Yesterday Owen and I went bike riding on a wooded and peaceful bike trail. The trail is 25 miles long. I rode 2 miles up and back.

Before we could begin our ride a woman, who looked as if she were an avid rider-she had on cool riding clothes-stopped us and said we had our helmets on wrong.

She instructed how to wear a helmet correctly, that is she physically positioned the helmet and straps on my ears and head.

Then she quipped, “No point in wearing a helmet if it’s not on the right way.”

She strolled away with what I saw as an expression of amusement and satisfaction.

In case you didn’t know, in the past I haven’t liked  anyone telling me what to do, but after years of concerted effort my attitude is slowly changing.


One of the side-effects of my newest medication is reduced equilibrium, some discombobulation, an occasional wobble, and PTSD causes me to startle easily.

A man rode up unexpectedly from behind.  I fell and hit the back of my head very hard. The impact of the fall was taken by the helmet, and my head wasn’t hurt at all. My arse and tail bone don’t feel too good. It scared the hell out of Owen.

It scared the hell out of me too. If I didn’t have that helmet on properly the fall would have split the back of my head open, so it was very, very, very, very cubed, fortunate that I met up with that woman when I did. Despite of all the lies my parents taught me, good people do exist. They come along and then they change my life and most of the time they don’t ever know it. Hopefully I’ll see that woman again.  I’ll tell her what a blessing she is. She should know.