I too frequently experience bouts of increased gravity on a mountain bike.
Inevitably, I seem to 'kiss the dirt' when in the presence of the last
person on the trail I would want to witness my aerobatic fetes.
I think my ultimate was passing two guys on the side of the trail who were
smoking pot (we were up in the Santa Cruz Mountains). I passed them
screaming down the mountain with a slight glance just to infer slightly that
I thought they were morons for getting high, and then riding very technical
single-track.
After hitting the bottom of the trail, I turned around to head back up the
sme way. About two-thirds of the way back up, I happened to see my two
pot-smoking buddies heading down, so I opted to pick up the pace a little to
get to a clearing. Of course... as luck would have it, I was going way to
fast around a corner, in full view of the guys coming down the trail when I
hit a root and proceeded to do a full flip off the edge of the trail with
the bike still attached to my shoes. The actual act of crashing escaped me
entirely. I came to with my two buddies standing about 15 feet above me on
the trail debating whether or not I was still alive.
Not wanting to deal with Beavis and Butthead, and not really knowing how
long I was unconscious, I opted to force myself to my feet, and pretend that
there was no pain. In seeing this, my two new friends decided everything
was 'cool' and decided to resume their ride down the mountain, at which
point I collapsed back into the patch of poison oak that cushioned my flip,
and bled for a little while longer before mustering the strength to climb
back out with my bike.
Mike "Never passed a patch of poison oak I didn't land in" Eynon
98 M3 AS #27
> According to my master plan, I shall not purchase the road bike until
> October, even November. The original reasoning was one of money
> conservation
> and thorough research before making this purchase.
>
> In the meantime, in an effort to conserve fuel and get some exercise, I
> decided to dust off my trusty Trek 850. The stories behind this
> bike are not
> very interesting.
>
> But I don't think I published this to this list or not, but last
> March I had
> parachuted in Buckey, AZ. The day before, I went mountain biking on the
> rocks in Sedona. Anyway, I thought what happened in Sedona was just bad
> luck, but I'm starting to think it was an omen.
>
> What happened in Sedona was, after a full day of walking my bike on the
> rocks and through the canyons, on the way back to the bike rental shop,
> while travelling on a dirt, yet straight, path, some invisible force
> propelled me into a tree. The lasting result is a nearly foot long scar
> running down my left thigh. It looks like a true battle wound, something
> that could conjur up images of me, in an act of athletic glory, failing to
> make that landing from one rock to another, but the true story
> is, there was
> simply no reason for me to hit that tree.
>
> My other two accidents, which happened last Friday, are no less glamarous,
> but are, I believe, a form of communication, in the shape of an accident.
>
> The first message occured in the morning, as I was lifting up the
> bike rack
> at the front of the bus. I was merely waving to the bus driver, the polite
> thing to do, while stepping backwards. Well, what happened was, I
> don't know
> what happened. I tripped over the bike, and fell on my right
> side, on to my
> bike.
>
> And it really hurt, and I was really embarassed, but that just pales in
> comparison to what happened later, that fateful afternoon.
>
> I decided to get off at San Quentin, to get in a full ride all
> the way home
> to downtown San Rafael.
>
> It was a lot hotter in San Rafael than in Pt. Richmond. So, I tied my
> sweatshirt around my waist.
>
> And what happened was, I was peddling as hard as I could, have to get in
> shape, you know, approaching a very busy intersection, signaling, with
> confidence, that I was going to turn left in the middle of a
> whole bunch of
> angry people in their cars who could kill me quite easily, if they wanted
> to.
>
> And suddenly, my trusty 850 was slowing down, for no reason. What? Is the
> tire going flat? What's going on? Better pull over, I thought. Get out of
> the way. So, it was as I was turning right to pull over that my sweatshirt
> completely locked the rear wheel, and I suddenly went sliding down the
> asphalt, landing in precisely the same spots, the same bruises,
> where I had
> fallen that morning, while saluting the bus driver.
>
> It really hurt, yet, somehow, as I was falling, I felt like I knew what I
> was doing, flopping to the ground like that. Practice really does make
> perfect. And although I did not see the car coming, I had
> successfully moved
> my being and bike to the side of the road, and began a
> pacing-limping ritual
> first perfected after landing in the tree.
>
> But what hurt more were the two drunk women who saw the whole thing in the
> bar, and came running over to help me. "Man, you almost got killed!" said
> one of them. "Holy $#it, you need some water, honey?"
>
> I wanted to just keep going, to just get this out of my system.
>
> "Girl, you need to sit down. Look at her, shakin' like that."
>
> "Looks like you need to get used to your bike, honey."
>
> "You almost got hit by that car, did you see that? That was close!"
>
> "Ah, she's got some road burn on 'er, look at that!"
>
> "Ooowee, how you gonna get home?"
>
> I escaped that terrible scene, and thankfully, eventually, made it home.
> Thanks to a friend, who happened to be nearby, who gave me a ride home in
> her Saab.
>
> If anything, I'm developing a deeper respect for gravity.
>
> Katie K.
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