31 July 1999

This morning, we were sitting on bags of gravel on the side of the road in the shade waiting for a ride.  A middle-aged guy came around the corner on a bike going pretty fast downhill.  His hand was squeezing the brake a little bit.  Then his hat almost blew off, so he reached up and grabbed it.  Trouble was, he grabbed it with the hand that had been holding the brake.  As the bike suddenly started going faster, and because of his momentary distraction, he lost control.  He swerved to his left, almost knocked over an old man, went off the road, and hit the bags of gravel behind us.  The bike stopped, and he flipped neatly over the handlebars, landed on his back, then sat up and said in a normal, undisturbed voice, "Wa'y problema," (No problem) as if nothing interesting had happened.  We made sure he was okay, and then he left.  As soon as he was gone, Elder Pfister and I laughed our butts off.