This sign sums up what happened in a glance. Wheels locked up and over the handle bars I went. Of course, the pavement always "wins"; but luckily I survived.
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| What "not to do" on a bike |
The circuit is 12 miles (I believe) & our top speed is well below 20 miles/hour. We call ourselves the "Red Faced Fat Bastards Club", as Malcolm is found of saying, "we're athletes for the first 5 minutes of the ride". In truth, I'm there for the company as much as the exercise, and certainly the slower & heavier rider.
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| Look Mom! Kept all my teeth! |
So as the Florida move to the Washington DC area came upon us for a new job, I'd begun to slowly moving things home one locale to the other. One of my first "bright ideas" was that I might be able to ride to work, as the Esri office is close to home and has gym & locker/shower facilities. So after shipping my "better bike" up north - I'm left with a "back up bike" for the infamous ride (and resulting images).
I remember most of the ride. Malcolm met me as usual (though we hadn't ridden in a while). We exchange morning niceties with the family as they prepared for errands and school - and off our two red faced athletes went!
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| Glasses removed from skull - stitches added later |
Well, somewhere along the return ride from A1A when crossing the Inter coastal, I remember having a bit of speed and power left in me, and I vaulted (more like humbly accelerated) past Malcolm on the bridge accent. I even quipped something snappy about having the strength in me that day. Then .... not much. My mind was quiet. I remember soft thoughts, like awakening from a deep sleep into a dream. There was a sense of satisfaction (I suppose about simply being able again to form a cohesive thought) ... & then the odd sense that I was in an ambulance, with much hustling, taping, strapping and wrappings around me.
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| Elbow preserving ice and cushioning apparatus |
Of course, Malcolm was the "best mate & hero" who made sure I survived the whole event. He describes it quite differently. They story starts the same way - off goes "Mr. Round Energy" up the bridge. Somewhere on the descent my front wheel wobbles and I lose control. The breaks lock up and I go over the handle bars, cartwheeling from head, to elbow to knees .... to finally a "large mass of a man inertia" in the middle of the road - with bike cascading on top, over and elsewhere.
As Malcolm describes, "you know they're OK when the limbs start to move after". Well me? Nope. Concrete snoozing in a lump of gashes & blood. He manages to attempt pressure on my largest wound - my elbow - which he noted "doesn't feel like an elbow anymore" .... more a "bag of rocks all jumbled up" and bleeding profusely. Deep cuts to the eye & chin, shoulder gashed open, with road rage all over my hands & knuckles. In his story, (when I become conscious again) I start mumbling about being fine and other silly talk (I have no memory of this). He rightly convinced me I was anything but fine and to sit my "athlete's ass" down until the rescue vehicles arrived.
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| "Son, don't be like your Dad" speech goes well |
Obviously Malcolm's story is much more interesting than mine (he's always been the better story teller anyways). His favorite bit is how, having nothing to really staunch the blood from the elbow wound, he was forced to use the sweat-drenched bike gloves as a stop gap. But hey, there padded right? And it doesn't feel like an elbow anyways!
So then the time lines coincide, and its time to go to the hospital in the "thousands of dollars" ambulance ride - to the emergency room, where after checking my neck and other parts with X-rays, outstanding medics determine I luckily have shattered my elbow (only) with other wounds being mostly flesh deep. So with stitches to the eye, its time for surgery the next day.
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| Metal in my arm, but not "cool" like Wolverine |
The result is a titanium plate with ten screws. The "home run" screw goes into the bone, with the smaller ones securing the plate. The doctor points in the X-ray underneath the plate. He calls this "bone goo", as it will take time for the fragments to re-solidify under the plate. Amazingly I had no tendon or muscle damage, so the break has been the major recovery point. I spend an extra night in the hospital for safe measure to ensure a "tens of thousands of dollars" recovery experience - but we are thankfully alive because of great medics, doctors and a "one of kind" bike mate.
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| "Manly stitches" fails to impress the wife |
After two months in a half cast, we have a manly scar to show for our silly bust of speed and battle with concrete (who, as I mentioned, always wins). I have begun "home grown" physical therapy (much to the wife's anger) and my elbow mobility is about 90-95%. Strength for "curling" is good, but push ups will take some time. So far, my biking is limited to the stationary trainer once stored in the garage. It now keeps my girth to a "toe viewing" minimum.
Best to all. Kiss your kids (and the wife, if she'll let you) every night. Tell everyone you love them at every opportunity (even when you don't), because we all could lose the "battle with concrete" or other unforgiving object, surface or menacing life-form at any moment. Cherish the ride!
