Crash and Burn Baby Burn

After about an hour Judy loaded my bike into her shiny black Landcruiser and we set off for the hospital. On the way she called her husband from her cell phone, chatted with him about his trip and told him that she had a “live one” on the way to the emergency room for an injured shoulder, but that she thinks I would be functional. “Oh I will,” she said in to the phone, “love ya’ bye.”

After hanging up she switched back to our conversation by asking me all kinds of questions. She showed genuine interested in me: where was I from, was I married, did I have any kids, what did I do for a living, that kind of stuff. She even asked if I was a blood donor, and said it was good thing to do when I said yes. I learned a lot about her and her husband. She was a maternity nurse, said she loved being around babies since she was unable to have any of her own.

She told me that she and her husband, Bob, had been married for 12 years. Bob traveled quite a lot and was away most of each workweek and often a few weeks at a time. He was just returning from a trip now. She enjoyed the bike club because it gave her something to do when Bob was gone.

She then called ahead to the ER at the hospital where she worked and spoke with someone she knew to have them usher me through my arrival. She handed me the phone so I could give the person my medical insurance information to save time. “Memorial Day weekend, it’s gonna be a zoo,” she said.

The X-ray showed nothing was broken. There may be a tear in my rotator cuff but probably just a good bruise, thankfully. I was still in pain so they gave me a couple of serious painkillers.

Judy took me to her house to clean up. “Third door on the right down the hall is a bathroom with a shower. There are a couple of terry robes in the closet, feel free to use one. Do you eat Chinese? I’ll call in an order.”

When I returned to the kitchen she had a pitcher of Margarita’s ready and three salted glasses standing by. I always love these after a ride,” she said.

We talked for quite a while. We talked about our high school days, our college days; she even listened to my complaints about my first wife. I could not get over how warm, and engaging this woman was to me. Was she flirting with me? I asked myself. I began to feel a little strange sitting, in a bathrobe, alone with a married woman. “Where is your husband?” I asked.

“He’s driving back from the airport and is stopping off to pick up the food.” At that, as if on cue, he entered the front door with a garment bag over his shoulder and two large plastic bags full of white food boxes hanging from his hand. He walked over to the kitchen with a big smile on his face.

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