the spill

Biking in Chicago is a series of challenges...through red lights, around the idling cab, between the two moving trucks. The biker's road etiquette is a hybrid of pedestrian rights and vehicle laws and the most satisfying experience is biking past 20 cars sitting at a red light.
But this morning my biking euphoria was temporarily assuaged.
I was moderately lost, biking down Dearborn St., knowing I needed to turn left eventually. So I biked through a red light and turned a quick left in a move I'm sure commuters in their awkward, law-abiding cars envy. Except instead of going left, inertia and slick pavement combined forces and somehow my face was in the asphalt.
"Are you OK?" called out kindly pedestrians on all sides.
I jumped to my feet to show I was fine and retain some dignity, then shakily steered my bike off the road. A pock-marked business woman waiting to cross the street pointed out that I had pavement ground into my left cheek, and offered to watch my bike while I went into the corner convenience store to wash it off.
The nice people at the convenience store let me come behind the counter to wash off my face and hands, and my bike was still there when I got outside. The pock-marked business woman nulled Chicago's "meanness" reputation for at least a month.
I am now successfully fulfilling all my receptionist duties, and occasionally touching my chin which feels like a ripe peach.