He should buy a lottery ticket

Once a year a line of bicyclists zooms by. Well, not exactly.

The first rider and a few small groups behind him (her?) zoom passed the house. The next riders are zooming, too, but just not as fast. They're followed for hours by broken strings of other bicyclists, individuals and groups, with each going a bit more slowly, until there aren't any more. Whenever that might be or how many are involved, who knows.

It's the annual Tour de Fort, an almost forty-mile jaunt that begins somewhere up the road and goes all over the place, until it circles back and ends where it started.

Da Kid had just gotten dressed after coming out of the shower when we heard the first screams. A mix of someone in pain and others yelling for help.

We've been here long enough to know what it means. Either there'd been another automobile accident or someone had probably been hit by a car, and with the jumble of bicycles on the ground just outside the fence, odds were this time it was at least one of the riders.

Hubby grabbed the phone and began calling 911; Da Kid flew out the door at a dead run. I snatched up a blanket and the first aid kit following him.

Whoever the man lying on the ground is, when he gets out of the hospital he definitely needs to buy a lottery ticket.

He hadn't been hit by a car. Something had happened to his heart rate and his implanted cardiac defibrilator had shocked it back into a normal rhythm, something it did several times while he lay there on the ground.

The episode occurred just as he passed a group of bicyclists instead him being alone as he had been for much of the ride, in front of a house in which one of the residents (Da Kid) responds to emergencies of this nature as part of his job, and instead of in the middle of no where, in a location smack dab in between two fire stations, both of which were on site with paramedics within 15 minutes.

Like I said, the man needs to buy a lottery ticket when he's released.