I was on a first date with my present wife, Van. She was young, beautiful and intelligent. We had met at a scuba-diving club function, and I asked if she wanted to go bike riding on the weekend. I was truly surprised when she said yes.
The following weekend, we rode our bicycles about five miles along the coast road from San Diego’s Pacific Beach to Torry Pines State Natural Reserve, where we enjoyed a picnic lunch of wine and French bread. I seem to remember spouting off some romantic drivel at that time about “a loaf of bread, a glass of wine, and thou.”
On the return trip, Van’s bicycle tire hit a rut in the road, and she took a tumble, badly injuring her arm. I helped her off the pavement to a spot on the sand to lie down, then gave her enough wine to relax her and ease the pain.
We then walked our bikes the rest of the way home to Pacific Beach. Van said she thought I was just fabulous for the way I took care of her.
It wasn’t until several years after we were married that I got up the courage to tell her that when she fell, I had run over her arm with my bike. Thankfully, more than 30 years later, we are still married.
