Something told me, that morning in May 2021, I shouldn't have gone out for a third trip on the bike. The boy's bicycle with a straight bar was intended to fit my partner, not me. With my gimpy right hip, I could barely swing my leg over the bar, and my body was saying “Tired. Take a rest.”
I want to go, I said. I pulled my leg over the bar and started down the street. To stop, I braked and put my left foot down. But now I couldn't lift my weary right leg over the bar, nor lean on it to lift my left leg…
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