Big Solo Ride on the Trail
I knew I was going to have to put in a big effort if I was going to get caught up with the Festive 500. I wanted to try and get the most hassle-free miles I could. I also wanted to try and get further into Georgia than I had in the past. I was successful on both counts with only a small bit of drama. After tackling a few projects at the house I headed over to Jacksonville to ride the Chief Ladiga Trail. If I was going on a solo ride- I needed some flat roads to be efficient. I left and made it past Cedartown, Ga. and started riding to Rockmart. All of a sudden the trail became very rolly and windy and I couldn’t keep up my speed because of speed sapping hills and turns. I crested a hill near a Garbage dump of all places( with vultures circling nearby it felt rather Faulknerian) rolled to the bottom and began my trip back.
When I made it back to my car I realized I needed a few more miles before I hit my 160K goal and kept on the trail to Weaver. I turned around AGAIN and went to may car, in the diminishing light I realized I needed a few more K and road to Germania Springs where I 180-ed and made my way back into the darkness to my car. It was a long day, but rather fulfilling to be able to bust out 101 miles without too much effort.
Needless to say my legs were completely shelled the next day.
Solo Trail Ride, a set on Flickr.
Sumatanga Ride
Sumatanga Ride, a set on Flickr.
Sumatanga Solo Ride
After missing all of the Camp Sumatanga training races for the past few years, despite the fact that they are practically in my backyard I decided to head out to camp. I’ve been to Sumatanga on several occasions for church occasions, news stories and other stuff. It’s a gem of place and I’m glad that the United Methodist church makes it happen. Everytime I’ve driven out there I stop and think wow, these would be some great roads to ride. MORE TEXT HERE
Close to Home, Whortons Bend Ride
So I was having trouble getting up the motivation to ride. The temps were pegged in the low 40s, through the morning it kept blustering with isolated showers a ride didn’t seem fun. I knew I had to get some miles but didn’t know how it was going to happen. When I planned to do the Festive 500, I had dreamt of the great plans for epic rides but the fire in my belly that was easy enough to summon while plugging away at work was as cool as the wind outside.
I decided to suck it up, but not very far. Whortons Bend is my easy, in town but away from traffic, decent length, but isolated by major bridges and roads, loop. I drove to Rainbow Landing just under the Southside bridge, pulled on my Eddy Merckx kit, which seemed rather appropriate given the ‘hardman’ nature of the ride and my flanderian funk and started spinning. Miraculously I was able to get up to speed and did half my loop. I then realized that I had been benefiting from a nice little tailwind coming off of the Coosa river. I think turned around and was hit in the face with a gusting miserable gale.
I did several laps, that seemed much too hard given the terrain. I’m convinced it was the wind. I checked my phone when I got home to realize that we were in fact under a wind warning from the National Weather service with winds of 25 mph with gust up to 35. At least that notification explains why I would suddenly find myself three feet towards the centerline.
When I got home from the ride I Was beyond chilled and took to eating and drinking my recovery snacks in the steamy confines of the shower, ugh too many more miles to go.
Websters Chapel Ride with Bob
Bob and I rode on Christmas Eve. We hit the Websters Chapel Ride, and I’ve always meant to stop and shoot some photos of this old home place. The Rapha 500 is coming along slowly, but it’s fun getting in those brisk winter miles with a tight goal in mind.
First Rapha Festive 500 Ride – Glencoe
So, I went for a ride. It was cold. We didn’t go that far. We had a good time. I’m going to write some more shortly.
Bamacross Photos Brookside #2 2011
So I endured the pain a little and even convinced Carol to come to the second Bamacross race of 2011 in Brookside, Alabama (just outside Birmingham)
The course was similar to last time, but there were a few small changes.
I shot a bunch more photos of the guys from Mellow Mushroom, Cahaba, Bici, BBC and others.
See the gallery here
Bamcross 2011 Race 1 at Brookside
Just to rub it in that I wouldn’t be racing cyclocross this year, I decided to shclep on down to Brookside Ala. to shoot photos at the Bamacross season opener. I had a great time hanging out with friends I hadn’t seen in months and generally having a great time. I wish I was racing, but this is close. My friend Mike put it well comparing the date to a homecoming, family reunion and more.
Crash 2011- Part II
This is my ongoing attempt to blog about the crash I experienced July. Check out my first installment here:
Carol’s Part 1 here and Part 2 here
So last I left you dear reader, I had figured out a way to exit my ad hoc ambulance and as being wheeled into the Gadsden Regional Emergency Room.
I was inspired to finish up this blog post, because as I was getting ready this morning I found my cross necklace, the one I was wearing the morning of the accident and that Carol and I thought we lost when I took it off to go for the MRI or X-rays- it was put aside in a rush – and we thought it had been discarded, but in fact it been carefully placed in the pouch I use as a wallet n the road- a sign it was to finish the blog.
I remember being wheeled up to the reception desk and being asked a bunch of vital statistics and wishing that I could hand them my medical info card and they could just read it themselves. The pain was kicking in from all over my body and I just wanted to get on with what I assumed would be the painful next steps of getting bandaged up. In retrospect I am fortunate that it was early-ish on a Wednesday morning- not exactly primetime for a small town hospital which diminished the potential embarrassing fact of being wheeled around in my bright orange and white cycling kit. As Pro cyclist Ted King put it after a wreck in a race “If you ever think you look really cool while wearing spandex, try walking through the downtown Philadelphia hospital ER.@imatedking”
So they get me quickly to a room after debating for a few minutes on which room I should go to, they settled on (I think) room 9 just outside the nurses’ station. The indecision gave Carol time to park the car and catch up with me.
The first hurdle was getting up from the wheelchair into the bed- that was fun, all I remember was getting help half standing up an intense waves of nauseating grating pain, which flared up when I tried to lean back on the bed.
A business-like doc came in and introduced herself as Dr. Jones. She gave me the once over and proclaimed that it felt like my shoulder blade and collar bone were crunchy, but that I needed some x-rays, but first “something to take care of that pain” and “oh stick some saline gauze of that nasty leg laceration.” The part I didn’t account for was the whole- let’s take of your kit before we get the IV in and the drugs flowing-t Sweet jumping Jehoshaphat that tingled. One curious memory was noticing that it was difficult getting my sleeve down my right arm because of the swelling. Bad omen there. I also remember then suggesting, after I was struggling. That they cut off my jersey and bibs- um no thanks ladies0 “ I responded, um these are rather expensive so I’d rather not.” Thank goodness I was wearing a full zip jersey- I can imagine how bad it would have been with a ¾ zip- it may have in fact required shears. I also recall how worried everyone was in order to not let me flash too much skin. Seriously folks- hospital ER, modesty has a place- but it isn’t here.
Oh well, they got me into a gown, popped an IV in me and started the itch inducing pain reducing drugs. Notice I didn’t call em painkillers; it would be a long time before I felt any sort of full on pain relief. As I was sitting there and nurses and orderlies were filing out. It seems like each one asked what happened to me, I began the process of telling how I was out for a ride and I slipped and went off the road. Curiously it seemed like everyone was under the impression that when I said I had a ‘bike’ crash that I went a motorbike not a bicycle. I forgot how many times I had to correct the listener- for me to change my retelling to explicitly include the words ‘bicycle training ride.’ I suppose the assumption of the motorcycle wreck was a nod to how uncommon and severe my injuries were.
After a short while letting the drugs kick in I was wheeled off to x-rays with a gregarious technician. As she told me, to hold still and try and move this way and that I could hear and feel Jackhammers at what felt like arm’s distance away. The tech. dismissed the jackhammers as part of some renovations going on nearby- and continued on with blessedly one-sided conversation.
Soon I was back in my room and I was told that I indeed had broken a few things the doc rattled down the list, Rib, Clavicle, oh and that Scapula is in several pieces- with that pronouncement – with a poof my season was gone- all of that training, those hellish intervals, my fitness I had gasped for, sweat gallons in Alabama heat for, burned my legs for, starved myself for, spent long weekends staring at empty stretches of road for, wrenched myself out of bed at ungodly hours for- gone in a pile of broken bones. Cyclocross was gone, road races were gone, what I think was the best cycling fitness of my life…gone.
Once I was done feeling sorry for myself they told me I was going to need an MRI- dollar signs flashed before my eyes- jinkies I thought, there goes the money I was going to use to finish up building my new cross frame and buy those tubular wheels I had already bought the rubber for- at least I pragmatically told myself- I wouldn’t need it this year anyway.
Then I discovered that the results of the MRI- would determine if I needed surgery on my shoulder- if the joint surface of my shoulder blade was involved I was headed to Huntsville because the Surgery was not something anyone here in Gadsden could do. A quick prayer at that point the Doctor told me that they were going to stitch me up and then take me off for the MRI- but first- she was passing me off to another Doctor, Dr. Hunt. It seems that my first Doc’s shift was over and I quote- “I value my personal time, time with family” etc- I bit business like, but as a child of a physician I understand the long hours and the time away from home- so Dr. Jones tapped out and into the ring hopped Dr. Hunt.
Dr. Hunt had the unenvious task of reconstructing the pile of meat that was my right leg. That’ s right, I busted up my left shoulder but cut the daylights out of my right leg. On what I cut it on we’ll never know. In a continuation of the unfamiliarity of most folks with road bikes etc. several folks assumed I must’ve been a pedal that opened the inverted v-shaped laceration- if someone can cut themselves that severely with a Speedplay pedal than they are doing something very wrong (Yes I realize that you could easily, and correctly argue that by overcooking a corner and shooting off through someone’s backyard on my road bike, at speed, then stacking it into the ground- I just may have been “doing it wrong” but let’s just ignore that detail) I just don’t see what it could have been that tore me open, I doubt it was the chain ring since I was in the big chain ring, so nothing sharp there, no blood on the bike, no grease on me- who knows.
Where were we- that’s right- home ec with Dr. Hunt. In a somewhat fortuitous moment, it has been asked of a somebody to set up a table with the necessary materials for sutures- the person who couldn’t see my wound, for it was obscured with some gauze- set up the fisher price- my first sutures kit. Dr. Hunt, sat down, pulled the instrument table over, uncovered my name and in voice, reminiscent of Brody’s famous line from Jaws- “We’re going to need a bigger boat” called for a more complete suture set up. Frankly I couldn’t feel the sutures, or even the needles going in numbing me up. All I could feel was tugging and it seemed to correlate with movements of the doctor’s hands. Carol had warned me a few minutes before that she couldn’t watch the stitches- something about it not being the blood and meat, but the fact that it was my blood and meat. It turns out once she took a peek she was fine- and she got great photos of the wound with her camera phone.
During the procedure C and I were talking and at some Musical reference DR. Hunt perked up- and we had a great conversation about some cool music- but for the life of me I can’t remember what it was about. He just ended up being a cool guy that sewed me up really well. At one point, he asked kind or rhetorically, how do you feel about scars? He explained that this was going to be q pretty good one.
To be continued…
Crash 2011
Sorry for the radio silence.
You may have heard through the grapevine but I had a pretty bad bike wreck on July 27th. I’ve had most of my social media on lock down as I haven’t in a mind to manage it. I’ve been feeling pretty terrible and just didn’t have the energy to handle much that wasn’t trying to sit as still as possible and take my pain mediation. Since it seems like the word of my crash spread while I was still sitting half naked in the ER – I’m going to try and do my best to write about what happened and what the road ahead looks like. (I think C’s going to write something too.) C posted her account here. So, on that note- I’m going to watch twitter again and head back to Facebook and Google+.
Part I: The Ride.
On Wednesday Morning July 27th I left the house at about 4:50 with lights on the bike. It was still pretty dark but there was also a light fog as the air was like a wet blanket of Alabama humidity
I was headed out to do some MSS intervals or my training plan. Since my climbing had been weak recently I went to Country club to do my intervals on a longish hill I use somewhat regularly. It is from Hollywood up wildwood to the top of Azalea. It s roughly a mile with an average grade at +8% It has some hard ramps with some flatter transitions between the steeps. I figured it would be a good chance to practice for cyclocross since I would need to keep my intensity up on an irregular hill. I would have to work hard to keep my heart rate up during the transitions but the hill itself would take me a bit less than 10 minutes to get up it. I planned on doing 10 intervals or however I could before I blew up my legs or it got to be 7 a.m. and I would need to get back for work. I made it over to Country Club on nice quiet morning roads but the air was thick and damp. I noticed some runners in the Footworks parking lot as I crossed Rainbow drive.
I did my first interval up the hill taking it easy. As I turned around at the top I noticed it was getting plenty light out- but decided to keep my lights since the road was shaded and visibility still wasn’t great. I descended nice and easy because of the narrow road and tight turns. I then went up again, pushing it a bit harder – but my heart rate monitor wasn’t reporting realistic heart data- the data must’ve been dying.
I summitted the climb again and started to decent at a more normal pace since I had a good feel for the turns after the last run.
Part II: The Crash
I made it through the first set of turns easily, but as I started setting myself up for a sweeping right left chicane – my back tire started to slide out from under me. I sat up and righted the bike; I then looked up out of my turn to see that I was now pointed straight out of the turn at the apex. In a half instant I realized I wasn’t going to make my turn. I looked for an escape route but the only thing I saw was an empty lot with a few trees, sloping downhill. There was a deep concrete gutter through most of the road, but I noticed a spot near my path that was grown over with grass. I resigned myself to going off the road. I grabbed as much brake as I could and dropped my speed from 30 to 20, and then my bike left the tarmac. (This part is a blur) I managed to hold the bike upright bouncing through the gutter and then the rooty sections of dirt. I dodged trees on either side of me and then all of a sudden the bike stopped and slipped to the right underneath me and I went with it down in a tangled heap on my left side.
I sat there for a minute and did a systems check. I could see, smell, move my head, fingers and toes- but I clearly had that tingly shocky feeling after a big impact. I touched my helmet head and it seemed smooth and unbroken.
I touched my right leg and found a big meaty bloody flap. I held my hand to it to keep pressure on it. I realized I was ay back in a yard and needed to get help. I tried to sit up, but I noticed that anytime I tried to do anything with my left arm I had lightning bolts of pain run through my body. I yelled for help a few times- to no avail- I felt like I could have been in the middle of the Alaskan woods – no response. I decided that I had to make it to the road- whatever it took- I had to get help (I managed to leave my cell phone in my office the night before and therefore had no way of contacting anyone. I never ever do this- I always ride with a phone.)
I thought about my options. I managed to reach into my jersey pocket and get my little Seal line wallet/case. In it I had a few bucks, a small hankerchief from C and my Finish Safe card- a medical details card. I opened the case and pulled out the hanky and used it to staunch the flow of blood from my right leg- I pulled out the card and put it and the wallet between my teeth. I pushed through the pain and half stood up. I must have looked terrible limping/crawling to the side of the road tucking my left arm into my chest. I made it to the side of the road biting on the wallet in pain. I sat down and put it on the ground near me so someone would find it if I lost consciousness.
I looked at my leg again, pulling back the blood soaked handkerchief- I could tell that the cut was deep by the thickness of skin and muscle I could see severed. I quickly put back under the handkerchief and pressed harder (thank goodness for Boy Scout first aid training- compression compression compression.)
I could see the blood running in rivulets down my leg. I thought about my options. I kept calling for help, hoping that someone in one of the houses would hear me during their morning cup of coffee. I started thinking about trying to move again. 50 yards up the road was a small intersection where I might have better luck being found. Further down the road likely, 150 yards was Rainbow drive and a Fire Station. I decided I was going to yell for a little bit longer then crawl for Rainbow Drive.
Part III: The Pickup
Nothing, I called and I called. I decided to try and move. I garnered all my strength and tried to stand, but the pain from my left side crippled me. I tried to slide down he road a few inches at a time but hurt so much I began to feel nauseated with each half inch scoot. I decided I would just have to wait. I don’t remember actually how long it took, but my GPS timer tells me it took 30 minutes- a truck came, then another – a work crew. A passenger from the first truck got out and asked if I needed help. I told I had fell on my bike and asked if he had a phone. E mumbled something and yelled to the truck in the back, the first truck drove up the hill and the next truck pulled into a driveway behind me. A crew chief popped out and I asked him to make a call for me. He whipped out hiss cell phone and dialed as I recited C’s phone number. I was still clutching my emergency card. He put the phone on speaker and held it down to my face. I spoke to a Groggy C asking her to come pick me up. It seems I didn’t mention that I was hurt, just that I needed her to come pick me up. At one point I conferred with the guys to make sure I was telling her the right location- just turn into Country Club at Hollywood and go a half mile. Then she was on her way. The guys asked me if I needed anything else, then they were on their way, disappearing as fast as they had arrived. I never got to ask them their names or offer more than a feeble thank you, but they pulled my bacon out of the fire.
Soon a few more cars passed inquiring if I needed help, first an SUV piloted by a co-workers sister, a nurse in fact- then another handy man crew in an old pickup, you know the kind with the bumper engraved with the name of the ford dealership it was purchased from in the late 70s I told them all that I had a ride on the way and that I would be OK soon enough. I waited and waited- praying and hoping to see Champagne colored Hyundai around the next bend. A few minutes more and I saw the dark gray nose of a Honda. Hmm that. looks. like. my. car! Hooray my sedan driving savior. Carol got there and she soon realized I was hurt. I told her that I thought we should go to the Hospital and she stood there for a second looking at me, she may have even cocked her head to the side as if to say “ of course we’re going to the hospital you big dummy” I told her that my shoulder hurt, and that I had also gashed my leg ‘pretty good.’ She asked to look, so I pulled away my hand she straightened up with an inaudible gasp and let out a terse ‘yup, I think you’re going to need stitches’’
She gad parked the car in a driveway nearby, maybe 30 feet away, but I told her I was going to need to be much closer. She got back in the car and pulled it right beside me. I realized an uncomfortable maneuver would be in order shortly as I had to find a way to get into the car. Carol jumped out. Took my helmet from me, and then she summoned some superhuman strength and grabbed me around the torso from behind, stood me up and placed my seat on that of the car’s. We then jointly and awkwardly folded my limbs and head into the passenger seat. As she closed up the car she asked if she should get my bike and I clearly remembered saying ‘ I don’t care’ I think this scared her as I treat my bike like one of my most valuable possessions. She quickly ran over and found my bike and tossed it on the rack. By now a few cars gathered behind us. She closed up the car, and whipped the car around on the narrow road and drove quickly down to Rainbow drive.
She flew down the drive like ad hoc ambulance she was- apologizing after each jolt in the road jangled the broken bones against each other- I let out gasps and grunts of pain. We stopped at a red light near Pruett’s BBQ and I realized she still had her flashers on- I told her “ you can probably turn off the flashers” thinking she just hadn’t thought to do it yet. She said in a matter of fact tone “ Nope, hold on, I’m getting to break the law” and she gently popped the clutch and launched us though the traffic signal. Once I remember that I was still bleeding I dropped the handkerchief and grabbed a wad of yellow fast food napkins from the console and staunched more flow- but I realized I couldn’t feel the flap of torn flesh, probably less than ideal. I think we both realized that we were going to hit the worst stretch of road in Gadsden- Meighan Boulevard rive with crazy drivers from Wal-Mart, railroad tracks and Talladega-esque 4 wide high speed driving. I put my head back and just tried to breathe.
Before I knew it we were pulled up at the door of the Gadsden Regional Emergency room. We briefly discussed ho I was going to get inside and then in a flash Carol was back with a calm orderly and a wheelchair.
I’ll stop here and pick up later as I’m exhausted from typing one handed.
I want to ride my Bicycle . . .
Solo ride on the 4th . Good little ride- turns out it’s warm in Alabama in July.
Also despite lead legs – I managed to KOM on one of my little self-test segments (allegedly 221 watts which is hilariously low for a trained cyclist)
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