On July 20, while riding my bike up on the north end of Rohrerstown Road, I lost control and crashed, resulting in a broken collarbone and scapula, three broken ribs and a punctured lung. I lay on the side of the road in 90 degree heat, unable to get up, while cars whizzed by in both directions for about 10 minutes before a guy and his young son saw me and stopped. They carried me into their car, put my bike on the back (they even had a bike rack), and got me to my son’s place only 400 meters away — which, incidentally, was my destination — and I ended up spending three days in the hospital.
In all of the pain and confusion, I never got his or his son’s names, and never really got to thank them, and for that I am truly sorry. I don’t know what I would have done had you not seen me in the grass while going in the opposite direction, and stopped to help. Heck, I might still be there.
All I can say is thank you for all of your help, and I am painfully aware of how inadequate that sounds. And son, you have one heck of a dad. Learn all you can from him, because he evidently has a lot he can teach you.