Daveed Reviews

Skin's Over-Rated

The moment just before impact takes forever, yet happens in the blink of an eye. You have time to realize how fucked you are, and then it’s happening.

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This is the 4th time I’ve eaten it in the last 10 months. Before that, it had been years since I’ve tasted the street. Not sure what the increase in tastings means.

The first of these was in December on a training ride with 3 teammates. The strongest of us was dragging the rest of us along in a tight paceline when he moved left as the road turned to allow those in his draft to stay in his draft. Because my eyes were rolled back in my head from the effort of staying on the wheel that was on his wheel, I was a bit slow to react to the shift in the paceline. I fought for what seemed like 5 minutes to keep my balance after my front wheel made contact with the rear wheel in ahead of me. The ironic thing is that the rear wheel I rubbed was that of Troy “Crash” Owens, the nickname he earned by biting it some 10 times in 2005. Being a good friend, I took advantage of every opportunity to remind Troy of how small the number on the Days Without An Accident chart was. I even went so far as to take his new bike aside when I was sure no one was looking to make sure it knew what it was in for. Pay back’s a bitch, I guess. Also funny to note is that we had just caught and passed a tri-dork when this happened. I’m sure we made his day, mostly because roadies are always making fun of tri-dorks for being bad bike handlers.

Next was an unfortunate run in with one of the traffic cones they put out at the Tuesday Night Crit course in April. Some jackass in front of me knocked it into the pack where it bounced off several bikes before knocking me over. A group of Beaners that are always there to watch their homies race were there to remove my shoes, pick me up off the pavement and offer me an orange crush, claiming the sugar would make me feel better. I started to decline the soda because I generally don’t drink pop, but accepted because he was so sincere and earnest that I thought to refuse would be rude and bad Karma.

After that was when the OKC Velo guy that washed out next to me at the State Crit, taking me out in the fastest turn on the course. In my pathetic attempt to avoid him, I blew my front tire out. Once that happened, the rim caught the pavement and I high-sided my bike, launching through the air head over heels. A well placed bale of hay caught me, face first. As I was flying through the air, watching the hay bale approach, I remember thinking that this was prolly going to hurt. After cursing the rider that took me out sufficiently, I marched up to the start line, shouldering my bike, to get my free lap and get back into the race. It’s hard to look manly in lycra, even harder while prancing along in cycling shoes. Needless to say, all my friends/family/teammates that bore witness to this moment were sufficiently humored.

Still don’t know what happened Tuesday. I was second coming out of the final turn of the final lap, though not sure what my gap was. Ahead of me, maybe 20 meters, was a rider in pink that is actually taller and thinner than I am. I could sense that he was fading, so catching him was a good probability, but fending off the charging pack was still to be determined. Once out of the turn, I stood up to sprint, a long way to the line, sure, but I could see shadows on the pavement behind me, giving me some urgency. I needed more gear, so I clicked down to my 11.

When I shift under load, I try to time my shift so that I click when my right foot is about 10 or 11 o’clock. I let up on my stroke just a hair to let the shift take place as easily as possible, then, once I feel/hear the shift, I give it all I have left. After I clicked and started to bring my foot down, my chain skipped. Not once, but skipped like every other tooth was broken.
The only way to accurately describe it is to say it would be like running up stairs bindfolded, taking them 2 or 3 at a time. The stairs stop and give way to nothing, just air and space. You keep going, expecting them to continue because you can’t see. Your next stride goes up and you drive it down, but there’s nothing there. The force of your stride starts the direction of your tumble.

I remember the front end of my bike starting to hop badly as my pedal stroke met with no resistance. Then I’m down and sliding and covering my head and neck in case I’m run over by someone’s chain ring.

Thankfully, I didn’t bring anyone else down with me.

I’ve been first on a crash scene plenty of times. My first effort is try to relax the crashee and get him to breathe normally. Practice what you preach? Nope, not me. I couldn’t stop writhing about on the pavement (probably resulting in more road rash), nor could I stop breathing like a birthing mother that had failed Lamaze class at high altitude. By now, people were around me, reminding me to breath slowly, but I just couldn’t do it. Finally I began to relax a little, but then went back into my huffing and puffing fit. Big Bad Wolf got nothing on me.

I knew my right shoulder hurt really badly and I was clutching it with my left hand while cradling my right arm to my chest with my left arm. I was certain I had broken my collarbone, and part of me was holding my shoulder expecting to feel the jagged end of bone sticking out of my flesh while another part was sure that the longer and tighter I held my shoulder would somehow diminish the amount of damage.

I slowly became aware of all the faces hovering over me. Some were right next to mine, others upside down, others yet peering over the heads of the people in front of them. I vaguely remember trying to say something entertaining or witty.

An argument ensued about whether or not my helmet should be removed. Protocol states that you leave the helmet in place until you are sure there are no neck injuries as the helmet helps support the head when you are prone on the pavement, but the Bryd Man wanted to take it off because the accident had twisted the helmet on my head so that the chin strap was “more like a tourniquet”. I believe a compromise was reached and the chin strap was released.

The same beaners that plucked me off the street in April were there and offered me a packet of Gummy Life-Savers. I gobbled them down, dapped the Beaner and looked at him wistfully for more.

Turns out that the stork in pink I was chasing just before the crash is an EMT. He was summoned and started poking and prodding me. All my huffing and puffing had created quite arid conditions in my mouth, so I asked for water. Cold, wet water was poured in my mouth and over my head by ROF May. The helmet was finally removed and replaced by an airline pillow, also compliments of the Beaners (those dudes ROCK). I talked trash to the Stork, telling him that I would have caught him. An ambulance was called, which was canceled moments later b/c I did not want to incur the expense.

I became painfully (pun?) aware that I was holding up the start of the evening’s headline event, the A Race, and decided I needed to remove myself from the race course. I wondered if I could just lay there for a while longer and let them race around me, or if it would be a good idea to let myself be dragged off by my feet.

Finally, I stood. The Love Muscle’s SUV was magically there waiting to wisk me off to a yet-to-be-determined ER. R. Brown missed the start of the A Race so he could meet Kyle and me at my car, where Robbie gave me my wallet and cell phone. All cyclists are more concerned with their bike than they are with their injuries, so Robbie assured me he would get my fallen steed home safely (Robbie was allowed to enter the race having only missed a few laps. He went on to bridge up to the break and take 2nd overall).

Disclaimer:

This entry was pulled from an email sent to a friend and is not an original blog writing. For some reason, I feel compelled to mention that, and to mention that Biker Chick has granted permission for use of this as a blog. Thanks, and thanks for making me smile.




Also, I have these words for my blogging nemesis, the Biking Beaner: BRING IT. Why so confrontational? Because he’s a Beaner? Because he looks like Shrek, but with no ass? No. Well, maybe, but also because I’m sure he’ll have some quip ready for me like he did after my previous visit to the ER when he said “hey, magn, ju call that a cut magn? I get worse cuts on my way to knife fights, homes”.

posted by daveed @ 11.9.06