This past Saturday, I didn't have to look too far to find humor. First, Dr. Redneck provided me with a huge laugh as he prepared himself for our upcoming 20 mile bike.And then, while on our ride, it was the Wicked Witch of the West herself who added to the amusement.
This past Saturday marked the Maiden Voyage of my new bicycle. Armed with "real" padded bicycle pants (as opposed to Dr. Redneck's idea of stuffing a pillow in my regular pants), I took to the Harlem Rail Trial for my first 20 mile ride.
Accompanied by my training partner, Laura; my self-appointed cycling coach, Ed and Laura's good-natured husband Alan, we set out on our adventure. Laura, who is quickly following in her husband's footsteps and developing a fascination for electronic devices, had her Garmin GPS watch, which would track our mileage.
As we unloaded our bikes at the rail trail and were getting ready for our big adventure, I made an interesting observation: I, the shortest person of the group by about a foot, had one of the largest bicycles. As we would say in the Crawford household, "I had the bike that ate Canterberry Court (our street)." In layman's terms, that's another way of saying "my bike was HUGE."
Another interesting tidbit to note was that when the bike was "fitted" to me, it was configured so that my feet do not touch the ground at all if I am sitting on the seat. As it was explained to me, I am supposed to apply the brakes and then gracefully slide off the seat when I come to a stop. My feet will meet the ground at some point. It all sounded good in theory when the "bike guy" explained this to me.
Once at the rail trail, we all geared up --"Should I wear a hat?" "Should I wear gloves? "Are long pants better than the capri length riding pants?" And, when Ed had securely attached his rubber bands to the bottom of his jeans, it was time to start our expedition.
When our bike posse made it one way to the end of the rail trial, we discovered that we ran out of trail. Instead of stopping to eat lunch (which, in retrospect, would have been a much better idea), Ed, Laura and I turned around and started heading back.
At this point in our journey, Laura and I were riding side-by-side and my coach was behind me (analyzing my riding form, no doubt). As Laura and I chatted about god-knows-what, we came upon a patch of ice/snow. Laura went to the left of the patch and I went to the right. Or, as Ed says, "You headed straight for the ice patch - purposely."
At that moment in time, it was a moot point as to which direction I planned to head: left, right or center. It made no difference at all because seemingly, my bike was on autopilot and on a course of its own. A crash course.
As my front tire started to swerve left, right and every which way in between, I fought to maintain control. But, the only real control I had at that point was to cover my eyes and try to protect them from the bushes that would soon be my landing pad. And then, I auto-ejected from my bike. Or, a more accurate description may be that my bike auto-ejected from me.
When I made landfall in the snow bank, I did what I usually do after a fall: I started to laugh. And cry. And then, some combination of the two. But, when I felt the intense pain in my left leg, panic set in and four vivid thoughts went through my head:
- Your running days are over; you'll never get that medal for the 70+ age group.
- Your biking days are over before they even began.
- You will be returning to work on Monday morning in a full body cast - or better yet- you won't have to go to work on Monday.
- "OH MY GOD - MY NEW BIKE IS RUINED".
Five days post auto-ejection, I have yet to be able to run without pain, have not tried biking and did return to work, though not in a full body cast.
And as for my bike, it survived its Maiden Voyage with a few nics and scratches, but is no worse for wear. My legs, however, are another story.
Clearly, any fantasies I may have had of ever being a "leg model" are gone. They, too, went South with the Wicked Witch of the West....lol
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