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Tuck, Roll, and Rain

In this episode, the interactive obstacle course of the San Marcos bike path. (Sunday, April 12, 2026)

It started out as a beautiful day for a ride—our usual 30-mile Sunday trek to Escondido. The weather was moody, with brooding dark clouds threatening rain, but the streets were mostly empty. The traffic was light, and the bike paths were eerily quiet. It gave off the distinct, yet entirely false, illusion of a peaceful sanctuary.

We were headed home, and I had settled into a smooth, hypnotic cadence on the path across from Palomar College in San Marcos. I was listening to a Cubs game at Wrigley Field, minding my own business, and dressed to be seen. Between my colorful jersey and my cherry-red vest, I was illuminated like a human traffic cone. You could spot me from low Earth orbit.

Apparently, that wasn't visible enough.


Up ahead, I spotted another cyclist. He was cruising along in a state of pure, unhelmeted zen—completely unburdened by the earthly concepts of peripheral vision or spatial awareness. Following standard protocol, I gave my bell a clear, friendly ring to announce I was passing. In the cycling world, this means, "Hello, I am approaching." To this gentleman, however, it translated to, "Please, by all means, execute an immediate and violent swerve directly into my path.”


My instant reaction was a loud, desperate "NOOOOO!" But as it turns out, physics is stubbornly immune to negotiation. The collision was spectacular. In a fraction of a second, I transitioned from a peaceful Sunday cyclist into an amateur stuntman. I launched over the handlebars, tucked, and executed a hard roll onto my left shoulder against the unforgiving pavement.


When my momentum finally stopped, I tried to stand, and a wave of agonizing pain reminded me that I am, in fact, not a stuntman. I stumbled around in a daze, performing a mental inventory of my limbs to see what was broken. My right leg was scraped and bleeding in three places. My right hand was a bloody mess. Behind me lay my poor bike, its seat twisted and handlebars knocked completely out of alignment.


Lori, who had been riding behind me, pulled up. Seeing the blood and the wreckage, she was understandably frazzled. And what of the guy who had blindly swerved into a glowing red, bell-ringing cyclist? He surveyed the tangled metal and the bleeding rider on the ground, clearly deep in thought. Finally, he offered this profound nugget of wisdom: "I should probably wear my helmet."


A brilliant deduction. Truly, a modern-day Sherlock Holmes.

Having solved that mystery, he followed up with an offer: "I have a van nearby, do you want me to take you home?"


"No," I said.


Because getting into a stranger's van after they’ve just blindly run you off the road is exactly how every great true-crime podcast begins. No, thank you.


After taking a long, steadying drink of water, we wrestled my twisted bike back into submission. I climbed onto the saddle and started the long pedal back. Because the universe has a wonderful sense of dramatic timing, it was right then that the sky finally opened up. A torrential downpour began. 


Honestly?


The biting, cool rain felt incredible. It was a sharp contrast to the dull ache throbbing in my shoulder, and it washed away the dust of the crash as I limped my way home.


I made it home without further incident, except for searing pain when stopped at a stoplight. The pain in my chest and shoulder was intensifying. After we checked me out, we found a deep bruise blooming on my chest and another on my left shoulder. Miraculously, nothing was broken. When you think you have "smooth sailing" on the supposed safety of a bike path, remember today's ride.


Bike paths aren't sanctuaries; they are interactive obstacle courses. So many people are entirely wrapped up in their own little bubbles. Never assume the guy in front of you will continue straight. Accidents happen when you least expect them, usually at the hands of someone who isn't expecting anything at all.


Keep your guard up, wear your brightest colors anyway, and always be ready to tuck and roll.


I’m Patrick Ball. Stay curious, be attentive, and never underestimate the blind stupidity of another.

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