Super Moon Misadventure

by Sheila -


Rolling over in bed this morning, I was shocked awake by the pain in my hip. As the world came into focus, I felt the ache over my whole body. Like waking from a dream, I was trying to put the pieces together. What was going on? Like a flash I remembered and smiled. If I remember, then I don’t have a concussion.

One can never pinpoint the exact beginning of a chain of events, but I’ll start with yesterday morning. Up at the ridiculous hour of 6:30 to get ready for the class climbing trip. At the trailhead at 9. The long hike in, a day of climbing, and then a long hike out. All went well despite not fully recovering from the climbing course the weekend before. A tweaked knee and a couple of sore joints in my hand, so I took it easy out on the rock. Conscious of the day ahead, I focused on calorie and water intake and did really well staying on top of that. A great day for climbing and a great group on the trip. Couldn’t have asked for better weather. If that was all my day had in store, then I would have fallen into an exhausted sleep with a smile on my face. But yesterday was supermoon.

On the way home from climbing I ran the weekly grocery errand, necessary but not really what I wanted to do next, as a nap sounded much more appealing. In the store I was overcome with yawning so intense that each time one hit, I was paralyzed for a few seconds as my whole body participated in its desperate cry for a nap. Once home, I curled up in a blanket burrito and rested a bit. Oh sweet nap, how you eluded me. At least resting for a few hours in a puddle in the floor was a little rejuvenating. And I built up enough gumption to go out to visit with the supermoon.

Tom had planned a full moon bike ride at Pine Creek. I told him the day before that I couldn’t commit to going until after the climbing trip. I was a maybe. I wasn’t sure when I’d be back from the trip or what state I would be in. When the time came though, I thought ‘I’ll be tired for a day or so afterwards, but it will be so awesome seeing the moon in the canyon”. So I told Tom if he drove and loaded the bikes on the car, I’d go. There was no way I wanted to be lifting anything over my head at that point in the day. I stayed in my blanket burrito until the last minute, threw on my cycling clothes and packed my bag. It is an indicator of my exhaustion that I packed my pyjamas for my post-ride change of clothes.

When we got to the trailhead, I finished suiting up in the car. I sat there in my bike shoes and helmet in the residual warmth of the drive over waiting for others to show. Only one other person showed and we hit the trail. Not long into the trip, a few hundred yards, we turned back to inflate her tires which were I-left-my-bike-in-the-garage-all-winter low. Tom to the rescue. Tires pumped we headed out. If only we had thought to bring the pump with!

If you haven’t ridden in the canyon at night, I suggest you give it a try. Even though the moon wasn’t yet flooding the canyon with light, visibility was such that we didn’t need our lights. Riding in that low light is a bit disorienting. You can’t see the terrain or the horizon. The shadows all look like bears waiting to come nibble on me. Riding by feel and enjoying the company we start discussing how strange it is to ride at night. I’m all wobbly. With not enough visual cues, I overcorrect for every slight feeling the bike gives me. I’m like a little kid just learning to ride again. And then the noise starts. A low whop whop sound that is clearly one of my wheels doing something. I pull up next to Tom and his professional ears pick up what I am beginning to suspect. I have a flat front tire. Dead flat. 4 or 5 miles from the car. No pump.

Sigh, no awesome night riding in the moonlit canyon. The end of the night had just begun and still the moon hasn’t peeked over the canyon rim. But I can’t really go on, so I turn around to start riding back. Tom, ever the gentleman, offers to trade front wheels with me. I say no, I’ll be fine. He laughs a knowing laugh under his breath and says he’ll ask again in a mile or so. But I do fine. Wobbly still, and I wonder how much of my earlier sloppy riding was a slowly flattening tire.

We start joking about the night. Dark, exhausted, flat tire, no wonder I can’t ride straight. The only thing to make it worse would be if I had a few beers in me. Of course perhaps all these factors are counteracting each other and keeping me upright! All was well and we were riding back in light spirits, a little disappointed with the ride cut short but beginning to see moonlight on the far canyon wall. There were even a few moments of our moon shadows on the trail ahead of us. Next time, we need to start the ride an hour later. Oh well we say, it could be worse.

One must not tempt nature so loudly. In the dark, I miss seeing the edge for the bike path and my front wheel hits the loose gravel that is the drop off to the horse path. Just so you know, a flat tire is not the best choice for staying upright in such a situation. As my bike is sliding out from underneath me, Tom, who had been following my line, hits the same gravel. Had I not been in his way, he probably would have just ridden down to the horse path and been fine. But as it was, I was partially off my out of control bike that was right in his path and rapidly becoming both horizontal and parallel to the trail. We all know that noise that bikes make when they collide. Imagine that now.

I love my clipless pedals. They make riding so much easier. I try to convince others wary of trying them that they are worth the learning curve. And during that curve there is always that time or two when we clip out with the wrong foot and fall over the other way. So I am amused when I think of my feet automatically unclipping as I was thrown from the bike. I hit my hip and upper arm, at least that is what hurt when I lay there doing a self-assessment before I moved, rolled onto my back and just lay there.

Tom runs over and ask if I’m ok. He apparently managed to not get ejected from his bike. I told him I was fine, had hit my side not my back or head, and was just getting myself together. “Catch your breath” he said, and I did just that. A lay there feeling my body, feeling my heart, feeling the ground underneath me. “Now this is why you wear a helmet on the rail trail” I say and laugh as I peel myself off the ground and dust off looking for a tear in my beloved cycling knickers. I haven’t yet looked at the bikes.

First thought is my handlebars are bent, then I see it is just the brake hoods. Then I see the handlebars are no longer in line with my front wheel. I laugh to myself. This will be great! Not only do I have a flat tire, but the wheel will be pointing an inch or so to the left. This will be an ‘awesome’ ride/walk back to the car. Tom is busy looking at the rest of the bikes. One of my pedals is stuck in his front wheel, but he can’t remove it because one of his brake levers is caught in my front wheel. Please don’t ask how this happened. I was busy falling at the time.

Once Tom separates the bikes, he goes to work straightening and checking, as I laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. Perhaps we should be more prepared next time we attempt this adventure! Straightened out, we hop on the bikes and head back to the car. I’m sore and know it will hurt tomorrow. Having seen neither myself or the bikes in anything other than moonlight, I don’t know what the real damage is. Tom is now riding ahead of me (smart man) with his light on (at my request) and I can see dangling handlebar tape. He has lost his bar end plug. Not a big loss for us, but I feel a little bad about littering.

By the time we are packed up, and I’ve changed into my pyjamas for the drive home, I can feel the onset of all-over aches, including a headache. It feels like what I always thought of as growing pains. When I was a kid I would get these non specific aches in my arms, legs, hands and feet that would only feel better if I massaged them or wrapped them tightly in ace bandages. I felt these coming on and wondered again, what they were all about. So I ached until I got home and hoped that some food would help me feel better.

Once home, with the final disaster of the day averted (we remembered to not drive into the garage with the bikes on top) I poured myself a tall glass of chocolate soy milk and noticed I was shivering cold. Ever the gentleman, Tom warmed up a cinnamon roll for me while I wrapped up in a blanket and got the shivering under control. He brought me a couple Aleve, I ate my snack and crawled into bed.

The day after and I am worn out. Part adrenaline hangover. Part overexertion. Part recovery. While tired and sore all over, the only pain I can pinpoint is the bruised hip. The rest is some mix of the adventures of the past 24ish hours. It seems I’ll recover, but I haven’t yet worked up the nerve to look at my bike.

Race Course Map

Today was a Good Friday indeed. I didn't have to work and I got to ride my mountain bike. I decided to start mapping trails with the GPS whenever I ride. So here is a Google Earth file of the first half of the race course with picture at all the major intersections.

Google Earth Track

On Crashing My Bike

On the Monday before Thanksgiving back in aught 11, I crashed my bike on my commute home. One minute I was thinking about picking up my son. The next thing I remember was sitting in the backseat of a pick-up truck talking with a woman who, with her husband, found me unconscious in Ore Bed Rd. The ambulance soon arrived, Lilace and Gloria showed up, and I went to the hospital. (I made sure Lilace had my bike, though I didn’t check it for damage for three days. I must’ve been hurtin’.) Three milligrams of Dilaudid, a cat scan, some x-rays, and a sling later, I was on my way home. The diagnosis: a concussion, fractured clavicle, possible broken ribs, severely contused elbow, and road rash. (Turned out to be three broken ribs.)

I haven’t been to the hospital for a bike crash since I was six or seven. My Mom took me then. We lived in Mississippi, and I was riding my neighbor Malone’s ragged bike down the hill beside our house popping wheelies, imagining I was Evel Knievel, my hero at the time. (I still have my Evel doll. It’s in my office at school.) Malone rode my sweet yellow Schwinn with ape-hangers, banana seat, and rear slick. Mom sunbathed in the front yard. One trip down the hill, I pulled back on the bars, only to watch Malone’s front wheel exit the front fork and bounce down the road. Since I’m (still) not Evel, I couldn’t hold that wheelie forever. Fork, meet pavement. I launched over the bars, landing on my face and chest. My cut-off jeans didn’t protect me like Evel’s leathers protected him as I slid to a stop on my bare chest. I must have screamed, because Mom appeared instantly beside me. My chest was solid road rash, prompting my younger brother to exclaim later “Jimmy scraped his titty off!” and my left arm dangled uselessly.

Hence the visit to the ER. X-rays (no broken bones!) and tetanus shot later, and I was on the way home. (My Dad learned of my crash while putting for money on the 18^th hole at the local golf course. He sank the putt and came to the ER.) I was back on my bike later that day.

In the intervening years, I’ve ridden thousands of miles of roads and trails in several states. I’ve raced all kinds of races on all kinds of bikes. I’ve witnessed all kinds of crashes, and crashed a few times myself. Given all that, I find it amusing that my worst crash to date occurred due to a rookie mistake on the commute home on a road I’d ridden many times—not paying attention. Not paying attention cost me six weeks off the bike and around ten weeks of not riding outside, the longest break I’ve had from riding in nine years. Adding insult to injury, it was a mild winter, too. (Last winter, I rode regularly, including possibly my sweetest moment—meeting my cyclist buddy Jared, I on my bike, he in his car, in the dark, his car’s thermometer reading seven. Because of those rides, I didn’t thaw out until June.)

Since my crash, I’ve gone back and forth about what it means. On one level, it means nothing. I wasn’t paying attention, smacked the ground, end of story. On another level, it reminded me that I’m a part of a special community here. The outpouring of support boosted me through the worst physical pain I’ve ever experienced. As some of you (unfortunately) know, breaking ribs is not good. Clearing my throat hurt. I worked actively to avoid sneezing or coughing for weeks. I forbid my kids to say anything funny. But your support helped dull the pain as much as Vicodin and Percocet. (The gifts of beer helped, too.) I also have a renewed appreciation for modern medicine and donors, an appreciation I’d have preferred remained theoretical. My clavicle required a steel plate, ten screws, and cadaver bone to piece back together. I am now part cyborg, part zombie, though my taste in flesh still runs to the porcine. I do find myself wondering from time to time about the identity of the dead guy in my shoulder, but I figure if he was willing to undertake the ultimate in recycling, he’s all right.

Mostly, I missed riding. Now that I have a few miles back in the saddle, I realize how much riding connects me to the world outside. I can keep track of the red-winged blackbirds, the red-tailed hawks, the red efts, and the spotted salamanders, the water level in the creeks, the cycle of growth and decay that occurs each year. I keep track of which houses are for sale, where the gas wells are being built, and where barking dogs run after me. I connect with friends I don’t see much otherwise, and I connect with the little boy trapped in a 45-year-old body pretending he’s Evel Knievel. I am reminded that the world is bigger than me, which gives me hope.

Cyclocross, Pennsyltucky Style

Back in the fall, after Iron Cross, I started feeling that dreaded backslide down the slippery slope of diminishing fitness and flagging motivation. It's good to take a step back and cool your jets every once in a while, but this felt like something much more insidious creeping up on me, so I decided to keep myself moving by signing up for the Central PA Cyclocross Series in Danville PA. It's a 3-race series, one each in Nov., Dec., and Jan., and it's also part of the larger, year-long River Towns Race Series.

I really wanted to do just the first one, then maybe see about the others according to the weather, how I felt, etc. And that's when I realized I had to just sack up and register for all three in advance. Deep down I knew that without prior commitment I probably wouldn't train like I should, then I'd use my lack of fitness as an excuse to stay home. It may be good to know your own strengths and weaknesses, but it ain't always pretty!

Gumption trap avoided, and a few bucks saved by pre-reging, Jared and I went down to the first race, Meaty, Beaty, Big 'n' Bouncy, on a sunny November Sunday. Jared's wife Christy came along and snapped photos and cheered us on. We met up with our pal Mike Johnson and fellow Tioga countians Jason, Erin and Dave, and had a grand old time carving the dozens of grassy hairpins and switchbacks on the Susquehanna riverside. Jared got second place and I finished sixth. There were no prizes, which is just fine with me, and we all got a funky wifebeater shirt and a race logo iron-on to decorate it with.

Sucking wind at the Meaty Beaty

It was good (or just lucky) enough for 1st in my age group, but I wasn't super happy with how I did in that first race. I was also curious to see how much faster I could get in a short period of time, so I really crammed hard for the next few weeks. Then the second race, Hess Mess, was hillier, muddier and more technical, including an icy cold, hub-deep creek crossing, all of which suited me better. And my fitness was much improved, which also helped. I ended up 3rd, 1st in my age group again, and got another iron-on for my wifebeater.

The January race, Fire and Ice, was surely the crown jewel of the series. It was on basically the same course as the first race, but held at night. They had the whole thing lit up with luminarias and open fires here and there, including some flaming logs on the course with little ramps in front so you could jump over them. Sheila came to watch and found a good fireside spot from which to take in the mayhem.

Fire and Ice - so nice!

It was really quite pretty, and silly good fun. It was cold-ish, maybe 27, and the frozen ground made for a fast ride. Apparently the river rose some after they laid out the course, because there was about a 10-foot section of it that was under a couple inches of frigid water. It looked rideable, but on my pre-ride lap I bogged down in the silty mud and got my right foot wet dismounting. Then on the first lap I tried again with the same result. In the heat of the race I didn't think anything of it. I had a ball and despite a little "oh shit" moment fumbling to get my chain back on after a low-speed uphill crash (!), I was able to hang on for 3rd place. I gathered up my final iron-on and headed for home.

It looks way better on Sheila. Trust me.

On the drive back to Mansfield I experienced the usual firey tingle as my toes warmed back up to body temperature. Later that night, however, it became a different thing entirely. My big toe was throbbing so badly it woke me up and sent me hobbling downstairs for an aspirin. The next morning it was all purple under the nail and quite painful. The pain has now subsided, but I'm pretty sure the thing is dead and is going to fall off at some point.

The cure for foot fetishism

For my perseverance I got second overall in the series and some "silver" brass knuckles (the winner's are "gold" and Mike J's "bronze") to show for it. Far cooler than some cheesy trophy. And not only that, but the points I accrued in the 'cross series were enough to win my age group in the whole River Towns Race Series. That part comes with a generous cash prize, which I was totally not expecting. I turned around and gave it back to them as sponsorship for their next bike race.

My novelty belt buckle

So I hope to see you all there in Danville on May 19, 2012 for the Mon-Tour 75 and 45, sponsored in part by Oswald Cycle Works. I'll be the guy in the wifebeater. With the chrome knuckles. And the shiny new toenail.