911 – We have a cyclist down

Two years ago I was training for a 350-mile bike ride. The ride was to be 4 days. The following is a story of one training ride in early May. (About 6-7 weeks before the event).

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911 – We have a cyclist down…send an ambulance…

So, last time we chatted, we were talking about training rides and crashes. Of course, from the message title, you are already wondering if there is more crash news to be had… of course there is.

But first, I’d like to tell you that last weekend I rode 130 miles. Of course, that’s only 210 miles shy of what I’ll be riding in 7 weeks with my team. If I recover…

Ok, on with the real story.

“Are you ok? What hurts?” Ilene was yelling.

Unfortunately, she was yelling at me. “Can’t breath,” I tried to say. It was a hoarse, wheezing sound but she understood it. I couldn’t see her. And I couldn’t seem to breathe.

“We have a cyclist down…we need an ambulance,” Ilene was on her cell phone.

“No,” I yelled, “I don’t need an ambulance.” It was really a whisper, but it was as loud as I could muster. My arm was pinned underneath me and I could sense I was in a hole. I’d seen it out of the corner of my eye a second ago, and I knew I was lying in it. I could see the sky, but nothing around me. Two other riders joined the scene. One of them, Gordon loomed over me.

“No ambulance,” I whispered again. Ilene was trying to figure out where we were to direct the wailing sirens to the correct intersection. I could already picture the scene in my mind.

“I can move my fingers and toes,” I don’t know if I said it out loud, but as I said it I was bothered by the possibility that it was my imagination. So I moved my right hand into my vision. Whew, what a relief.

Finally, I was able to draw a breath. “Ilene, I don’t need an ambulance,” I called. As she continued talking to the 911 operator, I drew in a deep breath and yelled (I think) “Ilene, I don’t need an ambulance.” Then I turned to Gordon and asked, “Can you get me out of this hole?”

I had managed to extricate my left arm and proved to myself that I had full motion in all my limbs, but after seeing to many ER episodes and other ambulance I was leery of moving regardless of what I was saying to Ilene.

Gordon grabbed my arm, but I wanted more than one person to lift me from the hole I was lying in. He got another rider and they gently moved me from the hole by lifting my arms and got me into a sitting position.

The next step was clarifying to Ilene that I didn’t need an ambulance and then slowly having them help me to my feet. My bike was about ten feet up the road. Flung there in my crash. I expected a broken wheel to be looking back at me in a sick smile. Instead, I found my bike in decent condition. The chain had fallen off the chainring (dropped) and that took only a second to fix. The brake caliper/shifter on the left side was bent drastically, but seemed rideable to me. I sipped some water while everyone raved about how I should be in much worse condition. Gordon offered to go back to the start point and get a car to come and get me.

I was walking with a limp, but seems to have turned out to just be the result of a twist or very slight pull in the muscle in my calf. I also had a considerable pain in my left side. Deep breathing caused pain and so did moving in certain ways. My fellow riders were near astounded to learn that I wanted to continue on the ride.

After a few minutes I tentatively remounted my bike and took the lead in a slow pace down the road. As I pedaled, I tried to listen to my bike to see if I could hear any anomalies that would signal some kind of imminent mechanical failure.

Six miles later we came to a hill that riders call “The Wall”. It’s hard to describe a hill to someone if you’ve never seen it, but let’s just say “The Wall” is an apt description. I’d climbed this hill a week ago on another training ride, but barely. Ilene later told me as she climbed it the first time she wanted to quit, but decided she’d pass out first. So here it is in front of me and I don’t want to do it. Up I go anyway, determined that I’d get to the top.

I thought about this climb on the way from the crash to the hill. I’m in pain, I don’t want to be there, but I am. I’m reminded that I’m riding to help people who don’t have a choice about pain either. People that otherwise may not eat without the help of F & F or the other two beneficiaries.

So I climb, I climb, I breathe hard, and I can’t make it up this hill… At the same time, I realize that I’m more focused on my specific movements and how I’m breathing and spinning my pedals. It’s not about the pain in my ribs or the hill; it’s the cadence and the breaths I take. Then I realized I’ve made it. I’ve gone past the top and I’m spinning easily on flat road. Ilene started the climb behind me to make sure I was ok and shortly she joins me. We high five and smile. We’ve beaten “The Wall” again.

After that, the ride is largely uneventful other than a mile long climb up another hill out of a little valley. It’s not a steep climb like the wall, but it’s incredibly tiring. On this type of hill, you don’t get to rest, you must continue the effort or stop. This is not an option.

At the end of the ride I take off my jersey to see the road rash I’ve felt during the ride and to see if the bruises have begun to show. The road rash runs from the top of my shoulder, down the back of my arm, down my side and across my back. I’m tired, my legs are rubbery from all the hills, my arm and ribs ache, but I have a smile on my face.

The next day, Ilene hosted a ride and BBQ from her house for the team. I get up in the morning (well, that’s a lie) and go to the ride. I actually didn’t get up, I rolled up. The pain in my ribs prevents me from actually sitting up in bed, as you would normally rise. What? He went riding? Idiot. Haha Well, maybe, but I would have felt worse staying at home in bed than going riding with my team. I wasn’t a very strong rider, but I was there and the team was supportive. For the most part, I kept pace with the group. At one point a teammate named Chris turned to me as we pedaled up the trail and said, “I can’t believe you are out here. I’d have closed the curtains and stayed in bed.” I smiled at him and replied, “I don’t know how to do that. How could I stay in bed knowing that you guys are out here riding today?” He nodded his acceptance of what I was saying, but I could see he didn’t agree.

So as I type this, I’m sitting in the lobby at the radiology clinic waiting for X-Rays to tell me if I have actually broken my ribs, cracked them, pulled intercostals (?) or simply bruised myself really good. I was already at the doctor where they updated my tetanus shot. The nurse wanted to put it in my good arm – silly woman – put it where there is already pain… Why ruin a perfectly good arm (the one I can drive with) with a shot?

I also received prescriptions for two different muscle relaxers, an anti-inflammatory and quasi approval to ride my bike. (As pain allows – haha)

No visible broken ribs, I just got the call (they didn’t rule out hairline fractures), but they don’t know about the cartilage around them and they are worried that I damaged (tore?) my rotator cuff. Oh, and they assure me that the bruises are coming; they just haven’t reached the surface yet. (Oh, these are going to be spectacular – Look at all the pretty colors.)

So the bottom line is that it only takes a second of inattention to be in a dangerous situation. I’m very lucky. It could have ended up much worse than it did. I’m happy to not have broken bones, but I’ll not hear anyone ever complain that they couldn’t climb “the wall”. LOL

The cocktail of meds seems to be working pretty well. I’m more than a little loopy from them though. That said I’m already looking forward to getting back on my bike and continuing my training. In the meantime, I’m trying to focus on fundraising.