*...I fucking "augered in," as the top gun pilots say, about 90 minutes later. Augered in how, and to what? one may wonder. On my road bike is how, and into a goddam curb that was supposed to be a curb cut, according to my beautiful mind, is what. Happily, I made the most of the time dilation phenomenon, which is well known to all who have witnessed themselves heading toward an inevitable high-speed calamity. With the grace of an Ed Sullivan acrobat opening for Freddie and the Dreamers, I relinquished the handlebars and handsprung onto the concrete sidewalk, pulling off a maneuver, with my arms, something like what parachutists do when their feet meet the ground too fast for comfort. Strangely, I suffered no hand abrasions from the concrete sidewalk, or any other scrapes except one about a quarter-inch in diameter at the crotchward side of the left knee.
However, I spent the next several days in fairly intensive pain, greatly fearing I'd ripped up my only unsullied rotator cuff. Now, after a negative x-ray and some healing time, it looks like I get off the hook with a moderate-but-manageable shoulder sprain. And that, loyal reader, is why I've been offline for almost a week. It also partially accounts for the muddled portions of my previous post.
Anyway, I took the photo at the early cusp of the photographers' "golden hour" with a highly limited iPhone 3G camera. I do believe that I may get on the bike again on Sunday and try again... but not 76 miles this time.
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Ouch! How's the bike? I recall ignoring the sign saying "no bicycle riding on overpass" and not making the turn at the bottom, crashing through the yard of the corner house and coming to a stop in their bushes. It was not a graceful stop, either. Hope you heal soon.
ReplyDeleteGurlitzer: haha! Not sure about the bike yet; shoulda creased the rim but it looks perfect to me. Have been recovering movement pretty well, but with considerable pain. Finally got to a real doc today; will try a steroid, time, and less stupidity.
ReplyDeleteThey shouldn'ta put that sign on the overpass; it always forced me to ride over it as a point of adolescent rebellion. However, the lack of a sign didn't stop me from throwing rocks onto the semi rigs heading toward Indiana on the toll road.