Let me set the scene. I'm waiting at the lights to change from red at the top end of Deptford High Street. There's no other cyclists to the right or behind me. There's about six cars slowly coming to a halt behind me, another four on the opposite side of the road and about three pedestrians wandering by. A significant number of human eyes can see me.
Cue embarassment:
Now I don't know if it's because I'd just got out of bed or because I subconsciously wanted a story to tell on Tales from Today's Commute later but from a perfectly stable and standing position, I begin to wobble.
The lights are still red, there's no reason for this even to have happened. My right shoe is clipped in, my left is out, but I start to fall towards my right. At this point, I'm less concerned about hitting the deck, and mostly concerned about saving face. There's a line of cars behind me, there's nothing interesting going on in the road, and I'm betting all eyes are on me and my fall is probably going to be some entertaining viewing. I'm determined not to give anyone the satisfaction.
OK wobble back to the left, that's good. You've saved it. You're cool.
Oh no wait - you've wobbled back to the right again. You're gonna fall. Try and save face at all costs. Do a little bunny hop to try and get the bike to stablise you. Try and unclip. No joy. You've f***ed it even more. You're in the middle of the road now, and yeah, you're going down.
First the knee, then the bag. Then the bike.
You absolute plum. You laugh at yourself. Try and laugh it off.
Oh crap, the lights have gone green. Quick, get up. Stop laughing on the floor like an idiot.
Someone beeps. I'm up now, trying to pedal but oh, of course it has, the chain's fallen off.
You punt yourself to the kerb. You laugh at yourself again. But inside, you're crying.
