Ride Goeth Before A Fall

Devoted readers may recall my Sunday deer hunting adventure. I was almost as good as new on Monday morning. In fact, when I stepped outdoors the weather was perfect. Clear skies, balmy temperature and zero wind were too much to ignore. In moments, I was relishing life from the saddle of my trusty mountain bike.


I was at the top of my game, pedaling as fast as my exuberance would carry me. After weeks of flooding, the pavement was dry at last. Wind rushed through my hair, or at least what is left of it, and my MP3 player pumped my favorite Rock ‘n Roll tunes into my head. Sunshine lit my path and warmed my skin as I swooshed around curves and downhill.

In retrospect, that was the problem. I was enjoying the ride too much. I offended the bicycle and trail gods with my hubris. Retribution was at hand.

I sped down a particularly steep hill toward a curve. This curve was under water until recently. The water left a deposit of dust fine enough to lubricate a clock.


I entered the curve as master of all I surveyed. I exited it as a puzzled soul feeling the great weight of mortality. My concern stemmed from the fact I was seeing sky where pavement ought to be. My brain formed the thought “Uh…” WHAM! “Oh,” The brain finished. The full mass of planet Earth landed on me. I skidded to a stop, surprised and dazed. I lay inert for a time, contemplating various philosophical ideas like “If a cyclist gets creamed on the trail will help arrive before the vultures?” Seconds later, all my thoughts turned to the list of body parts filing damage reports. I began an inventory. Hands? Stinging. Head? Not functioning. Torso? Aching. Legs? One bleeding and the other afraid to move.

As I lay inert, feeling began to return to my parts. These were not good feelings, either. I tried to get up. Ugh. Nope. After a while, I discovered a way to get on my feet. I leaned on the bike and began shuffling toward the nearest trail exit. By the time I reached civilized pavement, more parts were working. I gingerly eased a leg over the bike and tried pedaling. It worked. Slowly, I rode toward home.

Today, I celebrated one week of recovery. I have only three bandages left and they are tiny compared to the gauze wraps I needed during the early days. I limp a bit, but I can use my hands to hold a fork without wincing. That is real progress.

In a few more days, I will be back in the saddle, only more cautious than before.  No pictures this episode.  Too gruesome for young eyes, like mine.