I Didn't Hit the Deck this Time

It wasn't me who hit the deck this time. Instead, it was my new bud George who recently moved down from Oregon about a year ago. It all happened in slow motion of course, just like it always does. But the riding was anything but slow. Earlier I headed home from work, content to ride it slow. After all, I'm still recovering from cold that put me into a catatonic sleep for 48+ hours. No kidding, it was a body blow that laid me flat for the count, and I awoke to a chest of congestion.

Slowly I rolled away from work until I realized I was being tailed not by one, but by two cyclists as I rounded the bend to the West Side of the Golden Gate Bridge. I clicked up a few gears, and pedaled a little harder as soon as I realized I had company. I wasn't racing of course.  I just wanted to know if they were content staying behind me, or if they had other plans. Within one hundred yards they passed me. And soon after they were one hundred yards ahead. I never worried, but I did keep my eyes on them. By the time we reached the south tower, I closed the gap significantly so that I could easily capture them on the little climb at the end of the bridge. Now my lungs were starting to burn again...but come on, I just caught them so I decided to pass them (and others) as we descended, and lead the rest of the descent.

From that point we played hop scotch as the three of us traded places in between the tourists in Sausalito. But one guy, definitely had the edge on us. He had a fast pace, and wasn't waiting for anyone. Which to me of course is an invitation. Some might see it as a challenge. But I leverage the moment as motivation to get home that much sooner. And it's not like I draft him. I keep my standard distance back between 50 and 100 yards depending upon my mood of course.

So as we rounded the corner on the flats, through the marshlands in Mill Valley just before Tam high school...I closed the gap to within 20 yards. This is where the wind shifts, and if you're not paying attention you get dropped in an instant by anyone ahead of you. Again though, I did not know the rider I was keeping pace with so I stayed back about 20 yards. And as quick as you can say "What the f..." he went down. After crossing one of several wooden bridges on the path, his front tire had dropped straight into a rather large "pot hole" laid side by side with the last wooden plank of the bridge. Violently, the tire popped back out but his handlebars were not happy as they tried to torque him to the left. Simultaneously his bike fish tailed out the right...sliding yet staying upright as he had one foot clipped in with the other desperately searching for balance on his right side. While sliding and kicking up dust I thought "oh wow he saved it", and that's when he did this last second stop and flipped over his handlebars. He landed on his shoulder and managed to roll off of it as well.

Did that really just happen? I stopped to ensure he was ok. Helmet wasn't cracked, front tire spun without complaint, stem solid. So I peppered him with a few questions to see how coherent he was and for as much as I could tell he was good to go. But he hit hard. So I told him, "Look, you can have a ride home if you make it to Peet's on the other side of the hill". He said, ok I'll see how I feel.

As we arrived to Peet's he succumbed to his pain and followed me into the parking lot, taking me up on my offer. Turns out he felt a bump coming on quickly on his clavicle. Fractured most likely. No way he can ride home unless he performs a Tyler Hamilton sans the juice. So I drove him home. He offered me a beer and I told him no worries, but to just pay the favor forward to another cyclist some day. For I know, if that was me, I'd want someone there for me too. We cyclists have got to stick together.