Day 3
I woke up today and it’s raining. And I’m glad. We were supposed to leave for the Blackhills of South Dakota today for a week of camping, hiking, biking (I was trying to negotiate bringing my bike) and sightseeing. The kids were very excited.
Following the crash Tuesday I am far too hurt to go anywhere. Walking is difficult. With injuries to my right hip and left knee I don’t even have the luxury of a “good side”. My dressings need to be changed everyday, and the vast areas of road rash are still oozing. I need to take antibiotics 4x a day to avoid infection. The stitiches above my eye need to come out Tuesday and the ones in my hip later next week. Maybe Friday. I have a great looking shiner, which would make it awkward for Paul to be seen with me in public. Not that I can drive or anything, or have even been outside since Tuesday night. I refuse to fill the prescription for Tylenol 3s. I don’t like the way they make me feel high. Crashing sucks, hard.
The race was going very well, the weather was perfect and the course was dry. My friend Scott had come to race for the first time and other friends came to watch. Scott is very strong, and an excellent bike handler. I knew he would do well, maybe even win. All of us were having a great time, trying to outsmart, out maneuver and outride each other. The group itself was 13 I think. A smaller group of us were working together in our own race it seemed.
It came to the last lap and the race had been pretty tame up to that point, so I knew this was going to be a very fast finish. And it was. Phil, a racer from Alter Ego, kicked up the speed immediately with a monster sprint, the rest of us close at his wheel. Next Scott jumped to the front, with Dave behind him, me next, then Blake. I think this is how it went. We got to the second corner, the tighter, harder one of the two on this course, and as we screamed around it I heard something. Something not good. Metal on pavement. I didn’t know who’s bike was making that terrible noise, but it turns out it was likely mine. Turning tight corners fast requires a very specific technique, and some practice. You never pedal through a corner, you keep your inside pedal up until it’s safe to do so. You do that because going around the corner the bike is tilted in at an angle. The faster you are going, the sharper the angle. Part of the trick is knowing when to stop pedaling, and when to start. I have done this corner many times. It is tight, yes, but I know what line to take, and I know when to start and stop pedaling. So this was a surprise. The pavement on the corner is uneven, so perhaps my pedal came down at some perfect raised spot. A one in a million fluke. Or perhaps we were going faster than normal, making the regular timing on the corner irrelevant. Apparently there is video of the crash. One day I will watch it to maybe try to determine what went so terribly wrong.
Note: According to Scott’s GPS data, we went into that corner at 47 km/h. He remembers his bike skidding. Perhaps that was what happened with me as well, no pedal on the pavement until the bike was already on its way down.
I remember feeling so shocked as I went down, complete and utter surprise. I couldn’t believe it was happening, and I knew it was going to hurt. I hit the ground on my right side just as Blake, who was behind me came crashing down on my back and then rolled over my head. Then that awful “what the fuck just happened?” silence. I was on my back and couldn’t move. Didn’t want to move. My hip was on fire. Almost immediately Blake was there, he may have taken my helmet and glasses of, or maybe they were already off. He took my head in his hands and started talking. I don’t remember much of the conversation, but I was happy he was there. And concerned about him, and anyone else who may have crashed since we were so near the front. I wondered why he was holding my head. I was scared. And embarrassed.
People started running over, and as soon as they came into my line of vision I could see their expression change. The looks on their faces told me I did not look very good. This scared me more. Then some discussion and speculation as to the nature of my injuries. Didn’t want to hear, please stop. The medic came running over and his expression was the same as the others, and someone suggested calling an ambulance. He agreed that was a good idea. An ambulance? Really? Ok, that’s kind of cool, I’ve never been in an ambulance before.
After what seemed like an eternity the firetruck arrived. We joked about them sending the “special” firetruck full of the calendar guys. Sadly, they were all dressed from what I could see, and not the sweaty, shirtless, soot covered variety. They asked me what day it was, where I was and so on. My favorite question was “what did you hit?” Ummmm… the road? Apparently there was some confusion as to whether there was a car involved. They also seemed to be under the impression that I was on a leisurely cruise through the park on my bike when another biker happened to fall on me. Seriously? I will cut them some slack though since I was lying on my back and my race numbers weren’t visible. They poked and measured and moved me in ways I didn’t want to be moved until the ambulance showed up. Then the paramedics took over. The same barrage of questions. Jeez, don’t these guys talk to each other? But they were nice, and calm.
They decided to put me on the back board as a precaution. My back and neck felt fine, everything else felt like shit. The move from ground to board was not fun. None of what happened next was fun. Just hurt, and lots of it.
I had managed to open a gash in my head above my right eye, probably from my helmet or glasses, which was bleeding profusely. I only discovered this later, at the hospital, when I went to take the elastic out of my hair and found my hair a solid mass of caked blood. No wonder everyone was so concerned about my head.
But it was my hip I was most concerned about. It felt wrong. The paramedics said it might be dislocated. Maybe fractured. I didn’t want to look. Turned out I had taken the skin off down to the bone.
People kept asking who they should call. I didn’t know what to say. Paul was on holidays at the cabin with the boys, this being my “solo” week of the summer. Before he left he told me not to crash at the race, that I would be no fun on the holiday. He was joking, of course. But I didn’t want to tell him. He would be worried, frustrated, angry. Not at me, but the situation. He tolerates my riding and racing, but it worries him too. I have been trying to change this, and this would not help.
So, instead, I wanted my Mom. Doesn’t matter how old you are, when you are hurt, you want your Mom. I knew she would come and she would make me feel better. When we arrived at the hospital she was waiting. When I think about how I must have looked, I feel so bad for her. Your daughter strapped to a board in a neckbrace, oxygen tubes, bleeding out the head. Nice. I told her it looked worse than it was. Then I remember telling her that the paramedic standing with me looked exactly like Alberto Contador.
She stayed with me that night as they x-rayed, scrubbed, stitched and gave me 5 doses of morphine, some Percoset, and Gravol for nausea. They checked my blood, my blood pressure, my temperature and gave me fluids and antibiotics through an IV. Mom is a retired nurse, and unlike most people is completely in her element in a hospital. She was a great help to the poor nurse who drew the short straw and had to scrub the road off me, and later to the doctor who did my stitches. When the ordeal was finished, I had been scrubbed from head to toe and stitched in 2 places. It was probably the worst night of my life. As far as pain, think childbirth, but without the nice baby part at the end.
After a remarkably good sleep, I woke up to being moved into the hallway. I had been sleeping in the suture room, and someone else actually had the nerve to require stitches. So into the hallway I went. Once the doctor determined I was well enough, they helped me to the bathroom, which was about 2 feet from the foot of my bed and took 10 minutes to get to. And then another 10 minutes to get back. At that point they decided it was time for me to go, and as I was explaining I had no clothes or shoes, the very nice orderly who had admired my pedicure and “cyclists legs” gently escortd me to the front door, saying I could keep the hospital gowns I was wearing. He put me on a bench outside and told me if I was feeling sick or dizzy to come let them know.
I know…
I had called my Mom to come and pick me up as soon as they had started talking about letting me go, but I knew she was about 15 minutes away. And she’d probably park in the parking lot. So I gingerly made my way back inside, shoeless, black eye, hair still matted with blood, and asked the nice ladies at reception to use the phone. They looked confused. I didn’t care.
There was a stunned silence as I called Mom and explained the situation. She said they would be right there. I went back outside to the bench, where an older woman with a walker was now sitting, talking to her son. I could feel them looking at me, all too aware of what I looked like. It took everything I had not to laugh. Then they really would have thought I was crazy.
Finally my parents came, trying to hide the outrage they felt as I exchanged pleasantries with the woman with the walker.
My grandmother died when I was 2, so I never knew her. Dad tells us that she always said it takes 3 days to heal from anything. Or at least to get past the worst of it. Today is day 3 and I still feel pretty rough. But grandmother bore 10 children so I figure she knew something about healing.
The body will heal, the head will follow. The bike will likely be put out to pasture.
That’s all for now. I needed to write this down while it was fresh, but it’s time to lie down now.
Ride hard. Ride safe. And one final thought:
Amen to that!
As bad as it was it could have been a lot worse (we could have forgotten to bring the gin over the next evening!)
p.s. Remember…you are tougher!
Get well soon… I love your text and your description of pain something I could not have described myself, but I know now what it might feel to give birth.
It is time for you to stop racing. You are a hazard.
Anonymous to post this kind of a comment you are obviously not an athlete or a decent human being. You are a coward. Shame on you.
Anonymous get a life. Shame on you.
The guise of internet anonymity lacks authority. Man up Anonymous. Then at least we can call it a conversation.
Gonna say we are all thinking… Anonymous: You're an A$$
Anon could be anyone who cares that Andrea crashed. It could be her mother or her fellow crit cyclists. Anonymity offers the opportunity to opine without hurting feelings. Blogs are very public soapboxes. If you do not want anonymous comments, change the settings of your blog comments. I will engage Paul T in a conversation, if Anon will not. Something has to change in our riding community to improve rider safety. Untrained, unskilled riders are hazards to themselves and to the people who ride in close proximity to them when they attend group rides and races without an understanding of the limitations of their abilities. When I read her account of her crashes, I see they were caused by fundamental mistakes: last summer her front wheel crossed the rear wheel of a bike in front of her; last month she didn’t slow down cornering on a wet road; last week she had her inside pedal down on a turn. These are errors avoided by trained and experienced cyclists. It’s more than just bad luck. Who is teaching her how to ride? This is a community where anyone, regardless of ability, who is willing to pay for a license, can race. If she is like most cyclists who toe the line at MCA races, her education consists of being chided by others when she does something dumb in a group ride, or by race directors who yell out to be safe by holding lines on the sprint. For some of us, this informal training, experience and common sense is enough to bring us up to snuff. Other are slow learners. Seems to me Andrea has had to learn the basics in the school of hard knocks. And the riders around her are also learning something: avoid her, now that she has a reputation for crashing and taking others down with her. Avoiding her wheel, shunning her and staying in front of her is the only defense. Anon’s suggestion has merit. After three strikes, you should be out. It’s only fair to the others who want to keep playing and having fun. But you know, that’s okay. There’s lots of fun things for Andrea to do on bikes, such as touring, time trialing, or single track mountain biking.
JP
Thank you for taking the time to comment. I do agree with many of the things you have said here. There is little in terms of formal training available, one is left to get whatever information one can from books, and from talking to other, more experienced riders, who thankfully tend to be all too happy to share information and advice. I came to this sport late in life and have embraced it and researched it and practiced it to the best of my ability. I entered the crits tentatively at first and soaked in every piece of information that was offered. I knew going in it was a dangerous discipline. I do find your assessment of me a bit harsh. My crash last year was the result of a fundamental error, yes. It is also an error that can (and does) happen to anyone, even experienced riders. At the crit in the rain the other week I did in fact slow down for the corner. Perhaps you missed that part. When it became apparent the bike was sliding, I took the tangent into the grass to avoid taking other people down, and yelled to alert the others. As for last Tuesday, it is becoming more likely that the condition of the road may have been a factor. But I will never know, and neither will you. Three strikes? Perhaps you should tell that to Tim Woodcock. Ask him how many times he has crashed. Neither you, nor anyone will tell me when I should stop racing, and I resent the pretence. Those who choose to ride or race with me, will. Those who are too afraid can ride with the Cylists Who Do Not Crash and never do anything wrong. I am sure they will enjoy your company. Happy (and safe) riding.
One more thing. The Anonymous nature of the first comment did not spare my feelings whatsoever. It was like hitting the pavement all over again.
You are correct to point out that there are no guarantees for a crash-free cycling existence. Danger is inherent to the sport. There is so much randomness to our environments and the behaviour of others. Nevertheless, we select where and how we ride to improve our odds to remain safe. We commute on designated bike routes to avoid traffic. We ride with friends whose actions are familiar and predictable. We form clubs that adopt riding rules so everyone is on the same page when we signal or ride in pace lines. When someone new joins, we tutor them. I have noticed that some people catch on right away, they earn your confidence, you can relax with them and it’s fun. I have also noticed that others never seem comfortable or solid on their bike. They are always a bit scared, late in their reactions or often too daring because they don’t appreciate or understand the limitations of their abilities. We all call these riders sketchy or hazardous to others. How hazardous they are is relative to the context in which they ride. A rider may be solid in a casual group ride but may cross into unsafe territory when they elect to participate in situations that require bike handling skills above their current level of training and experience. I know I feel very safe on Tim’s wheel as would we all. When he crashes it is the consequence of unavoidable circumstances revealed over zillions of hours of exposure. His skill is above reproach (but thanks for the laugh in comparing his experiences to your situation). I suspect from reading your blog (I learned you ride like a newbie with inadequate resources to improve) that I will not feel safe behind your wheel. So, insofar as I need to select where I ride to improve my odds of remaining safe, participation of sketchy riders at races will keep me away. I enjoy the thrill of racing as much as you but my chance to have it will be gone at any race you show up at. I am sorry if you think I am being harsh. In my mind it’s become a bit of a me/you situation. Your friends see your insistence in returning to races as courage and moxie. I see it as a threat to my well being. In fact, I don’t think I could even enjoy cycling with you in a casual ride, now that you have this reputation. I would always have to keep an eye on you half expecting to exercise my bike hopping skills and that’s not fun. But you keep doing what you want. It's all about you, isn't it, it being your blog and all.
It is indeed. I suspect my friends and I are not worthy of riding in your company, casual or otherwise. And rest assured that someone so self-righteous would not be welcome. Perhaps in addition to not following my wheel you might consider not following my blog.
Guess everyone is welcome to their own opinion; here’s mine. Anon and JP's comments reek of arrogance. The "I can do no wrong" attitude, accompanied by a false sense of certainty that snubbing, shunning, banning or plain old rudeness will protect oneself from accident and injury displayed by some riders is the most offensive thing in road cycling. This is why roadies have such a bad reputation and one of the reasons that this great sport suffers from such poor participation rates. Fortunately, there are many great riders among us – those better than Anon and JP – who know better. Great riders encourage and help less skilled riders grow and develop. They have the skills and confidence to spot and avoid dangerous riding, and take the time to educate offending riders in a NICE and ENCOURAGING way. Great riders also accept the risks inherent in riding; they don’t vainly try to blame everyone else for risks that are often beyond control. The best riders in the world crash regularly! Why should we expect new riders not to? Since when has exclusion become acceptable? Take your own advice… if you don’t like the situation, exclude yourself! The sport will grow more quickly and we’ll all be better off without your rotten attitude. I've ridden with Andrea, a lot, in all conditions. She's a solid, dependable rider, and she's welcome in our group any day of the week.
Scott, Are you one of these 'Great riders' who helped Andrea grow and develop? Proud of your progress? Feeling at all responsible for sending her into crits without knowing how to negotiate a turn? In large part I blame you for her misfortune because you take onto yourself this mentor/teacher role, do a half assed job of it and sent her unprepared in over her head.
All quite laughable. Don't worry Andrea, I don't think you really want to be part of his tribe anyway. His brand of arrogance has been killing the sport for years now. Ride on Andrea.
Polo anyone?
I'm going as anonymous only to save JP's feelings.
I moved to Winnipeg years ago leaving behind a robust cycling community. Let me be frank and say that participation here is what's sketchy. No really. Now why would anyone go out of their way to save it all for themselves? Sounds like there are other issues at play with JP (my honest opinion). Regardless – Andrea is exactly what this community needs. Pay no attention to JP Andrea. I'll cheer you on next time I see you race. Who knows I may even have to race against you sooner than later. And I'm totally cool with that.
If your blog has a large enough following, eventually part of that following will decide that you are irresponsible and don't like what you have to say. . Congratulations Andrea, you've made it!! Ride on girlfriend and continue to kick butt!!
Wow. Andrea, first of all, I'm sorry for your accident. You take part in a dangerous sport, and getting hurt is one of the accepted risks, I'm assuming. I'm in muay thai kickboxing, which is similar in that respect. And in my sport, as in yours, newbies can occasionally hurt the more experienced, by blocking a kick with their knee, let's say. But it's up to the more experienced to help them or just get out of the way in time, in some cases.
I cannot imagine a colleague telling me I need to quit because I got hurt. Getting hurt is part of being in a dangerous sport. If anyone ever did dare to tell me that, I would pay them less than no heed, which is exactly what JP deserves. What a snob, seriously! Give 'em hell, Andrea! There should be more respect for your courage and tenacity.
Holli, I thank you very much for pointing out that the crux of our disagreement revolves around our varying levels of risk acceptance. (Firstly, let’s imagine for a moment that blocking a kick with your knee has the same potential for injury as one would sustain from a potentially crippling or fatal 40+km fall on pavement.) Some people might accept a sport’s risk in exchange for other benefits derived from the sport. Others might be on the edge of accepting the risk and it only takes a little push to keep them from being willing to participate. In bike racing that push could come in the form of bad weather, poor course surfaces or the company of hazardous participants. It’s my responsibility to determine if the potential safety of a race meets my personal risk acceptance threshold. I’m not being a snob. Being self-aware and true to myself, I’ve drawn a line in the sand. I bet there is a silent majority of readers of this blog -– people who care about Andrea’s well being, for the sake of her family — who cheer me on when I say she should look for less dangerous cycling pursuits. Me, personally, I don’t care where else she rides (downhill mountain bike racing, BMX stunt riding or hands-free-pennyfarthing-racing), just stop tipping the scales at my MCA races.
If it keeps jp out of the race, by all means, keep racing Andrea. He's stinking up the place.
I'm not sure what reeks more, the flippant presumptions or the pretension cast into JP's posts. Anonymous or not he still lacks that semblance of authority. But hey, on the upside it sounds like he's going to give us all the road we want. Steer clear brother.
I do not know much about MCA but are there not classes of riders? If JP is such a great rider would he not be in the same class as Andrea? Can someone please educate me on the MCA calss formats?