I’d had worse spills, though they were generally my own fault for trying something stupid. This was a little more bizarre. My mind ran through numbers, like how long I’d been gone, when Sophie expected me back, and how many miles I’d made it up the winding road.
Somewhat lost in the calculations I staggered to the siderail, tugging my lame bike with me. In vain hope of seeing my bike chain in a magically accessible location I glanced into the ravine. Wedged in the branches of a tree I saw a bright green bike, one of those skinny racing ones.
It was so distracting I almost didn’t see the poor woman suspended upside down who called out with surprising calm, “Could you be a friend, and help me out of this?” She was in the tree closer than her bike, dangling from a branch by a belt that was probably supposed to hold water bottles and not its wearer.
I paused. The whole scene was so absurd. And I hadn’t even worked out my own predicament.
Finally I snapped to with a lame, “You’re lucky I was a scout.”