You are riding along, upright, and then BOOM. You’re down.
They said possible thunder storms. The weather forecast has been so unreliable, we ignored it.
I had a premonition on my way over to Anne’s. Something didn’t feel right. I blew it off, thinking it was just paranoia in my head due to the recent Facebook discussion about some dead friends.
Anne, still recovering from a broken collarbone from a crash last summer in a crit we raced in together, is always a tad paranoid on the bike these days. Or maybe I should just say ‘careful’.
We are riding along on the country roads just 15 miles into our planned 50. The sky is dark. I feel a raindrop.
“RAIN, I felt RAIN!”
Why this concerns me, I don’t know. Maybe it’s all the dry weather and sunshine we’ve been having. We reminisce about all the rain we had last spring. SO MUCH RAIN. I tell her about the time I got caught in a torrential downpour on a 70 mile ride, Eastern ave flooding as I made my way back into the city. Nervous chit-chat.
Then we hear rolling thunder. Anne asks if we should turn around. I said no.
“It’ll be clear in a minute.”
We ride on, towards clear skies. The roads in front of us are wet. The rain lets up.
I see a set of railroad tracks in front of me, and I am pedaling. The next second I feel my tires come out from under me and I am down. The first thing I think of is whether my bike fell to the right or the left. Then I see my derailleur facing concrete rubble and I know. I look down at my knee and my knee warmer is torn and I see blood. My hand is hurting too.
Anne looks worried as I scoot my ass to the side of the road. I reach for my bike and try to pedal it. After a quick assessment I can see the hanger is bent. Derailleur seems intact. I call Dominic. He actually answers. We decide what we should do, since I drove his car to Anne’s and he is without a car.
Then a truck pulls over and a nice man asks us what he can do to help.
“I’ll take you where ever you need to go.”
After a brief discussion, he heads home to get his son and a bigger truck and we sit and wait. My knee and hand are throbbing. The sun comes out. The road dries up. We wait for the nice man to come back. Finally he does, and we load the bikes into his truck and I sit on Annie’s lap and he drives us to her house. After many thank-you’s, my bike is loaded back up into Dominic’s car and I drive home.
My hand is throbbing as I try to type this. It will be bruised tomorrow. Thankfully I was wearing my Ergon gloves, which did not rip when I went down.
It could have been worse, so much worse. No broken bones or bike parts this time.
It just happens so fast.by