It's all fun and games...

...until you rear-end an imbecile who slammed on their brakes WITHOUT brake lights, end up sprawled all over the road, discover that your scooter has died and, to top it all off, tear ligaments in your foot. THAT is definitely one way to start a Thursday and guess what? It's how I started mine. Now I'm home, with an air cast and a freakin' cane, and I'm hobbling around that way for the next two weeks.

I know the rear-ending thing is on me, though the guy riding next to me also hit her because she stopped so quickly and neither of us were expecting it because there was NOTHING in front of her. No car, no person, no chicken...nothing. She just stopped, in the middle of rush hour, allowed two people to slam into her, and then drove off. It was like bang...bang...bye bye. What? The other guy was OK and helped me up off the road and helped me to get my bike back into an upright position, but I knew something was very wrong with my foot. I managed to get my bike further up the street by a block or so before it died, and then I called my knight in shining helmet (Kurt) to come and help me out.

The end of the story is that I'm home on the couch after 3 hours at the hospital and the very good news is that nothing is broken. The bad news is a) the 2 weeks of air cast, b) taking the air cast to Cayman, and c) my poor little bike, parked downtown, dead as a doornail.

I'm a careful driver, and I was paying full attention to what was going on...I didn't even hit the car very hard, because I had reacted quickly enough to hit my brakes too (and could not conceivably have been going more than 10 km/hr anyways...I just could not have anticipated her stopping like that.


Cheering from Afar.

I have no problem admitting that I don't fully understand the full rule book of hockey and can likely count on one hand the number of hockey games I have watched live, in their entirety. I am also fine with admitting that until approximately a week ago, I didn't know (or care, really) who Sidney Crosby is. And while I had high hopes that Canada would win the gold on our own turf, I was skeptical after the ass-kicking we endured last week.


Wasn't that just the best game ever?

We took our red mitts over to a friends house and enjoyed the game with 3 fellow Canadians, 4 Americans and a British friend who proclaimed herself the Switzerland of the occasion, for obvious reasons. We drank Portugese beer, ate hummus and listened to the wind rushing through the palms outside as we watched the NBC broadcast (our only option) of the game. We figured out fairly quickly that there is a 5 minute delay on the NBC broadcast, because the pub up the street with satellite TV would suddenly go crazy with cheering so loud that we could hear it inside the house, and then we'd be in agony until our broadcast caught up and we could figure out who scored.

It was a tense situation with our crowd being split down the middle and the game being...well, intense. I felt like I was going to vomit through most of it. Sometimes I covered my eyes because I couldn't watch. It was just SO EXCITING. Every minute. And especially those overtime minutes.

Watching our flag raised and hearing our anthem sung by the crowd made me tear up, just a bit. I'm sure I wasn't the only one. Actually, I looked around the room and realized that I wasn't. I can't even imagine what it would have been like to have been there.

To my home and native land, yesterday left me with a glowing heart, for sure.