The Trip That Almost Didn't Happen

I’m a pretty lucky guy. I’ve been cycling for well over a decade and never had a serious crash. Maybe some bone head moves like forgetting to unclip or getting my leg caught swinging it over the bike, but never a crash that involved a trip to the ER. That was until two and a half weeks ago.  Those of you who follow me on Strava know the story. But, for others, it goes like this. I’m riding Old Red (my steel bike), hit a pothole, bars drop and I fly into the ditch.  Old Red and I got a bit banged-up. I had a concussion, road rash, and very sore neck, back and ribs and a cracked tooth.  With the help of a complete stranger with a large red truck, Steve took Old Red and me to the ER.  Old Red fared a little better than me, probably because she’s made of steel.

As I began to come to my senses in the ER, my second thought - after first thinking Rosey is going to kill me - was about this trip. I hit the ditch on my right side so I began to very gently move my right arm and shoulder. To my amazement, I had no major broken bones.  Perhaps I would be able to make this trip after all. During the next three hours, during which I had a cat scan, x-rays, visits by multiple nurses and doctors, and some people whose function I have no idea, I realized this trip was going to be possible. A few days later, my primary doctor confirmed my belief; I was going to be able to travel to Mallorca.

As I begin to pack tonight for the trip, I have an intense feeling of guilt, I never asked Steve after the crash, “how’s Old Red?”