns on me, and I suffered the consequences.

So far, the medical bills are at $400 and climbing, a costly lesson in this motto I ignored this night:

The best bike defense, is a good bike offense. That, and feed Chupecabra on a regular basis.

Now I'm waiting for CT scans, and wishing I had a mission burrito to make these days in recovery go by with at least a little eternal bliss, yahdig?