My first bike accident in forty-two years

Today I fell off my bike. I'm fifty-five years old. The last time I had a bike accident, I was a teenager and I slid on a wet patch of concrete and landed on my head. I was not wearing a helmet. It hurt, but did no lasting damage, although some people may disagree.
The accident today hurt a lot more. Cathie and I were riding in the rain between Dusseldorf and Cologne in Germany. We've been cycling across Europe for twenty-one days straight without a rest day. Each of those days we've cycled in perfect weather with the temperature between ten and twenty-five degrees and clear skies. 
Today, we cycled into autumn - the rain arrived and the leaves on the trees along our bike path were falling faster than old Australian cyclists.
I do see the irony that I had an accident in one of the safest countries in the world for riding a bike. Germany has a bewildering number of bike lanes, paths, forest tracks and footpaths dedicated to two wheels. Perhaps too many. Can I blame the poor surface of this path for my misfortune? Or the rain? Or the falling leaves? Or just inattention on my part?
The answer is somewhere between my lack of focus (it happens after 1,500 km over 21 days) and the train tracks that redirected my front tyre. Yes, I know all about the dangers of tram and train tracks on bitumen. Always ride across them at a 90 degree angle. Simple.
Except these tracks were angled confusingly at the same slight bend in the path, so to approach them at the correct angle I had to illogically steer towards the fence. My addled brain didn't see the danger until I was ever so slowly falling to ground as the same moment as I was hoping Cathie had seen the danger from behind me. She had, but also got caught in the tracks, managing to stay upright by some nifty footwork. 
Me, I slid along on my hand, elbow, knee and bum. No real damage - just grazes and a battered pride.
Actually, that's not strictly true. Over dinner tonight, I found my elbow wouldn't allow me to lift my fork (loaded with sauerkraut) to my mouth. I ate dinner with my right hand. Cutting blood sausage with a fork is perhaps a story for another blog.
Most importantly, Craig my bicycle escaped unhurt. In fact, I think I heard him sniggering as I hit the bitumen. He's resting tonight in the lobby of a very nice hotel. The receptionist insisted we park the bicycles in the lobby, even though they were dripping with water and rather muddy. He said, 'they make the hotel look lived in.' Craig was pleased.
I hope he's in a better mood tomorrow and helps me stay upright.