I Don't Know

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.