My post title is I Don't Know.
Truly: I don't know what in the world. I have had so many trials and tribulations, near-misses and such in my 50-something life.
Today's "I Don't Know" was this:
A fun friend of mine (Gail) and I met up to do a quick bike ride on Manhattan (KS) Linear Trail. So fun, we had! She is in the midst of breast cancer chemo. We had a couple of miles of "cancer/chemo" chat, but most of our ride was fun and games and catching up with Huz and family news.
At the end of our ride, Gail headed west to her home, and I headed north to my car, parked north of Pathfinder (if you are local, you know this terrific shop.) I took a trail that I thought would lead me to my car. But then I saw that there were railroad tracks between me and my "4th Street" road.
No worries, thought I. I stopped, slipped my mountain bike over my shoulder, and stepped over two railroad tracks This whole, little ordeal took about 10 seconds of my time. Maybe 20 seconds, at best. I jumped back on my bike and pedaled forward to the 4th Street/Ft Riley BLVD intersection. As I approached, my light was GREEN.
GREEN, as in GO.
I pedaled forward, to make the GREEN, but then:
WHOA!!!
WHOA AND STOP!!!
A shithead white pickup ran the light. He ran the red light.
He ran the red light, not seconds from when I was to be pedaling across my GREEN LIGHT.
If I had not been hampered by slipping my bike over my shoulder and hauling it few yards...would that shithead pickup have hit me and killed me?
Most likely.
I am haunted.
But let me take you further into my day. I pedaled back to my car, parked north of the Pathfinder. I threw my bike into my station wagon. And that's when I saw the car parked just beside mine: two twenty-something women, ploying with a clothes hangar, trying to unlock their car. I walked over and mentioned that they could probably call a locksmith and have them come by. One of the young women replied, with tears in hers eyes, that she could not afford to do this.
I walked down the road to an antique-ish place I visit maybe every month; nothing there, and so I walked back to my car, and the young women were still there, still working their clothes hangar on their car lock.
That's when I made my decision: Call the locksmith for these young women. Heaven only knows, that Spouse o' Mine and I were in similar circumstances in our young "twenty-somethings". And even if we had not, surely now I could do something for these two young women.
And so, the thing: I Don't Know?
I don't know.
