On Labor Day I crashed on my bike. I crashed hard. Hard.
I was riding in a group of about 20 guys. After a nice little loop around Minneopa, we had come back into town on Carney, which is newly paved and smooth riding. For this reason, guess I wasn’t being vigilant–never okay or excusable on a bike–and dropped into a hole something like a manhole with access to the water main, I guess. Anyway, I slammed over my handlebars against the pavement and broke my collarbone, my shoulder blade, and three ribs.
Here’s the ambulance. And Gianni Anderson.
And the fire truck.
And here I am, lying on the pavement in the middle of the road, in so much pain I was hoping a truck would come along and put me out of my misery. And Andy Fischer asked me to smile. and I flipping did!
Skarpohl, here’s evidence that what you think is a smile is really a grimace.
That’s the deal. I instantly look for reasons; deeper meanings as to why this happened, which of course there are none. Stuff just happens if you aren’t paying attention, which I wasn’t, I guess. So there’s the lesson: never quit paying attention. And yes, get back on the bike. ASAP.
But I think along the lines of the following. Maybe it’s because I was raised to expect that life would dole out “comeuppances” for doing something wrong. Maybe I spent far too many years believing all things work together for good…when I know that’s absolutely not true on a world-wide basis. At any rate, crazy as these thoughts are, this is what went through my head:
Maybe I needed to slow down? I usually live at a fairly frantic pace.
Maybe I needed to write more and bike less? But no, biking is living, it means being vibrantly alive, and it makes me happy, and I write and teach better when I ride a lot.
Maybe, maybe, the forces of the universe said, “You are just too happy. Life is too good. Take this and see how you do!” I wrote a blog earlier this summer about happiness and aging. Was this a test to see how I do with being set back? I don’t believe that. But I wonder if some shred of me does wonder that since it even entered my head?
Maybe since I wrote that post about aging and happiness, those same forces of the universe smacked me into the pavement and said, “okay, are you still happy? Still love your life?” Truth is, yes, I do, didn’t like it much the first 48 hours when I sort of wanted a Mac truck to put me out of my misery, but since then, life has gotten a little better every damn day.
Mom’s second-most-used adage was “Pride Cometh before fall.” Was I getting proud? That always hangs around the back of my head. “Stay humble…avoid falls.”
And, today, wonder of wonders, Tom helped me get into the figure-8 brace to hold my clavicle in place, and it isn’t sending me into paroxysms of shoulder blade pain like it did last week, and in fact feels pretty darn good, so yeah, I still do like life. And awesome friends have been showing up with food and flowers and books and movies, and I am fortunate as all get out to have so many awesome friends. Seriously.
And here I am with my friend-of-30-years, Carol Daniels, who came to visit.
Maybe the universe is telling me to switch sports or hobbies? ABSOLUTELY NOT!!!! Surprising how many people have suggested that. Seriously? I crashed. It hurt. I will heal. Not a huge deal in the scope of things. Tyler Hamilton rode a few days of the Tour with a broken collarbone (‘course he didn’t have a broken shoulder blade or ribs to go with it at the moment, but come on)! I can’t wait to get back on my bike. In fact, it is what I miss most while in my recliner.
HERE’s the other thing: people have asked if I have weak bones or something since I have broken, um, several in bike crashes. Actually no. I just hit hard. The pavement, that is. I’ve crashed many times mountain biking and never broken anything. I got hit by a car and broke no bones, though I cracked my bike. This time, the ER doc thought I would have broken elbow, hip, arm, hand, wrist…but no. Just the biggest impact sites.
And I submit: What’s the point of going through life doing things halfway? I’d rather go hard, crash a few times, get up and ride again, and love what I do, rather than live too carefully.
Okay, as my daughter pointed out, there may be a middle ground. But still, I love what Hunter S. Thompson said, “Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming, “Wow! What a ride!”
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