Let's be self-congratulatory, and also honest: it's been kinda genius lately here on bikerackheads. That is all Calvini's doing, because I haven't written for months.
So it is with some hesitation that I break the comedic rhythm of my brother's posts, weigh down his trademark lightness with something more ponderous. But I've got to write today, because my brother's been hit by a delivery truck and he's lying in a hospital bed: elbow gouged, knee banged, backside torn up, vertebrate fractured.
A police officer witnessed the truck gunning to beat a signal change, then charging through a red light.
Calvini himself can't recreate the physics. He saw a fast-approaching grill, heard glass shattering, the thud of truck-on-torso, the grunt of air forced from his lungs. He remembers the heat from the asphalt searing his back.
He's ok. He'll recover. His spirits are high as he jokes about how this is the ideal time to take a few days off from work to watch World Cup and the opening of the Tour.
I'm not so sanguine. I'm angry about his super-promising season cut short; dismayed and mystified by the rash of cycling accidents we've had on our team and in this region lately; annoyed by the medical glitches and delays.
But my dominant reaction is an overwhelming sense of gratitude. If my brother had been another six inches into that intersection... I can't even think it.