TheBanyanTree: the helmet

[Mike Pingleton]

Nell was getting supper on the stove when I came home.  "Did you find a seat?" 
she asked.

"Yep, and this too," I said, holding up the Bell Sports box.  "On sale for 
twenty bucks."

I knew she'd be pleased, her and everyone else that had been bugging me to get 
a helmet on my head.  I was not happy, but just the night before I saw a 
woman and her bicycle on the ground, with the ambulance arriving and the 
police talking to the driver of the car that hit her.  I took it for an omen.  
After twelve years and fifteen thousand miles, it was time to play it safe.

I've had some close calls.  People running red lights and stop signs, people 
reading newspapers opened on the steering wheel, or putting on cosmetics in 
the rear-view mirror.  People throwing open car doors in front of you.  
Drunks.  Buses.  People with cell phones are the worst - sorry folks, but 
you're not in control of your vehicle while mashing a cell phone up against 
your head.  Or dialing one, for that matter.

Urban bicycling is living by your wits.  You look, and you look again.  You 
listen for the cars behind you.  You -never- assume anyone sees you.  One 
assumption and you can end up on the ground, waiting for an ambulance. 

All that being said, I didn't want a helmet.  I don't like the way it feels, 
and it obscures vision and hearing a bit.  I don't want to relax my guard 
because I'm 'safe' with one.  It's hot to wear, and I don't like helmet hair.

Most of all, wearing a helmet sucks the fun out of the ride.  It's not like 
being inside a car.  The sun is shining, the air is warm, life is good.  I'm 
sure a lot of motorcyclists would agree with me.  But now, I must be 
cautious, because life is short, and all too precious to squander with an 
exposed noggin.  Precious perhaps, but a bit duller.

Mike