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Potholed

The first thing I saw was the pavement. It seemed to be 90 degrees away from where it belonged, and very close to my ear. A car was rolling towards me, and it looked too high up. I could see the concrete underneath both wheels.

Then I staggered up, noticing that my arms and legs were weak and shaky. A pair of arms pulled me off the street and onto the sidewalk, then the guy brought my bike to me.

I've never used a lot of safety gear. Lights and a helmet are prettymuch all I do. But maybe I'll start using rear-view mirrors now, especially since my bicycle commute is about to get a lot longer. During that second or two that I turned around, my front wheel hit a pothole that sent me sprawling.

This was on a clunky part of South Highland, for any L.A. bikers who want a heads up.

"Thanks a lot," I said to the man who pulled me out of the street.

"No problem bro," he said. "I always try to help people when they're down."

"I appreciate that," I told him.

"Good. Maybe you can help me out with some spare change."



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