The title of this post is a phrase I’ve started to think about a lot lately, especially with the amount of recent bike dependence I’ve been practicing. With the number of drivers out there who are completely unaware of anything around their vehicle and tossing in the few that hate sharing the road with bikes, it’s more when and not so much if I’m going to get doored/hit/cutoff and crash.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve fallen off my bike plenty of times, usually a bit inebriated, (most recently at the Between the Bluffs Beer and Cheese fest) but never suffered anything more than a few scrapes and a bruised ego. I’m talking about a real crash here; bruised or broken appendages, nasty road rash, blood, high speeds…stuff like that.
Well, last Sunday morning was my “when”.
With about three miles left in a 50+mile fundraiser ride, three of us were flying down Lake Drive at about 23 mph in a mini peloton. As we got closer to Lincoln Memorial Drive, the pace car for the 75 mile route pulled up next to us followed by a HUGE peloton of 25 or 30 experienced riders. They easily overtook our little crew of three (which included one guy on a fucking Trek hybrid with shocks, somehow riding with us at 23mph) and passed by at around 25mph. Our buddy on the hybrid fell in and joined the end of the group and I looked back at my riding partner, asking him if he wanted to try and join too. He said he was out of gas to sprint but I should go for it.
Went for it I did, and in the process, left some skin on the pavement in front of a beautiful East Side mansion. I bit it, BAD. How did it happen? I really have no fucking clue but my best guess is that I was switching hand positions getting ready to take off toward the pack and missed the handle bars or hit a pothole…or something?
Lake Drive is beautifully lined with trees and foliage, but that can also cause problems with the road; tree roots dig under the pavement and push up channels of earth making it feel like you are riding over moguls. On a normal ride, navigating them is no problem but after 48 miles, just over two hours of holding an average speed of 19.6mph and a bit of fatigue, things can go tits up in an instant.
After collecting myself off the road, assessing my cuts, road rash, torn clothing and bruises, I asked my buddy what happened. His response was on par with as much as I knew, “I have no fucking idea what you did, but you slid like 20 feet! Your front wheel wobbled a bit and you went down, hard as fuck!” We reconed a bit, checked the bike (which needed some major tweaking), reset the chain and let the guy who was walking his dog and staring in horror know I was OK.
It’s now a few days later and the road rash on my right hip/elbow is still nasty and sticking to my underwear/sleeve (through the bandages — sick, I know) and I’m still popping ibuprofen like an addict, but I consider myself pretty God damn lucky.
Lucky that no one was drafting my back wheel, causing a two person pile up. Lucky that I was wearing a long sleeve jersey (which is completely ripped open and trashed) and not a short sleeve, since my right arm took a bunch of the fall. Lucky that even though I was wearing a helmet, I didn’t crack my dome on the pavement. Lucky that a vehicle wasn’t involved with me, like how I pictured my first serious accident would go down. Lucky that besides a few scrapes that will heal, I came out pretty much untouched.
Biking obsession is a funny thing. You’d think after a nasty fall and a near miss, I’d be staying far away from anything with two wheels but then you’d think wrong. I’m actually upset that my mishap has kept me out of the Bike to Work Week activities, but instead of dwelling on it, I spent most of last night at the Bike Co-Op, repairing the all damage I did (bent ass front wheel, mangled handle bars and wrap, bent derailleur hanger, etc.) so she’s ready to ride the second I’m healed.
Now that I’ve had my first “when” and it wasn’t even that bad, I can only hope my next one is just as mild. The same goes for you, and like L.Jerome said to me last night, hey…scars mean you’re still alive, right? Amen to that.
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- And I JUST rewrapped them. Shit.
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- Somewhere between there, I’m part of the road.
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- Pretty colors are coming through.
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- Glad it was material and not my arm
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- The spandex saved my ass, literally.
I happened upon these folks on the interwebs. They’ve been keeping it silly in NYC. I’ll admit, this is funny and I would love to happen upon such scenes somewhere in Chicago. I’m certain plenty of people would just get scared and perhaps alert the authorities, but those people simply scare too easily.
Does calling yourself an artist count? Is any sort or behavior ‘excused’ or made cool because you refer to yourself as an artist? That is to say, if you are not an artist, is this behavior then perceived differently? Do you have to refer to it as art so that the cute girls don’t get creeped out?
The Between the Bluffs Beer and Cheese Festival continues to grow every year. This 7th installment was large and in-charge like Marge on a barge, of beer. Golly-pops, it was a hell of a time. 
Reports are coming into the ATS info desk that tasters are already losing sleep as a result of the building anticipation of the 2009 installment of BtB. Moreover, the reports can be validated by eye-witness accounts; trusted women in the healthcare field lay awake all night flooded with thoughts of the glory to come.
