Considering my lifelong lack of coordination you’d think falling would be second nature. Not so. I avoid the falls. That’s not to say the falls avoid me, but I try to limit our acquaintance as much as possible.
To date, I’ve taken three tumbles while cycling.
One:
Some would take falling during a test ride as a sign. A little indication the bike in question might not be the bike for you.
Moi? Not so.
After all, I survived. And with little injury aside from a scraped hand and bloodied knee. True, I’d been wearing jeans at the time, so perhaps not the lightest fall on record, but still, it’s not like I broke anything.
I took it as a sign the bike was spirited.
With the benefit of hindsight I can see that might have been faulty logic on my part.
But…that’s how you pick a horse, right?
I bought her.
Two:
Hmmm. Sometimes one has information that is of a slightly delicate nature to convey.
So.
- Say one was riding along and accidentally rode off the pavement into the grass.
- Say one’s inexperience was such that one did not realize a certain angle was required to transition from grass to pavement.
- Say in the resulting fall one did not ensure one’s…errr…nether regions…were fully disengaged at a safe distance from the saddle.
- Say impact brought said nether regions and aforementioned saddle…together.
At speed. 😑
- Say one has another five miles to go before reaching an ice pack.
- Say that disengagement during falls is now a top priority. In fact, the ONLY priority.
Three:
Two words.
Clipless pedals.
First off, I want to say the name is just silly. Yeah, yeah, I get it, but the darn things still clip!
Second. Oh, boy.
I had doubts about these little suckers right off the bat. In fact, so trepidatious was I that it was a couple of months before I worked up the nerve to clip.
A little practice on the trainer. A careful dry run in a parking lot. Meh. Okay.
We ride.
The first few stops went…okay. Not saying I was graceful by any means you care to measure, but I stayed upright.
Slow down - Unclip right foot - Put foot on ground.
Couple of traffic lights. No problem.
I started to breath a little easier. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad?
Next traffic light. I…am not entirely sure what happened. Leaning too far to one side maybe? All I know is it felt strange. I panicked. And tried to release my left foot.
Nope.
*boom*
Hip. Meet curb.
I am under my bike, both feet still clipped.
Let me just say that Steve is always talking about how tiny my bike is. Let me just say it did not seem tiny in that particular moment.
I was trapped.
And Steve, Steve, who is usually a jump-into-action kinda fella, just stood there, mouth hanging open, expression aghast.
(Cycling and open mouths. I really don’t get the connection, buuuuut there is one.)
I struggled.
That means I flailed about. Pointlessly, though no doubt high entertainment for all the stopped cars at the intersection.
Steve still stood. Gaping.
Me: Help me.
(I might have snarled.)
He unfroze and between the two of us got me untangled and upright.
Steve: Are you okay?
Me: Shut up.
We finished up the ride, mostly in silence, before limping home. To the ice pack.
Turns out I’m not osteoporotic. At least, not yet. Huzzah?
Nothing broken, but stiff for days. And a bruise the size of a salad plate on my left hip.
Fricking curb. 😠
By the way, merely as a point of interest, Steve falls all the time.
All. The. Time.
Don’t tell him I said so.
😝
*Steve was not familiar with the expression “Come a cropper”. For anyone else not familiar, it’s of British origin. Blame my addiction to out-of-date mysteries.
Donations:
Donations:
No comments:
Post a Comment