This past Thanksgiving, I did a ride in Kinston, North Carolina that I hadn't done in 18 months. Before you get bored and reach for another helping of leftover turkey, let me tell you why that's significant.

The last time I rode in Kinston was April 9, 2006 (Palm Sunday, to be exact). The day started out with church and beautiful a Carolina blue sky (as a Duke graduate, I should have taken this as a bad omen). I went for a ride with my father, and then decided to ride for another couple of hours on my own.

As I approached Grainger Stadium, home of the Kinston Indians, a car suddenly pulled out in front of me, making a left turn nearly directly into my path. I swerved and somehow managed to avoid the collision, but was unable to stop for the intersection ahead. My momentum carried me right into traffic and I was hit nearly immediately from the right hand side by a car driving, quite legally, through the intersection.

I was thrown across the road and slid to a stop against the curb. I immediately scrambled to safer ground before another car could finish me off.

My bike and helmet were destroyed; I lost most of a tooth, lots of skin, and picked up more cuts and bruises than the average NFL lineman does in a career. In an instant, I'd managed a remarkable bike-handling maneuver in avoiding the first car, learned the true importance of the bike helmet (believe it or not, it's not fancy colors and vent designs), and discovered much to be thankful for.

So this Thanksgiving, with a bit of trepidation, I revisited the scen of the accident. The bike and helmet have been replaced, the stitches have long since been removed, and the injuries have healed. I rode to scare some of the butterflies out of my helmet and try to see how what happened actually did happen. I was lucky enough to get the same fantastic cycling weather I had last year, but I'm truly fortunate in that I was able to ride period.

Notes:
Note the downhill slope at the end of the track where the accident occurred.