Walk & Talk, page 11.

Sorry about the long-windedness of the following accident report, but I thought you good folk deserved an explanation as to why my posting schedule might be a little erratic over the next few days:

So on Friday, February second, around 11:30, I’m buzzing east down Grant on my way to an appointment with Dr. Skeif at the Tucson Heart Group. Traffic is medium heavy, so we’re all going a little under the speed limit - mercifully for me, as it turned out.

   When I’m coming up on a cross street (Treat, it’s called), I see a white sedan slowing to a halt at the stop sign. But instead of finishing their braking and coming to a halt, they tap the gas and lurch out onto Grant.

   There’s no time to brake, dodge, or react in any way. There’s a flash of white, WHAM, and I’m airborne.

   While my skin and the asphalt are trading particles, the driver of the sedan zooms off, no doubt whistling merrily. For all they knew, they’d just killed someone. But that was no reason to stop and possibly be inconvenienced!

   Obviously, I was not killed. And this was maybe the least worst place on Grant to experience a hit-and-run, because it was right across from a fire station, full of firefighters and paramedics who came boiling out to help me in a big ol’ fire-truck. I turn down their offer of a lift to the emergency ward. My medical insurance has a deductible of several thousand dollars I don’t have. So instead, they gather me (and the scooter) up and give me a seat at the fire station while we await the cops. Bless these guys - they’re my heroes!

   My pants are shredded - I got bad road-rash. When I try to take photos of my injuries, my camera comes up dead. Also my ‘phone. I’ll try to get a new one as soon as possible, but until then, any calls to me will have to be routed thru Traci.

   At the fire station, I fire off calls to Traci, Wolf, and Tucson Heart Group thru the firefighter’s phones. Traci takes time off from work to come fetch me. Meanwhile, the cops show up and take a report.

   They advise me not to get my hopes up about the guy who ran me over ever being grabbed - without a license plate number, they don’t have much to go on. White sedans number in the tens, if not hundreds of thousands in Tucson. At least they provide me with a police report I can pass on to my insurance.

   Traci shows up and hauls me home. Once there, I get in a hot shower, and try to abrade the asphalt bits out of my road-rash, lest they cause infection. Rubbing fresh wounds with a rough kitchen scrubber is a manly experience!

   Wolf shows up at the house. He was worried by my rambling phone message (I was in shock at the time). He checks me out for hidden damage, and then hies off to arrange collection of the scooter. There's a big heart under that forbidding exterior. Don't tell anyone!

   I call my insurance, tell ‘em what happened, give them the police report number and what-not. If they decide to junk the scooter, rather than repair it, I think I'll use the insurance money to replace the scoot with a car. Something with lots of steel. Like Wolf commented, "If you're gonna get around Tucson on two wheels, you might as well play Russian Roulette every morning".