"Keep the rubber side down." That's the somewhat macabre admonition that some bicyclists say to each other in parting. In other words: Try not to crash. Fortunately, for most of us recreational cyclists, hitting the deck is rare (knock on wood). The last time I fell off, I was out mountain bike riding at Rush creek with my friend, Jim Phelps. I couldn't have been going more than five miles per hour when my front wheel got bogged down in a mud puddle. I squelched gently into the soft ooze and laughed. My first thought was that I should stop by Starbuck's for a mocha, now that I was wearing a muddy badge of honor.
But falling on unforgiving tarmac is a different story. As you watch bike racing on T.V., you notice that crashes are a regular thing for professionals. I lost count of how many times Lance Armstrong went down in this year's Tour de France. It also amazes me how often the riders are able to continue. Bloodied and bruised, they mount their machines and chase after the rapidly disappearing peloton (the main group of riders). Broken collarbones are very common, due to the angle of the fall onto the shoulder, but some riders are even able to continue despite that devastating injury.
My only experience crashing during a race was back when I was 16. At the suggestion of my riding buddy, Mark Linker, I joined the Marin Cyclists and began going to meets. Starting in the lowest rank, I managed to win my first race ever, a 30-mile loop from Nicasio, in Marin County, out to Olema and back. Actually, I thought I was riding in third or fourth place. I could see a couple of riders ahead of me, so I dug deep and passed them, only to find out they were in the next class up. That felt really good.
My second race also started in Nicasio. It was a very cold morning and, back then, I only had fingerless gloves. We rolled out into the brisk winter air and soon began climbing the nasty hill that rises away from Lake Nicasio and descends toward the Rouge et Noir Cheese Factory on the other side. I climbed with a small pack and stayed with them all the way to the top. Since I weighed only 120 pounds wringing wet back then, I lost contact on the descent, but caught up to the paceline on the flat. We were moving along nicely, though my fingers were by now numb from the cold. Just as we crested the short rise past the Cheese Factory, that changed.
Since my mind was also a bit frozen, I'm not sure what exactly took place, but I guess someone touched their brakes (a no-no in a paceline) and I overlapped the rear wheel of the rider in front of me. As our wheels came together, we both went down and the rider behind me went over the top of us.
When you're riding, you sometimes imagine what it might feel like to crash. Yet when it actually happened to me, it felt like... nothing. Things happened so fast I didn't have time to think. Suddenly, I was on the ground, sliding along the pavement, my shoes still strapped to their pedals. We came to a jumbled stop and I took inventory. For me, at least, all I had was a very healthy road rash on my legs, hip and shoulder. The rider behind me broke his wrist.
The following cars stopped to help clear the wreckage and my bike was put in the back of a pick-up. Even if I had wanted to re-mount, my frame was now bent. The more seriously-injured rider was transported to the hospital and I got in the back of someone else's station wagon. Since there was nothing much to do about my injuries, we followed the remainder of the race and I can remember watching the finish sprint vividly. As one, the peloton got out of their saddles and immediately there was a tremendous pile up with riders and bikes flying everywhere. I heard that one rider dislocated his hip, so I was kind of glad not to have been involved.
My parents picked me up and took me home, where I was more upset at my bent-up bike frame than my own scraped-up human frame. My dad said not to worry, and carted my bike off to the local bike shop, where they restored its bikeyness to like-new.
My injuries took a little longer to heal. The scabs limited practically any kind of movement - except cycling. As soon as my bike was fixed, I got on and was surprised how easy it was to turn the pedals. I guess all the wounds were in just the right places.
As I watch bike racing today, I think about that crash and what it must be like to repeat it several times a year, or even within a race. Cycling professionals are truly a tough lot. Bob Roll, a famous cyclist and commentator on the Versus network, says that if you're not crashing, you're not going fast enough.
I also think about how the fear of crashing was more painful than the reality. There are so many things in life that are like that. If we can only put those worries aside and keep pedaling, the rest will sort itself out. Yes, there will still be crashes, even bad ones, but there will always be someone to pick us up, give us a ride home, and hopefully fix what's broken.
Until then, just be sure to keep the rubber side down.
No comments:
Post a Comment