i was taken down by the SLUT.

By SLUT, I mean the South Lake Union Trolley, which was renamed the South Lake Union Streetcar once the powers-that-be realized the unfortunate (and rather hilarious) acronym. 

The SLUT rides (oh, i can't help myself...) on these skinny rails that are on the right side of the curb lane... where bikes ride. The rails are the perfect size for a road bike tire:

You get where this is going. Bike + skinny tire-grabbing rails = lots of sprawled out, cursing bikers.

Today, I became one of them.

I was heading back from a delightful lunch at FareStart (an awesome organization which you should look up - ahm, once you are done reading my post, of course), and I was biking the quick ride home when... BAM... I found myself in the other lane on my side with my bike laying feet away from me. A very nice gentleman in a suit ran over and picked me and my bike up and made sure there were no broken bones. ("ARE YOU OKAY? MOVE YOUR WRISTS! CAN YOU MOVE YOUR WRISTS?!" He was very sweet and very earnest.)

I walked my bike for awhile, waiting for my hands to stop shaking, and I gave a silent thankful prayer that no cars had been around me when I fell (car vs. biker is not a game I want to play). I then noticed that my chain had come off my bike, and until that was fixed, there was no way I could ride home. Mother Eff.

Baptism by fire: I was (slowly) able to figure out how to put my chain back on my bike and make sure my gears were working. Then I (slowly) petaled, grandma-style, home where I lugged my bike up to my apartment and sat down to check out my war wounds.

As soon as I scrubbed the grease from my fingers, I called my mom to ask: "Ma, how do I clean road rash?" (An really efficient way to get your mother's attention, btw.) Then I dunked my elbow, knuckles, and upper thigh in hydrogen peroxide. Which. Hurt. A. Lot.

Naturally, this is when I take a break to take some photos. Because if I'm going to have war wounds, I'm going to show you them, for shizzle. I'm no martyr. Please note: I was wearing a jacket at the time of this fall. Several layers of my skin came off upon meeting the asphalt, even through my jacket.

There's also a big road rash on my upper thigh, but I think I might regret putting a picture of my ass on the internet.

After I was done taking pictures of my what-I-can-only-hope-turn-into-badass-scars, I looked more closely at my bike, which now has bent handlebars and the left gear shifter is wonky. WAH WAH, guess I'm making myself an appointment with the bike tuner.

Let's just say that I'm driving anywhere else I have to go today.

Pictures (in order) from Zazzle and The Seattle Times.