When plans go awry, it is hard to be okay. Yet okay is the better alternative when you consider the other options such as what John Prine sings in his song, The Accident: 

But they don’t know how lucky they are. 

They could have run into that tree.

Got struck by a bolt of lightning.

And raped by a minority.

The Best Laid Plans

One of the plans I’d had for my summer was a lengthy bike ride along a rail to trail route. I’d secured a date, had purchased a new bike and even convinced my sister to take the ride with me. 

We were on the trail by 9:00 a.m. and the day promised to be warm and sunny. The bike path followed along the water’s edge of a large lake, as well as forested areas. We had no worries of any car traffic, but had to stay vigilant of other bikers on the same trail. It was a day I’d been looking forward to all summer and it was finally here.

We rode along stopping occasionally to enjoy the view and marvel and our surroundings. Only 15 miles or so into the 60 mile trek I suddenly woke up with an EMT looking into my face and asking me questions. “What the hell happened?” was all I could say.  

The last thing I remembered was looking up ahead at three poles that marked an intersection. But the sunlight and the shadows hid one of the poles from my sight as I merged my bike through the area and instead of going around one of the poles, I ran smack dab into it. 

How long I lay dead to the world in the dirt by the side of the trail, I am not sure, but my sister said only about two minutes, the longest two minutes of her life. Filling in the blanks later, she told me another couple stopped to help, walked up to a house along the route and called an ambulance. 

I don’t remember how I moved from the ground to the gurney, from the warmth of the sun to the chilly enclosure of the ambulance but there was an EMT on my right, my sister on my left. All I could think was, “Damn, damn, damn.”

The EMT asked me some questions, which thankfully, by then, I could answer coherently. She showed me my cracked helmet, which thankfully, I had strapped to my head at the beginning of the ride. I had left a layer of skin from my shoulder and knee somewhere in the dirt, but I had no broken bones. All was well, but all I could think was, “Damn, damn, damn.”

My sister had called my husband who was golfing with some buddies and would meet us at the hospital.  My encounter with the pole on the path interrupted not only my best laid plans, but his as well. “Damn, damn, damn.”

But they don’t know how lucky they are.

They could have run into that tree.

Got struck by a bolt of lightning.

And raped by a minority.

I was pronounced fine by the E.R. doctor, hugged by my son, whom my sister also called, and walked out of the hospital under my own volition. At home, I took a few Ibuprofens and a nap. I played a round of rummy with my husband and won and then went to bed still saying, “Damn, damn, damn.” 

The next morning though, I considered how lucky I am. It could have been much worse, but it is not. 

Why bother with being okay? Though running into the pole and aborting the long-awaited bike ride was not at all what I’d planned, with the help from family, a few strangers and some EMTs, I am grateful it wasn’t any worse. Being okay is a great way to be.