Unfortunately, as I found out today, I am not as resilient as our shining Pros. They come off at great speed and loose half the skin covering their bodies, but some how seem to get up, dust themselves off and mounting their steeds effortlessly catch the passed peleton.
Whether you love cycling or hate it, you have to admit that they are a pretty tough bunch. The endurance to push past the pain barrier on a long endurance ride, the radical climbing they submit themselves to, and of course the crashes.
Well I'm not a Pro, I'm a 52 year old husband and father of four. I have no great ability to endure grimacing pain in the hope of glory. Basically I'm a big sook...lol, and especially when it comes to pain of the bloody variety. I've never been one to want to "learn the hard way", I suppose most of us aren't.
As a rider I deeply believe in safety, I love to share the road with motor vehicles, I am one to err on the side of caution and I have always been one to understand and accept my ability in a real way. I know that I don't have the cornering and down hill capabilities of others so back off and live another day is my motto. I'll make sure there is plenty of room when exiting an intersection, a motor vehicle has right of weight and when it comes to wet and greasy roads the old motor cyclist cuts in. Don't push the lean, slow down and sit up. And (I hate starting a sentence with and) when it comes to railway tracks I am very careful, especially in the wet.
I don't remember coming down, I just remember hitting the deck and rolling to the side. I didn't know at first if anything was broken, but obviously coming down on my right hip I had a great deal of trouble moving the right leg. Pain started to creep in from my elbow and, well I didn't know what to think. Hearing the crack of the carbon and the rattle of components I knew someone was down, but didn't realise it was me. It was only when I lay there moaning, in the gravel on the road side that I knew, "Shit".
My friends were quick to get back to the site and my condition, and of course the bike's, was assessed. Not feeling like getting up there I lay, like a gravel and prickle covered lamington. It was only a few days prior how I had thought to myself how lucky I had been. All these on and off years of riding, and especially the past Eighteen months, not a scratch, this being after watching one of our group come off on a round-a-bout on Sunday. I do have to say that her exit from the bike would've been far more graceful than mine, although I do think mine was probably far more spectacular.
It was only a couple of months ago when another friend tumbled dramatically in a down hill run on his mountain bike, fracturing places within his person and just now getting back to riding. It doesn't seem all that long ago when another friend came down on another set of cane tracks out of town breaking his collar bone.I have always been told that these things are inevitable, but really, really hoped they wouldn't happen to me.
Anyway, back to the crash. When it comes to railway lines, and especially cane train lines, you see Bundaberg is a big sugar producer, I always approach and cross with care. There seems to be a level of normality when it comes to train lines, but the cane lines, each one is an experience within itself. Some are great, you can cross them and hardly feel as though you have. Others, you know you just have to go home and check the trueing on your wheels.
But this one today, this one was the exception all on its own. I knew it was there, I ride this road from time to time. I knew it wasn't flash so I even dropped my speed. I knew it was wet and lines crossed the road on an angle so I approached straight on. The others went across no worries, so why did I come down?
I moved out toward the center of the road to make my approach as straight as possible. Then I saw it, the gaping distance between the road and metal rails, oh and the big hole where chunks of tar had disappeared. I lifted my front wheel and, great made it, all clear. Nope, not quite. There now came the surprise, the back wheel. Swoosh! Out she went from under me, but I didn't slide. The wheel must have somehow caught in the gap and threw me like an angry bull. But this time there were no Rodeo Clowns, no applauding crowd, no prize money for best ride on offer, just me and the bitumen. My prize was the battle scars I am now healing from, the humbled pride and the sadness that maybe bike and accessories need to be replaced.
I'm glad for helmets. I would always wear one even if the weren't mandatory. The back of mine is pushed in and it will need replacing. Much better a helmet than my skull.
My shoes, yes I was looking at replacing them, but not this way. They still had plenty of life left in them. They had just seen many kilometers of use and I needed a pair with a better fit.
Possibly my Garmin, a small digital camera I had in my back pocket and of course, the biggy, my Domane. Although carbon is tough there is no real way of telling of its structural integrity now. I know I come down hard, and it could be ok, but do I want to take that chance coming into road season...no not me. A lot of the damage appears to be cosmetic and I have it insured, as well as myself. So I'll see what my mate at the bike shop says...
I'll heal in time, the soreness and stiffness that I feel now will diminish, the pride will restore itself and in the end there are no broken bones or serious injury. All will be good in the end and I will where the scars of honour proudly. My moment of glory has shone, well for today anyway, and I can stand tall with my peers knowing that I have survived a tumble in the not so aggressive peleton of our little group. No I didn't get up, dust my self off and chase down the pack, my ride to glory was to hospital in the back of an ambulance. Yes, it seems there are still elements of toughness I need to work on, but I can save them for another day.
(A video of the fall to follow)
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