No, that’s not a typo; I really did crash today and it sucked. Then again, I’ve never had a crash that didn’t suck.
But this crash was special. Besides being my very own crash and nobody else’s it also had all the fine nuances of a good solid crash, the blood, bruising, and pain, topped off with a guarantee that you’ll have to explain “What the hell did you do to your leg?” Usually it’s other guys asking me this. Not that they care, really. They often just see it as a morbid opportunity to show off scabs and scars of their own, as if I care, which I don’t. Unless you have a picture of it.
Today’s crash is proof positive that I needn’t be moving fast to enjoy a good wipeout. (See Fig. A, unless you’ve just eaten, or are planning on a meal like pasta with red sauce. If you’re a mountain biker, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before).
I used to indulge my morbid curiosity with pictures like these, often while carbing up with pasta carbonara. Then I turned fifty, and I took a long, thoughtful look in the mirror… and realized that’s one part of me that’ll never change.
Fig. A “Looks worse than it is…”
As with every crash I’ve known involving muscle powered action, from BMX bikes to skateboarding, upon realizing that another painful crash was imminent things suddenly went into slow motion. I had forever to think about what hitting the ground this time would feel like and what part of me would hit first.
Well, I’m here to tell you that it still freakin’ hurts and that my left shoulder (of course) hit first, taking my entire body weight on it in the process. Such a nice surprise.
But it’s okay, for I’ve crashed many times before and seen my share of others going down, too. There’s nothing finer than the sound of someone else’s body hitting the dirt and, if I’m lucky I’ll hear the verbal aftermath, too: “Fudge!” “Gosh darnit!” and “Heck!”
So welcome to my world, one in which every ride I now take on a bumpy gravel road or on loose singletrack is like always riding with a tacoed front rim (see below).
Fig. B: All riders are eligible for a free, hot & fresh taco (limit 2 tacos per rider)
Anybody who gets on any kind of bicycle, on- or off-road must respect the inherent dangers of this wonderful sport. And by the way, no cyclist I’ve ever seen said “fudge” or “gosh darnit” upon impact. Unless they’re knocked out, of course.
I’m not preaching from my chair though, for I know everyone has their own challenges. I’m no more or less special than the next rider. My challenge just happens to be an unusual inability to keep the rubber side down. I’m sure it’s a lot of fun to watch me crash but, as I said before, to me crashing sucks.
So today, after hitting the ground I immediately jumped to my feet in order to assess the damage. It’s something I’ve always done because I like to be sure that all or at least most of my moving parts still work. So far, so good.
I should note that this crash didn’t occur out in the boonies as I was descending a gnarly, super technical downhill. Not today. Today’s was a classic crash, right in the middle of the parking lot across the street from home. I can actually look out my window and see where it happened. Duh!
And it began innocently enough. All I did was reach my right hand across the handlebars to shift into my big chainring. You know, the same hand motion my left arm had did a million times before with no trouble at all.
However, because I've put off configuring a shifting system that shifts both right and left sides of the handlebars I’ve gotten used to the quick and daring right-hand-shifting-the-left-lever maneuver.
I’m not lazy, mind you. Many times I’ve looked at my bike intending to make the necessary customizations. But then, after running out of ideas (I’m no MacGyver) I say “I’ll do it next time” then jump on my bike and ride.
My heart always skipped a beat or two in doing this right-over-left hand shifting, though anyone who’s ever asked me about it got a nonchalant response: “It’s not a biggie. Try it for yourself sometime.”
Some folks are a natural at it, and then there’s me. Screw my nonchalance; I’m an accident waiting to happen. But I love cycling so much that I can only bear watching others out riding without me for so long until I give in to temptation.
“Damn the risks,” I say, “if I die on my bike at least I’ll have gone out doing what I love most.” The only problem with that thinking though is that not dying makes the near-fatal accident into just another crash.
Such a crash could be what some riders and perhaps witnesses whose statements appear in the accident report rightly call “epic.” Well, one man’s “epic” is another man’s “long and painful recovery, possibly even following a brief hospitalization.”
There’s no doubt that cycling is a dangerous, even crazy sport to partake in. And anyone who tells you they’ve never experienced the pleasant sensation of hitting the ground is either lying or already dead as a result of a crash.
But there’s also no other endorphin-inspiring activity that gets me so high so fast. Even today, despite the danger and craziness involved I still hit the tame, non-technical trails until I once again feel immortal, shouting joyously at the sky with tears of happiness in my eyes.
I’ve said it before and it bears repeating: Everyone should have something like this in their life. I believe the willingness to take a chance in order to become better at what you love is perhaps the single best measure of success there is.
I’m lucky because I’ve been granted a second chance to pursue the one activity I still know best and love most. Granted, I don’t get to compete any longer and I will probably carry the resentment I feel about that into my grave.
It’s my cross to bear and, admittedly I’m not always gracious about it. But I try my best and that’s all I can ever ask of myself.
An oversimplification, perhaps but if you’re still reading this it’s most likely because of the gory picture I’ve posted, not because you were hoping to learn my philosophy on life.
Just in case, keep this in mind: Nearly everything has some relevance to some aspect of cycling. Hill climbs, downhills, road races, time trials and triathlons and more are amazingly accurate metaphors for life itself.
Criterium racing is tops among them all in this regard. It involves racing a gaggle of other riders on a short, circular course for one hour. It’s harder than it sounds, and not everyone even makes it all the way (see Fig. C). The first one to cross the finish line wins! Is that not a perfect metaphor for life?
Some days are simply better…
...than others
That said, after a lifetime of cycling - and still today - I’m fond of thinking of the world in such terms, stating “In cycling as in life, (fill in the blank with just about anything here)” and most cyclists to whom I’ve mentioned this agree.
Perhaps it’s because cycling is Life, and old habits die hard. One thing’s for sure-In cycling as in life, the world is a sweeter place when you can keep the rubber side down.
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