rough day on the bike

As athletes, we sometimes take for granted the simple things in life. We start to focus on much more minute details that can consume our time and our lives. Our mornings are spent hammering at the pedals trying to create a strong enough stimulus to break down muscle tissue so our bodies can rebuild our legs, but this time. rebuild them even stronger. This is done with much earnest just so we can do the same thing again tomorrow, but faster.

Our days are spent analyzing tactics, body weight, nutrition, recovery techniques, new gear, training schedules and race reports.

This morning I woke up to my usual training ride with my good friend Andy. I told my wife the night before that I was going to really put the hurt on him. Side by side we drilled it up the right fork of Hobble Creek canyon. Neither of us saying a word. Neither of us willing to concede dominance and fall behind the others wheel to take shelter from the blistering headwind.

The pace quickened and my heart rate continued to rise, faster and faster until I knew I could give no more. That is until Andy's front wheel inched ahead of mine own. Winning the final sprint up the last 7% 200 meters brought me much joy, but also a tinge of sorrow knowing that we both couldn't have the same victorious feelings.

Usually right fork offers one of the best descents around, however, it rained last night and the roads were still wet, so we rode side by side at never more than 20 mph, chatting away. When we reached the bottom we agreed to ride it again but at a more reasonable pace.

We more than made up for the lack of communication on the first trip on the ascent. The same would be said for the final trip down the canyon. We rode side by side talking while sweeping around taking the wet bends of brand new blacktop nonchalantly when out of nowhere a white full size pickup appeared.

A spike of adrenalin surged through me and I (being on the inside of the turn) cornered hard and moved as far to the inside of the turn as possible. The same adrenalin spike had different results for Andy. He made a desperate grab at his brakes. His wheels locked up and with the loss of traction, centripetal force sent him sliding across the road.

Time seemed to slow dramatically and it seemed like at least 10 seconds before I heard the crunching of the truck against what I was certain was a large tree. As I pedaled back up the road I knew I would find my friend standing on the shoulder leaning over the bike shaking his head and being grateful that he was still alive.

But Andy was not in front of the truck. Was lying down the embankment in a lot of pain. He had collided with the pickup and was thrown down the embankment on the other side of the road. Once again I underestimated the situation and believed that a few minutes later we would riding home laughing at our fortunes/misfortunes. This was not to be. An ambulance soon arrived and we were taken to the ER.

It seemed every time the trauma doc opened his mouth more bad news came out. First was the obvious, the right arm was broken, this was no shock as normally a forearm doesn't have an S shape. Then the left scaphoid bone was broken. This meant that Andy would have both arms in casts. This is actually kind of funny when you think about it as it means that his wife is gonna have to be the one to do any wiping of the posterior region.

Up until this point Andy could still get good training miles in albeit, they would have to be on his trainer, But he could still get good work outs and race LOTOJA as was his goal for the last few months. It would also be lots of fun to tease the "lobster man" because of his loss of dexterity.

The doc had one more piece of bad news. Tibial Plateau fracture. This meant no walking for at least 3 months. These three words effectively killed all aspirations for racing High Uintas, and more importantly, LOTOJA. For the last 5 months I had spent hundreds of hour training with Andy not to mention the other countless hours scheming for this specific race and it was taken away in an instant.

Death is an issue that has never bothered me. I've always seen it as simply passing from this life to another. I have listened to but never understood others sadness and morning. My reply was always that "they are in a better place now". Andy's wife was most certainly grateful that her husband & best friend was still alive. I however, am pretty torn up inside.

I find a much greater sadness haunts me when an friend trains hard for something, then has an accident and is no longer able to reach his goal. In the past these feelings came when the ailment was life long and they would never be able to compete again. Today I found that I have this same sadness.

Maybe I place to much worth on physical aspirations.