It happened on a bike ride this morning. I was riding on Calaveras Road, a desolate single lane road that winds through the hills south of Livermore and around a reservoir. 30 miles into the ride I felt great as I started a technical descent with lots of switchbacks. I was flying through the turns. It was absolutely exhilarating. That lasted until I rounded a blind corner and saw a white van (It's always a white van!) heading straight at me. Instead of staying on the right side of the single-lane road, the van was driving down the center. It left very little room on it's left for me to pass. Further to the left, there was a narrow gravel shoulder and then a steep drop-off into a ravine. There are no guardrails on this road. This happened on a curve. I swerved to avoid the van. I panicked and hit the brakes hard, which you should never do when turning at speed, but shit I didn't want to fly down the ravine. I lost control of the bike. It slid from under me. I fell to the ground, but don't remember how I hit or how far I slid. Judging from the post-crash evidence, I either fell on my back (tore the back of my jersey and shattered my cell phone that was in my back jersey pocket) or on my arms (road rash on both forearms). I must have also done a good amount of sliding on my right side, causing road rash from my back down to my shin. My body ended up stopping on the gravel shoulder. Except for the burning sensation of the road rash and a bruise on my lower back caused by the impact of the cell phone and the ground, I felt fine.
My bike slid ahead of me and went down about 1o feet into the the ravine before being caught on a bush. My first instinct was to get my bike. Next to my house and car, it's the most valuable thing I own and I love it more than either. The side of the ravine consisted of loose soil and some scrub vegetation. The first 20 feet down was steep, but not as steep as the remaining hillside, which I would guess had a 75-degree slope for a hundred feet or so. I couldn't get enough traction with my cycling shoes, which has slick plastic soles, to be able to pull up my bike. So I decided to go lower and push the bike up. I succeeded in pushing it up five feet before I lost my footing and slid down a few feet, before grabbing onto a shrub. The dirt was really loose. Every time I tried to go up the slope, I ended up sliding down a few feet. Throughout this entire incident, this is the moment when I felt the most fear. I thought I might end up at the bottom of the ravine.
Crawling up the ravine using my hands and legs wasn't possible. I was grabbing onto brush from sliding further down each time I slid down. So I mapped a route that I could follow by grabbing brush and grass to pull myself up to the road. It meant veering right instead of going straight up the slope. Despite one plant pulling loose and almost sending me down, the plan worked.
When I made it to the road, I sat on the shoulder, cleaning myself up the best I could. I couldn't get my right shoe off, because the securing buckle was jammed. There were pebbles in my shoe, which bothered me to no end. A few minutes later, God sent some saviors, actually three cyclists (all good things come in threes), who were a tremendous help. One had antiseptic wipes. So I was able to clean my wounds. Another offered to get my bike. I cautioned him about the loose soil and how I almost slid down to the bottom. He said something about being a mountaineer. He had mountain biking shoes on, but whether it was his shoes or his mountaineering skills, he was able to pull the bike up. After putting the chain back on, the bike was actually in good shape. We weren't able to center the rear brake, but a little brake rub wasn't that bad after such a nasty spill. I said I was okay and would ride the rest of the way home. The third cyclist, who had said nothing up to that point, told us about an article she read about a guy who crashed his carbon fiber bike (my bike is carbon), but was uninjured. However, when he continued riding the bike, the frame collapsed under him. The second accident sent him to the hospital. Well, thank you for that comforting story. Actually I thanked all of them profusely and went on my way, grateful to be alive.
The 20-mile ride back home was miserable with the brake rub, a strong headwind, an aching body, and the pebbles in my shoes. When I got home I ate a steak. I haven't had steak in over a year. It was really, really delicious.
5 comments:
The next time the guy in the white van asks for a zoning exception, I think you know what the answer needs to be.
I'm glad you made it.
This reads like a Wile E. Coyote cartoon written by Jack London.
Steak was rare, I assume.
I cooked the steak rare. The inside of the steak was about the same color as my skinned thigh.
Jack London lived in Livermore for three years as a boy. This is what he had to say about Livermore (quoted in Anne Marshall Homan’s Historic Livermore, California): “The soil had no attraction for me. I had to get out early in the frosty morning, and I suffered from chilblains. Everything was squalid and sordid, and I hungered for meat which I seldom got. I took a violent prejudice—nay, it was almost hatred—to country life at this time, that I later had to overcome.”
There is no record of Wile E. Coyote ever passing through Livermore.
If the Marquis worked in the public sector, he would know that people who drive white vans never apply for permits. I don’t remember issuing a temporary outdoor sales permit to the guy who tried to sell me a fake Gucci leather jacket from a white van parked in the Home Depot parking lot.
In case my writing doesn’t make any sense, please kindly consider that my fall involved some impact to my head. When I got home I saw that my helmet was dinged up.
Sorry to hear about your wreck but glad it was not worse.
Sorry about that, Rocky. The next time I deliver my designer knock-offs to the Bay Area I will drive more carefully!
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