I was riding to the right of cars, where good bike riders are supposed to ride. I was riding on a nice piece of asphalt but due to the endless construction here, that asphalt did not continue after I rode over the train tracks. Instead it was replaced by a nice lane of thick sand and gravel. Needless to say, I left my bike in that sand as physics took my poor body onward.
What is the worst part about this is that I was riding past a long line of cars stopped at a major intersection —one that has a notably slow-timed light— and not one person so much as asked if I was alright.
Upon later inspection, scrapes similar to the one in the picture of my elbow (this picture was taken today, so one must assume it was grosser three days ago) pepper my right side. Somehow I have bruises all the way down my left. Mostly I've felt generally incapacitated ever since.
Perhaps these people were busy freeing Tibet or making sure that they got top dollar for the resale of Native pottery at Indian Market. Whatever magnanimous thing they were doing, a battered, bloody and bruised girl, could play no part in their fanfare.
As I, dirty and broken, rode the rest of the way home, an old man in a convertible proceeded to hit on me, continually slowing down or speeding up to stay by his beloved's side in traffic.
Santa Fe: 1, Empathy: 0
2 comments:
I have a grandmother that regularly makes trips out to New Mexico in order to get the latest in Native American pottery and other handicrafts. The market is booming apparently and there's a lot of money to be made.
The trick is to keep your eye on the newest up and coming sculptors but I guess authenticity is a big deal - say if a white person learned to sculpt in that tradition, their art would be almost worthless.
this comment is helpful in no way whatsoever.
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