I was speeding along a sloped straight bit on my trike when I was overtaken on the left by my mudguard as it snapped off and shot over my shoulder. It nearly hit me. I don't know why my trike decided my mudguard would snap off then try to kill me but it did and it failed. I don't use it in the mud so the lack of a mudguard isn't too irksome. But it looks funny with one on and one off—like it passed out on a couch and its flatmates shaved one eyebrow off. This is not the first time a pedal-powered conveyance has had at me or caused me ill—once handlebars snapped in my hands and I fell off that bike in the middle of an intersection and the car behind me fortuitously stopped as opposed to running me over. You understand the normal risks of riding and accept them as part of the experience; but the firing of bits of itself at you is typically not one of those risks. Unless it was assembled on an ancient burial ground re-purposed as a tricycle factory. My suspicion should have been aroused by the instructions that told me to pour the blood of a chicken slain at midnight upon one of the guards of mud except I fully put it on the right one and it was the left that came off. Stupid instructions.