9 miles into a hilly 10 mile ride on the Delusion, I was pedaling furiously downhill into St. Albans coming north on Rt 7. I'd just passed the 35 mph sign, doing 30.5 mph thinking I might break the speed limit. Suddenly, something whacked my ankle, I hear a loud pop, looked down -- and I was the Curt Shilling of cycling as there was blood visible. I pulled over and my cycling tights were sliced in a couple places and the bleeding was noteworthy. The ambulance station was a few doors down so I rode over there, but figured the'y want to put me in a rig, so I got back on the Delusion and rode towards simpler help. I had a choice of east to Mom's house, farther east to my hospital, or west to my house where I'd be alone, but my camera was at home and I needed a picture. Sooooo, I rode home (finishing the 10 miler), took a couple photos, called Mom for help (Marilyn was at a meeting), applied some tourniquet-esque compression with an ace bandage, and mulled whether I could just fix this myself. Mom came over and after a bit of debate, we decided having a pro clean it would be best. After a failed attempt to go to the walk-in clinic 10 miles south (I know it's closed Sundays, but even having been to church earlier, I forgot it was Sunday), we drove back to the Emergency Department. The crew at NMC took great care of me as it turns out I was cut deep down into the meat. A thorough cleaning and seven stiches later and I'm on my way to healing (and cleared to ride). Ma and I drove back to the scene so I could find what either I hit or what hit me. I found the remains of a Smirnoff Ice bottle. I never saw it on the ground in front of me and didn't feel a bump of hitting it, but somehow it got up in the air and I shinned it hard enough to shatter it. So, I'm lucky I didn't wreck on the Delusion at that speed, ought to learn a bit of a lesson from this, and am left hoping it will scar.