Birthday Woes

Today's my birthday. I'm not going to harp on how old I'm getting or even the fact that I chose to work on this day instead of having it off. Eight extra holiday hours pay is hard to pass up. Several people have told me, "I don't think a guy should have to work on his birthday." So, after I spent all day in the backyard chopping tree roots in 80% humidity, I am getting ready for work. I don't mind. I feel it has to be better than the birthday I had a few years ago...

It's about 1 a.m. officially on my birthday. I had roll call at 2000 hours on the 23rd and was having a normal shift. I had recently received my Radar certification after having had Laser training for some time now, and I was anxious to try out my newly learned speed detection skills. I pace up and down Main St. in my patrol car, switching between the Forward Opposite Direction Moving Radar and Rear Same Direction Moving Radar to keep things interesting. Later, when I get tired, I'd find a place to sit and run the Stationary Both Directions Radar. Almost out by the City Corporation line, I see headlights approaching at a fast rate of speed. The audible tone of the Radar Unit confirms my visual observation as its high-pitched electronic sound increases in octave. I lock it in at 60 mph. Almost double the speed limit on this 35 mph roadway. By the time he passes me, he's slowed down enough, but it's too late. I got him. I activate my overhead lights. I'm in the right hand northbound lane of the four-lane road and prepare to make an arc by slowing and turning to the left to get in behind him to pull him over. As I do this, I hear brakes locking up and think, "Man, I surprised him!" But, it's me who's surprised. The brakes were not from the violator but from a car in the left hand lane slightly behind me which had been in my blind spot heading my same direction. I had turned right in front of him! Bam! He hits my rear driver's side door-- a perfect T-bone crash. The impact is enough to lift me out of my seat and toward my door. I slam into the door and my head bobs out toward the impact and hits the halfway-down door window, shattering it. I bounce back into my seat as my cruiser is sent across the oncoming lanes and off the far curb. It comes to rest in some tall shrubs. I turn around to see the crumpled front end of the blue mid-sized car that collided with me. I can't get out but know I need to check on the condition of the other driver. I shake the "cobwebs" from my head, along with the peppered shards of glass and crawl through the window opening. The man behind the wheel of the other car appears all right. He doesn't know what to say. "I tried to stop," he explains. I've been in a few and have seen several officer-involved vehicle accidents, and it has always seemed the civilian driver is trying to figure out how he could have avoided the accident that just had to have been his fault. Many are, but this one is clearly my fault. I'll take the blame on this one, no question about that, as I call for additional crews and a supervisor and prepare to "take my medicine."

It's still my birthday nineteen hours later as I show up for roll call to the surprise of many. I tell them I feel fine-- just a little stiff and sore. I have a few small cuts in my scalp from the impact with the side window but nothing serious. However, the sergeant and my co-workers all felt it better if I were not to drive a cruiser tonight. So, I show up in my Bicycle Patrol uniform and prepare for a fun night of exercise with Officer Alan and Officer Ron. After all, how dangerous can riding a bicycle be? I find out twice this evening as I put that question to the test. At first, I count myself lucky, even skillful, as we travel in lower One Beat down the narrow sidewalk beside the vacant car dealership and its long stretch of display showroom plate glass windows. Officer Alan leads the way, and Officer Ron brings up the rear, forming a line of protection for me in the middle. I apparently lose my balance navigating uneven sidewalk blocks, empty beer bottles and dilapidated decorative iron tree supports. I bounce into the windows as I fall to my left, scooting my shoulder along the glass as I right myself and try not to lean too far the other way and out into traffic on the roadway so close on my right. I survive! Albeit, to the laughter of Officer Ron behind me. Alan will have to be filled in later, although he'll get his chance to witness my bike riding etiquette again fairly soon. As the shift goes on, we find ourselves approaching an abandoned drug store lot. It has a narrow passage behind the store that comes out at the far end of the parking lot. Officer Alan takes the passage as we cut across the lot, in case he stirs up any activity in the rear as crackheads and prostitutes often conduct their business back there, out of sight from conventional police pro-active enforcement. I'm building up speed, trying to time Alan's exit from behind the store with my arrival at the far end of the lot. Alan comes around, Ron is on my left and slightly behind me. I turn the front wheel, ever so slightly, right over a thin patch of mud on the concrete, a drying puddle, and the whole bike whips to the side. I can't keep upright as I follow the bike to the ground and land on my back-- right in the mud. It's more comical than painful as I lay there staring up into the light of the tall lamp posts and the stars beyond. I see the other officers riding circles around me as they slow their momentum to stop safely and check on me. I start laughing, not moving. The only thing I can say, almost lyrically, as I lay there feeling sorry for myself-- "Happy Birthday to me..."