Cyclo-crash

Not even four minutes into our mellow warm-up lap on Sunday at the cyclocross course, we came upon the second set of barriers. As I finished my dismount into the soaked grass, fellow teammate MG decided to bunny hop instead of run. He pulled up on the front end – then sprung the back up too….so far, nice form. The problem then came into focus as he couldn’t control the hop and landed on his front wheel at a 50+ degree angle. The front wheel slid out in the wet grass and his bike laid down under him as he executed a perfect shoulder roll – minus the fact that he separated A and C. It looked like a broken collarbone at first, but what did we know?

Adrenaline = gone. Shock = full throttle. Nausea and fever = plenty of it. I felt bad for him especially since he’s been the driving force of our team cyclocross effort by buying barriers, tape, stakes and such to construct courses. He’s a great kid (going on 24 years old), and just made a rookie mistake on wet grass. Surgery this Friday at 5pm, and 6-8 weeks in a sling. The heartbreak is that he just bought and had himself fitted to a new Velovie bike. Dura Ace, Reynolds wheels, the whole enchilada – yeah, nice. I wish it fit me so I could keep it warm for him.

The part that I won’t forget was his first reaction after crashing (besides nearly barfing and being dizzy). He was concerned about not being able to ride. Job, wife, the fact that he didn’t break his neck….that shit didn’t matter in the heat of the moment. It was about riding. That’s passion and I couldn’t help but smile. Yes – his brain re-set once I walked him into the ER Room and his wife arrived in a ball of frenetic energy. Then he realized he was fortunate to still kiss his wife, drive his car, do his job in a sling, and that the bike would be there in October when he’s ready.

When did I become the old, experienced guy on the team? Broken collarbone, broken wrist and subsequent surgery/rehab, tendonitis, concussions and a mess of superficial cuts and scrapes. The guy who tells stories about a friend who broke his C-3 on a seemingly harmless drop and is a quadraplegic until he dies. The guy who has had run-ins with dead Indians, and has felt lost/scared/along out in the woods more than once. All o' that kinda' reminded me to take it easy on that greasy-slippery grass on Sunday morning even if I was in third going over the barriers and not first. Maybe this old man thing isn’t that bad after all.