My Last Day as Bike Messenger


In 1990, I was living large. The sounds of Digital Underground in my walkman, the Knicks doing reasonably OK. I took a job as a bike messenger at Prime Time, which soon became Meteor (or visa/versa). 

I was riding a street modified Fuji 10 speed, and by street modified I mean is was painted black and had the handlebars chopped.  These were the days before internet and faxes and cel phones, so EVERYTHING had to be hand delivered.
On day, I was cruising south on 5th Ave just north of 23rd street.  All of a sudden, my helmet strap came undone.  

Unperturbed, I reconnected it while riding (I was talented that way) when out of my right eye I caught a black flash of metal. The only thing I remember is feeling the impact on my right side, the force of which felt like someone had grabbed my by the seat of my parts and flung me skywards.  I also remember seeing the roofrack of this SUV that just slammed into me at 35 mph. An then, that's it, lights out.

The next thing I remember is alot of screaming.  Apparently some Con-ed workers had seen this and ran out to stop traffic (The SUV that his me was long gone).  With my eyes closed and sprawled in the middle of the street, I kept hearing "he's dead! He's dead!"....who's dead, me?



Like in the Wizard's of Oz, I blinked my eyes awake, saw these figures hovering over me, yet I couldn't move.  Eventually, they sat and then stood me up, which is when I began to tremble uncontrollably and babble utter nonsense of a person in shock.  Apparently, when I was hit I was catapulted up higher than the roof of the SUV,and then smacked down on the pavement in an exact snow angle position.

The cops showed up and "promised to do whatever it took to find the hit-and-run driver", but to my knowledge, he's still on the loose.  I was taken to St Vincents and ended up escaping with a sore wrist.  Needless to say, I quit that day