In 1967 I worked for a few weeks at a machine shop in Pasadena. (Tab-Loc, or some such - he'd patented a quick change motorcycle sprocket)
Because I had no wheels of any kind - I rode pillion with a co-worker.
He always sifted through the two lanes on our side of the busy 4-lane blvd.
I well remember this particular day for 3 reasons:
1) it was raining hard
2) he was filtering slowly through cars, misjudged one and knocked me off in the road. My knees just outside his knees - which he forgot to allow for. He stopped and we continued...
3) when I arrived at work that Monday I learned that my 'temp' job was over. (The order was filled.)
The boss , a little registered card-carrying communist, wouldn't let him take me home - 15 miles distant.
I was wet, sore and unemployed.
I didn't hurt anybody.....I don't think.
I thumbed and walked and was home by noon.
My goofy 18 yr old SoCal wife was thrilled that I could
spend the day with her! We were kids, me 19, - "no worries, we'll figure out something!"
After a few more Calif. bummers - we bought two carboard suitcases and took a Greyhound (41 nights and 5 days??) to Massachusetts, my home, where I had started out from 12 mos before hitching to Calif..
Gene, the rider, was kind of a jerk on a good day.....
Good times
Stig