bike wreck and honeysuckle

I wrecked on the Rock Creek parkway. It was about 5PM and 10 miles into my ride. There was a bridge with two lanes of traffic and the bicycle trail narrowed into a modest footpath on a raised curb to the side of the road, and a rusted guardrail to stop a person veering into the river.
I don't know what sparked the problem. A bad thing about wrecking is that you don't remember events quite clearly. Just a series of photographs. There was a moment of vertigo. I reached instinctively for the guardrail - never mind that I was moving too quickly and it was more likely to hurt than to help. It gouged holes in the pads of my fingers. I managed to stay upright and tried to regain my balance. I braked hard with my right hand, knowing I had to slow down before I crashed. And then I was in the road, hard on my right hip, shoulder, elbow, head bouncing on the asphalt, looking into the tunnel where the next car moving at 50mph was going to run me down. I dragged myself and my bike away from the traffic just in time. A car sped behind me as soon as I was out of the road - I felt the rush of air and heard the roar.
I couldn't get off the bridge. My legs were shaking too badly. I didn't know what was broken. For all I knew, my bike was fucked. For all I knew, I was fucked. But the fact that I hadn't been slammed by a car after the fall really shook me. I should have died. I should be in real trouble.
Another cyclist came along, saw that I was bleeding. It would have been better to get off the bridge but I couldn't walk. I couldn't use my brain properly. I kept trying to walk through the things I should do for triage, but it wouldn't work. I wanted to get my helmet off. I clawed at it.
"I should get off the bridge," I said. I was hyperventilating but I couldn't slow my breathing.
"It's okay," said the man. "You don't have to go anywhere. Stay there. Talk to me."
Other cyclists and joggers had to shimmy past us on the narrow trail but my companion ignored their complaints, urging me to do the same.
"Can you see where I'm hurt?" I asked. I was wearing a tank-top and I felt that my shoulder and elbow had skidded on the road. They felt burned and I could see road rash on my forearm. My right knee was bleeding. I showed him the back of my arm and shoulder.
"Road rash," he said.
I felt along the arm gingerly. The bone felt solid. The shoulder was sore but I could move it properly. I felt suddenly grateful for the hours of weight-lifting that have created a man-like muscle along the impact zone. Maybe it would have broken if the infrastructure hadn't been there.
I needed to calm down. I was breathing too hard - too quickly. I was also crying.
"I'm okay," I said. "It was frightening, that's all."
I fumbled in my bag for hand wipes and kleenex and poured water from my water bottle on my torn knee.
 I decided to chat.
"Where did you ride today?" I asked.
"To the top of Rock Creek," he said. "I live in Rosslyn - so it's about 60 miles round trip."
"I'm headed up Rock Creek until it intersects with Capitol Crescent," I told him. "It's nice to make the loop."
When I felt steady enough, I shook his hand and he moved on. I walked my bike. It wasn't working properly. I turned left, onto the wooded trail, and moved it off the road, and I called Corinne.
Corinne has always possessed a steady sensibility. I needed her to be my brain since I clearly couldn't think properly.
She talked me through assessing the damage. Assess personal injuries. Assess the bicycle. Tires, wheels. Get the chain back on the derailleur. Helmet isn't obviously broken but needs to be replaced now. Did I have someone I could call?
I sat in the dirt and on the spiny round seedpods of the sweet gum tree.
I thought about calling someone. I hate bothering people - having them change their schedule because of me. Also I hate the possibility that someone will say no. Of course I thought of calling "J". He has a fucking minivan and could throw the bicycle in the back. But I've felt vulnerable enough and been disappointed plenty by him. No sense setting myself up for another disappointment.

Eventually, I got my bicycle sorted and convinced myself that my body was ride-worthy. And so I finished another 25 miles. I stopped for a while in Bethesda, getting dinner (sushi, of course), band-aids, and calming myself down a bit more. In the darkness of the ride home, the trail was barely visible by the light of my headlamp. I road cautiously. Usually, there is little beauty on a dark ride but the honeysuckle is in bloom. For dozens of miles, I was washed in the sweet fragrance.