When I was eight years old, I rode my bike into a wall. I was going down a steep hill and I couldn’t brake fast enough. I flew over the handlebars straight into the side of a house and banged up my face, chipped a tooth, and dislocated my collarbone. So, when people tell me something is “just like riding a bike,” I get wary. All I can think about is the potential for injury and that however cautious you are, you can’t account for all the other idiots on the road. Yet despite my misgivings, here I am, back on my metaphorical bike, having a drink in a bar on a Saturday night with a stranger I
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