It’s a few days down after Bikesledding the F-Line in San Francisco (F for FUCK you, bicyclists) and I definitely have a concussion. I’ve resolved to this, in denial since the onset that my strong brain would be affected, as I’m pretty sleepy and hazy. Referring to my take-home blunt force head injury cheat sheet, compliments of the emergency room, I’m going to heed to a few of their recommendations:

“You have suffered a minor head injury,” yes, I know, but thanks for the reminder. And, thanks for putting my name on a tag on my wrist because I keep forgetting.

“See if you can talk and move around normally,” define normally.

“Avoid aspirin, alcohol, or recreational drugs.” who knew I was so awesome that I had the foresight over a month ago to take a break. I rule.

“Avoid activities that could lead to a jolt or blow to your head.” there goes my sex life.

“You should not drive a car, ride a bike, or operate dangerous equipment until fully recovered.” Car has been sold, I think I’m square on the bike for a few more days, and my masturbation hand has stitches in it. Check. Check. And, check.

In the days prior to my concussiveness, I took a photo-bike trip. Here were some of the results.