The first time I drove into Santa Fe was last week. I noticed work crews of prisoners in orange jumpsuits picking up trash by the city roadside, in a heavy traffic area. A city bus pulled away from the corner, revealing more orange-clad workers, trash bags in hand, bending over. And then all of a sudden, it was like slow motion. I watched one of the guys stumble and try to catch himself, but he just kept falling. I actually had time to think, “Oh my god, I think that guy’s gonna fall in the street!”
And then that is exactly what happened. I watched the guy fall – right into the busy six-lane divided highway – right in front of my car. Only thankfully he was up the street nearly a block, so by the time I approached, he’d already scrambled back up to the sidewalk.
It reminds me of the time I was riding my bike in Chicago under the Fullerton street exit off of I-95 . It was about 10PM. I was on a neighborhood street that sort of branched off from the on-ramp. I had to ride past the on-ramp entrance to continue down the street. And for some unknown reason, just as I rode across the on-ramp, I busted HARD and fast on my bike, a rarity for me.
The side of my face was all of a sudden lying flat on the smooth, oily pavement of the busy Interstate on-ramp and the wind was knocked out of me. I actually had enough time to think to myself, “Holy Shit! I’m lucky that there are no cars coming at this moment!” before scrambling up and picking up my bicycle and getting the hell out of that busy thoroughfare.