The jump
The loss of control
The near miss
The impact
The aftermath.
Tuesday 11 September 2007
Invincible
Broken ribs, swollen knee, and a cracked tooth. It was inevitable really. Me being who I am, and the series of events being what they were, leading-up one by one, to the unavoidable end.
I’ve been slowly getting back into mountainbiking and there’s this group out there called the Disciples of Dirt. I’ve been meaning to go for a ride with them, but inertia and bad timing were always against me. Until Sunday.
I caught up with them for a ride. Much to my surprise I was still among the best riders. I climbed faster, I descended faster, I was faster. My confidence level was at an all time high.
Then there were the trails – Fun Girl, Cell Block, Riot, and Wine Bottle Junction. They were amazing – jumps, berms, woop-dee-dooos. I was having a blast. I was kicking some ass. I was hitting 3 foot jumps dead on. I was sliding into turns and at the last moment my tire would catch and I was pedaling off to the next thrill. I was zigging and zagging. I was swishing and swooshing. I was hell on wheels.
It all came back to me - how much I love mountainbiking. The control and the loss of control. The near misses. Catching air. Heading straight for a tree and then at the last second with just a twitch of the shoulder missing it by a breath. What a rush!
I’m going to start riding all the time, I’m telling myself. Fuck the bar. Fuck drinking. This is where it’s at. I’m going to ride forever.
My blood is pumping, my senses are finely in tune, and I’m feeling alive. There’s no jump I can’t make, no turn I can’t take, and nothing I can’t do. I’m invincible.
As is often the case, this is the exact moment it all changes.
BINGO is a trail. It seems pretty harmless. It goes down a slight hill, trees packed on each side, little bumps along the way. No big deal really.
I should’ve known better.
“Now if you’re going to jump here, you have to be really careful,” Tim said, “It’s a narrow trail and if you take a jump, and you’re not in complete control when you land, you’re going to be in trouble.”
Now let me tell you a little about Tim. He’s fourty to fifty years old, and twenty of those years have been spent riding up and down these mountains. He’s a good rider. He’s fast. He’s always in control, and he never takes a risk. There in lies his weakness. At least that’s what I’m thinking when he’s giving his warning. “Yeh yeh, yeh,” I’m saying to myself, “That might be all well and good for you, but I’m jumping.” And I ignore everything he says.
Tim rides down first. It’s uneventful. He doesn’t get off the ground once. The jumps aren’t even that big. They’re less than a foot. Easy. Child size. “Come on,” I’m thinking, “catch a couple inches of air at least.” But he doesn’t. He just takes them nice and slow and calm. And all of it is just another shove to that inevitable edge that I’m approaching.
Richard is down at the bottom with his camera taking pictures. Hadn’t I just said jokingly a couple trails ago when he 1st took out his camera, “So, if you’re going to crash, this is the time to do it. Ha, ha." It's just another nail in my coffin.
“I’ll show these guys how it’s done,” I say to myself. I hop on my bike and clip in the pedals, feel the solid combination of gravity, torque, and soil. I grip the handlebars, start the decent, and don’t use my brakes once. If you want to catch air, speed is your friend.
The trees race by, the soil rolls past, all of it a whirl of movement. Then I hit the jump dead on. No problem. Everything in control. Then I land…
BAM!!!
That’s where the trouble begins. I land on yet another jump or bump or unexpected change in the terrain, and then there’s another and another and another. I can’t keep control. I’m doing all I can to keep my bike pointed forward, but the handle bars are bouncing all over the place and the front tire is lifting off the ground and I’m heading off the trail at a speed that says “danger is imminent.”
I miss the first tree. Whew. A brief glimmer of hope is mine. Then I see the next tree and I know there’s no avoiding it. My destiny. My doom.
My fate had been laid out for me like a trail of crumbs, and like a stupid bird I had continued to peck at them hungrily without ever looking at the savage beast that lied up ahead. And now that malevolent creature was standing there with its greedy eyes and sharp, salivating teeth, wringing its hands expectantly, waiting for its prize. WHACK!!! He gets it.
I’m on the ground. I can’t breathe. I’m gasping for air. I’m wondering if anything will ever be the same again. The guys all come running up to me, “Are you OK?” But I can’t speak. I can’t breathe. All I can feel is pain and death, and I want it all to go away more than anything in this world.
I lay there for a while and eventually it starts to wear off. I start to breathe again. All my parts are moving, but damn my back hurts, and my knee, and my ankle. I feel like shit. I’m dizzy. I want to puke. But that all goes away after while.
I lift myself onto my bike and we pedal off. “Do you want to keep riding?” Chris asks as we get back to the road. “I want to, but I’m not sure I can,” I reply, “Are there places I can turn off and go back?” “Sure, all the way up and down.”
So we ride on. But it isn’t the same. I lost my zip, coughed up my mojo. I was leader of the pack. Now I’m just another chump on a bike. And that’s the worst thing about it. Who knows how long it will be to get back to that level of confidence again. But maybe that’s a good thing. I need to be knocked down a few pegs every now and then. It helps keep things in perspective.
I’ve been slowly getting back into mountainbiking and there’s this group out there called the Disciples of Dirt. I’ve been meaning to go for a ride with them, but inertia and bad timing were always against me. Until Sunday.
I caught up with them for a ride. Much to my surprise I was still among the best riders. I climbed faster, I descended faster, I was faster. My confidence level was at an all time high.
Then there were the trails – Fun Girl, Cell Block, Riot, and Wine Bottle Junction. They were amazing – jumps, berms, woop-dee-dooos. I was having a blast. I was kicking some ass. I was hitting 3 foot jumps dead on. I was sliding into turns and at the last moment my tire would catch and I was pedaling off to the next thrill. I was zigging and zagging. I was swishing and swooshing. I was hell on wheels.
It all came back to me - how much I love mountainbiking. The control and the loss of control. The near misses. Catching air. Heading straight for a tree and then at the last second with just a twitch of the shoulder missing it by a breath. What a rush!
I’m going to start riding all the time, I’m telling myself. Fuck the bar. Fuck drinking. This is where it’s at. I’m going to ride forever.
My blood is pumping, my senses are finely in tune, and I’m feeling alive. There’s no jump I can’t make, no turn I can’t take, and nothing I can’t do. I’m invincible.
As is often the case, this is the exact moment it all changes.
BINGO is a trail. It seems pretty harmless. It goes down a slight hill, trees packed on each side, little bumps along the way. No big deal really.
I should’ve known better.
“Now if you’re going to jump here, you have to be really careful,” Tim said, “It’s a narrow trail and if you take a jump, and you’re not in complete control when you land, you’re going to be in trouble.”
Now let me tell you a little about Tim. He’s fourty to fifty years old, and twenty of those years have been spent riding up and down these mountains. He’s a good rider. He’s fast. He’s always in control, and he never takes a risk. There in lies his weakness. At least that’s what I’m thinking when he’s giving his warning. “Yeh yeh, yeh,” I’m saying to myself, “That might be all well and good for you, but I’m jumping.” And I ignore everything he says.
Tim rides down first. It’s uneventful. He doesn’t get off the ground once. The jumps aren’t even that big. They’re less than a foot. Easy. Child size. “Come on,” I’m thinking, “catch a couple inches of air at least.” But he doesn’t. He just takes them nice and slow and calm. And all of it is just another shove to that inevitable edge that I’m approaching.
Richard is down at the bottom with his camera taking pictures. Hadn’t I just said jokingly a couple trails ago when he 1st took out his camera, “So, if you’re going to crash, this is the time to do it. Ha, ha." It's just another nail in my coffin.
“I’ll show these guys how it’s done,” I say to myself. I hop on my bike and clip in the pedals, feel the solid combination of gravity, torque, and soil. I grip the handlebars, start the decent, and don’t use my brakes once. If you want to catch air, speed is your friend.
The trees race by, the soil rolls past, all of it a whirl of movement. Then I hit the jump dead on. No problem. Everything in control. Then I land…
BAM!!!
That’s where the trouble begins. I land on yet another jump or bump or unexpected change in the terrain, and then there’s another and another and another. I can’t keep control. I’m doing all I can to keep my bike pointed forward, but the handle bars are bouncing all over the place and the front tire is lifting off the ground and I’m heading off the trail at a speed that says “danger is imminent.”
I miss the first tree. Whew. A brief glimmer of hope is mine. Then I see the next tree and I know there’s no avoiding it. My destiny. My doom.
My fate had been laid out for me like a trail of crumbs, and like a stupid bird I had continued to peck at them hungrily without ever looking at the savage beast that lied up ahead. And now that malevolent creature was standing there with its greedy eyes and sharp, salivating teeth, wringing its hands expectantly, waiting for its prize. WHACK!!! He gets it.
I’m on the ground. I can’t breathe. I’m gasping for air. I’m wondering if anything will ever be the same again. The guys all come running up to me, “Are you OK?” But I can’t speak. I can’t breathe. All I can feel is pain and death, and I want it all to go away more than anything in this world.
I lay there for a while and eventually it starts to wear off. I start to breathe again. All my parts are moving, but damn my back hurts, and my knee, and my ankle. I feel like shit. I’m dizzy. I want to puke. But that all goes away after while.
I lift myself onto my bike and we pedal off. “Do you want to keep riding?” Chris asks as we get back to the road. “I want to, but I’m not sure I can,” I reply, “Are there places I can turn off and go back?” “Sure, all the way up and down.”
So we ride on. But it isn’t the same. I lost my zip, coughed up my mojo. I was leader of the pack. Now I’m just another chump on a bike. And that’s the worst thing about it. Who knows how long it will be to get back to that level of confidence again. But maybe that’s a good thing. I need to be knocked down a few pegs every now and then. It helps keep things in perspective.
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