One for the NTSB. Emerge from tunnel near the Bison farm and stand to ascend hill. Shoelace of new sneaker wanders into main sprocket causing major malfunction. One second is spent trying to recover, but it is no use - suddenly am hurtling though the pleasantly warm spring air. Past experience with motorcycles and scooters has taught me the correct way to dismount an out of control vehicle - something I was quite good at. Meet hard pavement with left shoulder and side, rather than head, and I give thanks that I still maintain some shred of youthful athletism. Am shocked that I crashed this badly and quickly rise to my feet in a state of denial; like it never happened. I mount my bike to continue on, but the accident has left it damaged. The front wheel is bent and the rear brake levers have been torn from their mounts. Still, I manage to ride this wobbly contraption the rest of the distance to work, even passing an old man on a 3-speed by the ice cream parlor. Once at work I head straight for the bathroom to examine my injuries and make a preliminary diagnosis. Soothing endorphins are wearing away and being replaced by the acute pain of a traumatic fall. I find no blood or protruding bones, but worry about extent of internal injuries. I conclude that I've bruised, or perhaps fractured, my ribs. My shoulder hurts, but seeing that I can physically remove my shirt without halting in great pain, I determine that it's not broken. Will spend upcoming days moving gingerly, trying best not to cough, sneeze or laugh as it has the effect of someone playing my ribcage like it were a xylophone.