I was at mile seven of a sixty mile ride when it happened.
THWACK.
I don’t know what the hell happened. I picked myself up from the asphalt and collapsed into some grass. There was an horrible throbbing pain in my thigh. In a wave of pain I realized I hit my head hard. My knee was skinned. The whole left side of my body was red and raw.
I touched my face. Was I bleeding? It was wet. Sweat? Waves of pain and panic. I managed to get up and move my bike out of the roadway. I did a quick inventory: closed each eye. I could see. Spat onto the ground. Just a little blood, my lips tasted acrid. Breathed deeply without pain. Lungs aren’t punctured. Alive and everything hurts.
I see a wet plastic bag near where I fell. Stupid novice mistake. I should have swerved with more skill. I stand. Legs aren’t broken. I lift my bike. Arms aren’t broken either. I check my fingers. Everything bends. I don’t want to think about my face, but I touch the contours anyways looking for blood and rips.
A few moments earlier my body was an amazing machine. Shaking and scared, not far from home, I’m at the edge of a park. I see a man with a little girl nearby, and figure I should ask for help. I stand and push my bike as the chain scrapes horribly around the gears. He waves and starts walking over.
“Looks like you need a hand.”
“I just crashed, do you have any bandaids?” As I say the words I’m suddenly worried that I bashed in my face and am scarring this little girl for life. Fuck. I might be horribly disfigured.
The little girl is holding a hotdog bun, she’s smiles at me saying “I feed the ducks.” I figure my face is ok, but I hit my head so hard. It doesn’t make sense.
“Oh sure, oh sure. I’ve got my wife’s car. Baby, does grandma have booboo medicine in the car?”
She looks confused.
“Let’s go check the car, Baby come help me help this lady.”
She looks at me and says “I like to feed ducks” as we walk to the car. I fiddle with my gears, and get the chain back in place. “I’m sorry to bother you, I just don’t know what to do.”
He rummages through the car, and sticks his head out. “Sorry I can’t find anything. Can I call anyone for you?”
I throw my leg over the bike and pedal a bit. It’s fine. Nothing clunky. My knees feel capable. The crazy part of me talks.
“I think I’m ok, I’m not far from home. My husband is still asleep.” I don’t want to be a burden. No. I’m only 1 mile from a hospital and 6 miles from home. I figure I’ll find my way to one or the other.
“Wait a second. Wash those cuts off before you go.” Oh, yeah. There’s gravel in my road rash. He hands me a bottle of water. “Just clean it up a bit.” The water on my fresh wounds feels soothing just for a moment.
I thank him and as I turn to go he looks at the little girl and says “Baby, that was a good lesson. It's nice to help people.”
I pedal with my good leg. With each movement of my left knee I can feel my skin ripping even further. I wonder if I have a concussion. I just bend it and do my best to pedal a mile with the right. I stop at a convenience store, and pray they have something to stop my knee from ripping even more.
I find a teeny trial size vaseline. I rub it all over my knee, elbow and shoulder. Anywhere I can see the skin is missing.
I’m missing skin. What the fuck am I doing? But I keep going, it burns and rips a little less than before. Turn right hospital. Turn left home. I just want to go home. My hip throbs.
With every breath for the next five miles I inhaled, oww and exhaled not much farther or assorted curse words. I rode as fast as I could, as carefully as possible. When I arrived home I finally saw what happened.
I hit the concrete with my head, hip and knee. My helmet was cracked, when I took it off the super industrial styrofoam was broken. It peeled open, like taking the shell off an egg. A big plastic piece on the left side of the helmet was missing. My gloves had protected my hands. My gear worked.
Whiplash. Deep bone bruising on my hip and wrist. Torn muscles. Road rash down the left side of my upper body. This is what happened to my hip:
THWACK.
I don’t know what the hell happened. I picked myself up from the asphalt and collapsed into some grass. There was an horrible throbbing pain in my thigh. In a wave of pain I realized I hit my head hard. My knee was skinned. The whole left side of my body was red and raw.
I touched my face. Was I bleeding? It was wet. Sweat? Waves of pain and panic. I managed to get up and move my bike out of the roadway. I did a quick inventory: closed each eye. I could see. Spat onto the ground. Just a little blood, my lips tasted acrid. Breathed deeply without pain. Lungs aren’t punctured. Alive and everything hurts.
I see a wet plastic bag near where I fell. Stupid novice mistake. I should have swerved with more skill. I stand. Legs aren’t broken. I lift my bike. Arms aren’t broken either. I check my fingers. Everything bends. I don’t want to think about my face, but I touch the contours anyways looking for blood and rips.
A few moments earlier my body was an amazing machine. Shaking and scared, not far from home, I’m at the edge of a park. I see a man with a little girl nearby, and figure I should ask for help. I stand and push my bike as the chain scrapes horribly around the gears. He waves and starts walking over.
“Looks like you need a hand.”
“I just crashed, do you have any bandaids?” As I say the words I’m suddenly worried that I bashed in my face and am scarring this little girl for life. Fuck. I might be horribly disfigured.
The little girl is holding a hotdog bun, she’s smiles at me saying “I feed the ducks.” I figure my face is ok, but I hit my head so hard. It doesn’t make sense.
“Oh sure, oh sure. I’ve got my wife’s car. Baby, does grandma have booboo medicine in the car?”
She looks confused.
“Let’s go check the car, Baby come help me help this lady.”
She looks at me and says “I like to feed ducks” as we walk to the car. I fiddle with my gears, and get the chain back in place. “I’m sorry to bother you, I just don’t know what to do.”
He rummages through the car, and sticks his head out. “Sorry I can’t find anything. Can I call anyone for you?”
I throw my leg over the bike and pedal a bit. It’s fine. Nothing clunky. My knees feel capable. The crazy part of me talks.
“I think I’m ok, I’m not far from home. My husband is still asleep.” I don’t want to be a burden. No. I’m only 1 mile from a hospital and 6 miles from home. I figure I’ll find my way to one or the other.
“Wait a second. Wash those cuts off before you go.” Oh, yeah. There’s gravel in my road rash. He hands me a bottle of water. “Just clean it up a bit.” The water on my fresh wounds feels soothing just for a moment.
I thank him and as I turn to go he looks at the little girl and says “Baby, that was a good lesson. It's nice to help people.”
I pedal with my good leg. With each movement of my left knee I can feel my skin ripping even further. I wonder if I have a concussion. I just bend it and do my best to pedal a mile with the right. I stop at a convenience store, and pray they have something to stop my knee from ripping even more.
I find a teeny trial size vaseline. I rub it all over my knee, elbow and shoulder. Anywhere I can see the skin is missing.
I’m missing skin. What the fuck am I doing? But I keep going, it burns and rips a little less than before. Turn right hospital. Turn left home. I just want to go home. My hip throbs.
With every breath for the next five miles I inhaled, oww and exhaled not much farther or assorted curse words. I rode as fast as I could, as carefully as possible. When I arrived home I finally saw what happened.
I hit the concrete with my head, hip and knee. My helmet was cracked, when I took it off the super industrial styrofoam was broken. It peeled open, like taking the shell off an egg. A big plastic piece on the left side of the helmet was missing. My gloves had protected my hands. My gear worked.
Whiplash. Deep bone bruising on my hip and wrist. Torn muscles. Road rash down the left side of my upper body. This is what happened to my hip:
Day 2 - 48 hours after the crash
Day 3
Day 4
Day 5
I hit my head on the concrete with the same force as my hip - and speculate on the thousand horrible potential outcomes had it not been for a little styrofoam and plastic.
TIP:
Enter the amount, and click "Tip" to submit!
Jonathan Wolfman
Ronald Allan
Duane Gundrum
Amy A
Anna Voy
RARobertsJr.
Salon.com
Comments
Is that bruising or torn flesh on your thigh? Either way, day-um.
Rated,
I'm fine, which is fabulous. I've started riding again with far more awareness and far more fear than before.
I rode a bike exclusively for years; then I just got tired of it; you are very vulnerable