Darwin Award Entries

A stunningly beautiful day for a ride in the Prescott National Forest.  Cool but not cold.  Calm shadows of the pines.  Brilliant sun on the mountain side.  Breathtaking cliffside vistas. 

Time to review all the reasons I should be dead by now. 

Morbid musing notwithstanding, a parade of near fatal cycling disasters passed before my (imagination's) eyes today.

The Spectacular: 

On my standard bike.  Slowing from 25 mph to make a sharp right turn.  Front wheel meets a slick as ice sewer cover.  Brakes seize up the front wheel.  Front wheel reaches the concrete road surface after sliding across the sewer cover.  Me and the bike `pivot' at point of wheel-road recontact.  360 degree endover. 

I come down on my left foot, calf, buttocks, arm and shoulder.  I take the concrete full-on, the back of my head hitting the road like a whiplash. 

Motion stops.  I am frozen in place.  I realize I'm conscious.  I do a mental checklist of parts and functions.  ...  Nothing.  No problems.  No pain.  No blood.  No broken parts. 

Not even my head?! 

Nope.  The helmet absorbed the full impact.  The plastic cover and Styrofoam helmet had a thin crack at the point of contact.  But for the helmet I would today be dead or a vegetable.  (Maybe I am a vegetable.  Twenty years in a coma.)

The Embarrassing:

First time I wore cleats with clipless pedals.  I came to a busy 6 corner intersection.  I had the red.  I stopped.  And fell over.  About 300 people present.  I'm CERTAIN that they all saw me, quietly laughed and considered me an idiot.  CERTAIN!

The Bloody:

I was descending a mountain switchback with a posted speed limit of 20 mph.  I was doing 35 mph.  I slid out.  Ten yards of road surface mixed with road shoulder dirt and gravel.  Left glute skin shaved off raw.  Various elbows, arms, shoulders, equally denuded to the muscle.  Somehow my right hand got into the mix and I now have three knuckles that look mildly Frankenstein-ish. 

The car behind me stops to offer assistance.  Lady gets out.  I'm standing, bloody but unbowed.  She offers help and I ask her to call my wife to come get me.  Neither of us can really communicate because of the frenzy.  She hands me her cellphone.  I call my wife to come get me.  I hand her back the cellphone, dripping with blood. 

Worst part is ... I feel I was thoughtless in not wiping off the blood on the cellphone. 

You?

Carrying A Spare Tire

Most of my riding is in very remote locations, often 40+ miles from the nearest store, gas station, or even cell phone range.  Though the roads are often good to normal (no traffic!) I do have a concern about getting a tire trashed by a cattle guard or errant piece of sharp metal.

Over the years I've found myself needing to drill holes in the Bacchetta Carbon Hard Shell Seat.  Using the ADEM Aerodon Headrest requires drilling a few holes at the top.  The bottle holders on both sides, the same. 

When I bought Dana Lieberman's Bent Up Cycles CA2 I noted that he had wrapped a rubber ridge around the circumference of the CFHS seat and fastened using small zip ties inserted through tiny holes drilled into the edge of t he CFHS.  THAT was a good idea that protected the edge of the CFHS seat from the inevitable fall overs.

I have several different seat bags in which to carry almost every conceivable tool and clothing (esp now when winter can mean a 40 degree difference in temperature when descending or ascending).  I need all the room in the seat bag for these things.

So, I now drill 4 little holes in the CFHS for a spare foldable tire.  Two up top and two more 6 inches lower.  I thread cable ties through the holes and around the spare tire.  These holes are less than a few millimeters in diameter and don't impact the CFHS seat.

This Was Just Great!

Another few examples of simple courtesy while on that Vulture Mine route a few weeks ago. Both are notable and one was a little odd.

I was riding my Bacchetta Ti Aero and came to the turnaround point of an 80 mile solo ride through the utterly and completely empty desert ( http://ridewithgps.com/trips/2038355 ). It was a truck stop off I-10 in Tonopah, AZ. Busy place with nothing but 18 wheelers, big vehicles pulling horse trailers and hay wagons. Gnarly guys who seemed happy to stop for a while and interact with folks.

I rode up to the place and wanted a sandwich and something to drink. Didn't want to leave the Bacchetta Ti Aero outside so I went in and asked the cashier if I could park the bike just inside the door. "Sure." He looked at me for a while because you don't see many guys with road kits and helmets.

I went outside to get the bike and was about to navigate getting the bike inside two double doors. Next thing I know a lime green (looked like it was painted with a brush) early '90's Ford Escort `Taxi' pulls up and out gets a very smiley dark black fellow. Really dark brown skin. Beautiful, deep brown skin. Smiles with brilliant white teeth and rushes to hold the doors open for me. Thanking him he energetically responded "You're very welcome" with what seemed like a Nigerian (I taught lots of Nigerian students) accent.

I get my sandwich and drink and head the bike toward the two sets of double doors again. This time a fairly attractive middle aged woman opens the outer door, again, with a very smiley face. I thank her and after the door closes she says: "You want to come home for lunch with me?"

I was caught completely off-guard and (believe it) speechless. Not out of fear or worry, but mostly out of shyness or nervousness I responded "Thank you but I've got to get back" while motioning in the general direction of north. If I were less of an uptight, anxious guy I might have developed a conversation with her. And who knows about lunch?

It was just another of many great experiences I have riding out here. Not to mention a few of the drivers who were friendly, one complimenting me, saying: "Oh, you're that hot rod we passed up the road."

That's probably one of the reasons I give a wave to passing vehicles out on these empty roads. You never know.

"So I Just Laid Down on the Road."

Last time I did this route Vulture Mine Road, I was driving back to home.  On the way back a school bus is stopped in the middle of the road.  Car in front of me stops, of course.  We're waiting for the kids to be discharged, etc.  

Nothing happens.  Bus is half on/off the road. 

After 5 mins the car in front of me slowly drives to the left of the school bus.  I watch as the driver stops, window rolls down and a fellow in front of the school bus is talking to the driver.  A minute and the driver window goes up and the car drives off.  

I slowly drive to the left of the school bus.  Same guy in front of the bus.  I roll down the window.  Guy has his shoe in his hand, gestures in 3 - 4 directions, explaining something.  Says something about  the police being called.  I assume there is mechanical problem with the bus.  Guy asks for ride to Congress where he'll meet police.  

Sure. 

Guy gets in the car, we're driving.  He is tense, nervous, hyperverbal.  Says he has been `on the road' for a few days.  He "tried" to get a ride at the last intersection but nobody would stop.  Hungry.  Thirsty.  Feet hurt.  (Shoe).  

Then he said he just decided he was going to just lie down in the middle of the road to "make the bus stop."  

I'm curious.  Alert for danger, etc.  No hint of danger.  

I'm trying to think of some kind of conversation for the next 15 miles to Congress that won't result in `episode.' .

ME: "So.  How was the road?  Warm?"

HIM: "Yeah.  Not bad.  Hard.  But o.k.."   "I'm going to the Hillside church because I live in Yava." 

ME: "Yava?"  (Yava is a road sign next to a cattle guard on a desolate road in desert canyon).

HIM: "Yeah.  Yava."

ME: "Couldn't be more than 3 people in Yava."

HIM: "Twelve of us, actually." 

Get to the gas station at Congress, drop him off, wave goodbye. 

The `West' IS wild.