Doomed Descent

I sit on the coach, my right fingers just barely reaching to tap the keys at the top of the keyboard.  I'm trying to keep my elbow fixed at my side, lest my collarbone jiggle.  Yes, I am on bike rest, waiting for a bone to knit, muscles to mend.  I'm just starting week two after a misfortunate slideout on a gorgeous California mountain descent.  My first major crash.  My helmet and shoulder took the brunt of the fall, but I walked away.

Mountain descents have been a big learning curve for me.  They're scary.  And exhilarating.

My first mountain descending experience was in January in Santa Cruz.  The promise of CA sunshine lured me away from the dairy farms of WI to the vineyards and beef pastures of the CA Central Valley.  I met some new friends, explored the CA countryside, and joined a local race team.  The team's winter training camp was in Santa Cruz.   I was a little leary of the climbing going into the ride, but consoled myself with the thought I could just walk up if the shit hit the fan.  I had no inkling in my mind to be scared of the descent.  Yes, I ended up being that girl that walked down a mountain pass ;)  In my defense, it was a narrow, switchbatch ladled side road strewn with wet pine needles.  But truth be told, this WI girl was bested by the Santa Cruz countryside.

Since that ride, I've gotten much more practice on climbing and descending.  I would almost go so far as to say I am even starting to feel comfortable.  Two of my teammates were training for the Death Ride, so I tagged along on a few of the training rides in the CA Alps south of Lake Tahoe.  Pacific Grade, I hate you.

On the day of my crash, I felt pretty comfortable.  I was pushing myself to keep up with my boyfriend.  It was an AWESOME road - not too steep, nice curves, good views, lots of cyclists.  Pinehurst Road, East of Oakland.  Highly recommend.

I was going through a series of S-curves, starting to gain more speed that I would have preferred.  I'm sure I apply my brakes a bit too early, or maybe my tire hit a bot dot on the centerline, but the next thing I knew I was on the ground, telling myself to roll.  After a stunned second or two, I half-stood and hobbled to the shoulder and sat down.  My boyfriend had turned around and dragged my bike next to me.  The handlebar tape was chewed up good, but otherwise my bike was okay.  I knew my shoulder or arm was hurt, and held it close.  I had my sister come pick me up.

I didn't go in for another 3 days to get it xrayed (don't do that). It was broken.