Better Rider became useless and a talk of the people approaching and to those who heard it from me.
It's so beautiful after seeing a bicycle from someone who was riding along my shop. I decided to ask him to give me a chance to have a taste of it. I needed to ride the bicycle because I know how to ride it, although it's been a long now. Not only that, but I can say it's been years since I once rode a bicycle.
Andrea Piacquadio
I was deeply happy after having access to the bicycle. I left my shop and climbed on the bicycle happily. It's just as if something were moving me to move on with the bicycle.
I began with the best of me while my neighbors were hailing me “super rider, super rider”, continuously. It was merely as if I were the best rider who wanted to win a prize or who had once won a prize for riding. I became triggered to move on. I proceeded to the hill where I was unable to roll my legs with the pedals. Instead, I got down and rolled the bicycle up the hills. Immediately I got to the top of the hill, I was so happy that I would ascend without obstruction.
I climbed the bicycle and did not care whether I was a woman or not, instead tried hard to do what was in my mind without looking back. As the bicycle was ascending, it was with great speed which, I believed, was more than a moving vehicle. I wanted to take a U-turn at a particular junction and I immediately thought of applying the brakes.
The real story began from this moment. I applied the front brake mistakenly and without saying what happened, I saw myself on the tarred road, rolling just like a defeated lion.
It was a serious injury I had got at that moment. I rode the bicycle while going, but rolled it back while coming back to my shop injured. I was not walking straight just because of my legs. My left arm was bleeding, which made my white shirt soaked with blood gushing out of my body. Those who were hailing me while going turned out to make me the center of their laughter. I can't imagine the embarrassment I have passed through with people who knew me along the street.
Anyone who heard about it would want to come to my shop to see me just to exercise their jaws ready for laughter.
After some minutes, I called my husband and he took me to the hospital.
The last aspect was that anyone who heard about the reason for scratching my left hand and breaking my legs would want to console me, but their laugh alone would make me feel ashamed. I feel not to relate it to anyone anymore instead keep it within myself. Even my husband was laughing at me and told me it was good for me. What else should I say other than asking myself, “Who sent you to ride on a bicycle?”.
