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23 Miles
April 02, 2006To a lot of very talented and dedicated cyclists in Wichita Falls....this isn't going to sound like much.
I rode 23 miles Saturday from my apartment on Harrison to the Weeks Park trail then on to Memorial Stadium and back. That is a huge accomplishment.
23 Miles....not because I've never done that before. I have. But becuse I remember in vivid detail the last time that happened, and it's taken me almost 12 years to do it again.
When I was 15, I was a bigtime cyclist. My dad and I rode in the Hotter-N-Hell 100 a couple of times, and going 30-40 miles every other day was nothing to me. Fort Worth has a wonderful trail system that goes for miles along the Trinity River.
But the last time I rode more than 20 miles wasn't along the Trinity River. It was down Dirk's Road as it descends from the Benbrook Lake dam. My dad was riding in front of me, and didn't see it happen.
A car came up behind me on this steep, winding road and gently bumped me into the gravel shoulder. How I wasn't seriously injured remains a miracle. I didn't even break any bones.
The car didn't stop, the guy driving behind him saw the whole thing and said it was pretty spectacular. I don't remember much of the wreck itself, I hit my head...the quarter-sized hole in the helmet proved that much.
I remember opening my eyes in a cloud of dust, my bike about 20 yards further down the hill. I looked at my wrist and just say blood. I thought I'd sliced it open. When I realized it was from a gash in my elbow, it wasn't any better honestly.
I was bleeding from several places, road rash everywhere, and my dad was nowhere in sight. He didn't see it happen and rode on down the hill. A good samaritan stopped and was trying to help me when my dad finally had turned around and came back up. He was mad (probably because I made him climb the hill again, it wasn't fun).
Since nothing appeared to be broken and the bike appeared to be in working order, my dad refused to let the guy drive me home or to the hospital, and made me get back on my bike. The last speed registered on my bike computer was 37 mph. I hit the deck at 37 mph, and he made me ride the last 2 miles home.
Mom was beside herself. I don't remember if my dad ever appologized to me, even to this day. The wreck, and having to pedal home, put me over the edge. I was done. I didn't think I'd ever get back on a bike. I didn't want to.
I bought a cheap mountain bike about 6 years later, took a spill the first time I took it out and gave it away for free. I knew that wouldn't be able to do it anymore. I was scared. I still am.
But my good friends and roommates convinced me to get another bike last year and start riding with them. I knew it would be a good workout, and thought, what the heck.
Several months later, I found myself paying for a bike that brand new cost about $1700, a 2004 Trek 2200. A few minor adjustments and additions, and I'm on my way back.
23 miles is just the start.
Posted by Jason Palmer at 11:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
