Elsewhere

Elsewhere
by Eli Knapp

My mind was elsewhere. More than likely, the bright light cast by the full moon was partly to blame. The moon's glow reflected off the waves in the Goleta Beach surf and illuminated the eerie-looking palm trees. I let go of the handlebars and coasted down the hill from the university. My far off thoughts continued with the release of my handlebars. I sat back in the seat and dreamily crossed my arms. As my speed slowed at the base of the hill, I resumed pedaling and decided to shift to a higher gear. Without thinking I kept one arm folded across my chest and reached for the gear shifter with the other.

At that moment a gust of wind blew over Goleta Beach Park. Without stability, the wind punched me angrily. My front tire turned perpendicularly and my back tire rose simultaneously. My bike turned into a catapult and launched me over the handlebars. I hit the pavement, rolled, flipped, and scraped. My bike did the same.

No doubt, this was a bad one. Not wanting to know the full extent of my bodily carnage, I rested on the pavement and wiggled my toes. They responded. Good start. I rotated my ankles. They too, moved properly. Knees, fingers, hands, elbows and head all still functioned at my command. I was ecstatic. I gingerly picked myself off the pavement and pulled my bike up from the ice plants bordering the bike path. My bike hadn't fared as well. But it was rideable. With shaky nerves I climbed on the twisted seat and resumed my journey home. Reality had broken into my dream world. Joy and gratitude began dripping out of me, like the blood that dripped from the minor scrape on my hand. Suddenly, each moment became so much more alive. I could still breathe. I could still think. I could still see. I could still pedal!

Within minutes, I had dropped my bike in the garage and hit up the fridge for dinner. As usual, it was empty. I sat down on the couch with a carrot and blithely flipped on the TV. There, depicted on the evening news, was a mangled 18-wheeler dangling precariously over an embankment. A pile of smashed cars surrounded the rig. "Three were killed," the reporter stated, "and four others are in critical condition. Apparently, the trucker's mind was elsewhere."

I was transfixed by the news report. Not even a half-hour before, my mind -- just like the trucker's -- had been elsewhere. And fittingly, we both had endured accidents. Yet the trucker had killed three people and injured others while I had a mere scrape on my hand and a broken bike reflector. The only difference in the accident results had been the firepower of our weapons.

I bike for many reasons. For enjoyment. For exercise. For the environment. But on this full moon night, I had added yet another reason for biking. I bike to lessen the magnitude of harm I can cause to myself and others, especially when my mind is "elsewhere..."