
While I was out on yesterday’s ride on Dollar, I got to thinking about my significant bike crashes (something to do on a 30-MPH downhill) and got to realize there was a common thread among them: Stupidity.
Curry and 10th Street: Tried a rolling dismount like I did when I was 15. The problem was my body forgot that 30 years had passed and that it weighed 100+ pounds more. While I was lying in the road, some dude walking by said, ‘That looked like it hurt.”
William and Carson: Navigating alongside morning rush hour traffic, my front bike wheel hit the curb and I slid into the gas station on my right shoulder. I can still make the collarbone “click” on command whenever The Bride is in hearing distance.
Fairview and Carson: I tried to make the green light, but way overpowered my pedals in my haste and fell rubber-side up nearly in the middle of the intersection. I was lucky that all traffic was stopped and nothing came of it aside from the usual roadrash, bleeding, and scraping.
Winnie and Ormsby: I was coasting down the hill and was lost in thought when I realized I was not going to make the left turn onto Ormsby. Fortunately, there was a lot of nice, soft grass to cushion the fall and to roll around in. The downside was they had just fertilized the lawn. The smell was still better than road rash.
Topsy Lane: Testing out a bike, my hands were nowhere near the brake pedals and I turned too quick for my own good. The brick wall upside the ribs taught me an important lesson about hand placement on fast bikes.
These were painful reminders to me that whether I’m on two wheels or four wheels, my mind had better be on that task at hand or it’s almost certain that I’ll give The Bride more ammunition to hold over my head. After 27 years, she has enough blackmail material already.