I know from personal experience that brakes are better than feet... I remember it like it was yesterday... (Cue the harp music)
I was leaving for work and when I started the car, the engine was idling poorly. I recognized the sound, the feel. Clogged fuel filter. The auto parts store was right at the end of my subdivision, but still over a mile away. I was already late for work, so I grabbed my son's bike, and started peddling.
It was uphill most of the way, the two stop signs I passed had no traffic and I coasted through easily. Finally, top of the big hill, the sign for the parts store is in sight. I hit the brakes as I crest the hill, and... nothing. I grab for the other brake handle, nothing!
I'm staring down this hill, about a 30 degree incline, in about 200 feet, I've got 4 lanes of traffic that won't take kindly to a bicycle zooming in front of them. Options speed through my brain, drag feet to brake, head for the grassy spot near the intersection, dump the bike.
By the time my feet hit the ground, I'm 50 feet down the hill, speed increasing exponentially. Feet dragging, I think that this was probably the wrong day to wear sandals. Another 50 feet, half way down, I feel the bike slowing, I might pull this off! Encouraged, I sit up slightly and put more weight on my feet. Yes, I'm slowing!
Unfortunately, I lifted just slightly too much, and put slightly too much weight on my feet. I'm now leaning backwards, pushing against the ground, and the seat, along with the rest of the bike, slide out from under me.
I don't remember seeing the flash of blue sky that I'm sure must have passed by my eyes, or the initial impact of the back of my head hitting the pavement. I do remember possibly the second bounce, my head bouncing against the asphalt, a kind of wet, squishy sound that I realized later was from an open head wound. I was distracted from that sensation though by the bicycle choosing that moment to land on top of me from whatever heights it had reached after I had let go of the handle bars.
Somehow, I realize that I'm still in the middle of the street, part way down a good sized hill, and I'm rather surprised that I haven't already been run over. I roll towards the side, standing up is out of the question. Along the way I find my glasses, this surprised me as I didn't realize they had come off, despite the fact that I'm blind as a bat. Concentrating only on the ground inches from my face probably kept me from focusing elsewhere.
I reach the safety of the curb, and people are coming over from the quick mart across from the parts store. Stupid questions ensue, "Are you OK?" Yeah, I reply, and as I pull my hand back from holding the back of my head, and find it covered in blood, I reconsider my answer to the question. "Do you need an ambulance?" Less sure of my ability to answer such questions, I respond with a definitive "Umm..." I fumble for my phone, and have someone call my wife at work.
Someone must have hit the Fast Forward button, because suddenly a fire truck is pulling up. Maybe time actually passed in between, I don't know. They must have had a lot of extra gauze that they wanted to get rid of, they wrapped enough around my head that it looked like I was wearing a turban. The ambulance arrived shortly after my new headwear was finished, and I'm asked if I want to go to the hospital. Now, again, we're dealing with stupid questions, made all the worse by being asked of someone who just had their brains turned to jello. I ask if there is room for the bicycle. I think one of the firemen laughed, but I'm not sure. No bicycle, I'm told. I look over and see the auto parts store. My mission is not yet complete, so I decide to wait for my wife to put the bike in her van.
Having officially declined the services of medical professionals, they leave the scene, and the crowd slowly disperses. I pick up my bike, and walk it over to the auto parts store, where more people had been watching the scene. I walk in, step up to the counter, and ask for a fuel filter for a '91 Sentra, 2.0. The sale is made, my mission accomplished. I exit the store right as my wife pulls into the parking lot, having made her usual 30 minute drive in 15 minutes.
It took a few years, but what went overlooked was a pinched nerve due to damage to my neck. Two shoulder surgeries and a neck surgery later, I'm good as new, maybe better because of the extra titanium in my body now.
So, the moral of this story? Never get between a man and his auto parts.
Mystery piece on floor under engine
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Originally Posted by eggman 
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