Every so often, I wipe out. Flip, bump, spin, skid, slide, etc. Bright red road rash patches here and there (looks worse than it feels). It's bad enough, but invariably there's some young whipper-snapper who, despite my gray hair being under a helmet, instantly calls out "Sir! Are you hurt?!" in a terribly anxious voice.
Hmpp. Bad enough I've botched a move, but there's no need to remind me I'm a Geezer. The young are cruel.