First Bicycle Race, First Ambulance Ride

I really don’t know where it all went wrong.

I’ve bombed down hills at nearly 50 mph, set downhill records for descents like Highway 9 and Kings Mountain Road, and felt extremely comfortable, and was perceived to look very comfortable, while riding and racing in a pack at the three or four Tuesday Night Crits that the SJBC has put on this year.

I have focus, and caution, and confidence, skills sharpened over the past four years I’ve spent racing motorcycles, winning motorcycle races, and navigating the starts of motorcycle races from the middle of a pack of fifty excitable, mostly male, experts and novices all jostling for position on 100hp+ machines in the first few laps of a sprint race. I’ve controlled the slides of tires on my truck, my BMW, my go kart, my motorcycle, and yes, even my bicycle. Although on the pedal bike, I can’t say I’ve controlled the slide, but I’ve experienced slides and kept it upright.

I’ve proven to be a cautious, yet quick and assertive motorcycle racer. I’m not crashy. Some people are crashy. We all know the ones.

Yet somehow I’ve been crashy on my pedal bike. I’ve fallen down a few times in my first year of real training. Most significantly, twice at around 15-20 mph. Stupid mistakes, rookie mistakes, but I learned a lot from both of them. Both times I was able to continue my ride.

I borrowed a friend’s race wheels. I was also told from multiple people that if anything, race wheels would have more traction and be a help, not a hindrance, to the completion of a fast and safe bicycle race.

So then why, bicycle, why oh why did you buck me off like a bad cowgirl?

BICYCLE...Y U...

At the start line of the Taleo Crit, my first bicycle race, I looked over at a friend and said, “why am I out here? What the hell am I doing here?” I was smiling, and shaking my head, but I was confident and excited to be in the mix, redlining my motor and (cautiously) stuffing my nimble, daring little bicycle into places Cat 3/4 girls would never dream I’d go. I’d taken two sighting laps and noticed a couple of fast turns, but never imagined I’d find myself on the exit of turn 6 struggling to control a bicycle that had suddenly gained a mind of its own, a bicycle that seemed to think it’d be way more fun to peel out of the group and do a wild chicken dance all the way to the curb.

I left so much blood on that curb that after the ambulance hauled me away, some guy came out with a big bucket of soap and water to clean up the mess.

It felt like a never-ending highside, or a tank slapper, or both. I couldn’t brake, I couldn’t turn, and yet I probably tried to do both. Something somewhere in the middle of turn 6, a fast, downhill right-hander, had destabilized my steed (I’m sure I was ham-fisted at the controls, too) and launched it into its chicken dance of doom. Fortunately I didn’t take anyone else out. That’s always my biggest concern when I’ve crashed. My second biggest concern is what a jackass people must think I am. Stupid girl goes out for her first race, only started riding last year, picks the hardest course, uses unfamiliar wheels and tires, and thinks it will all be fine and dandy. Jackassery. But honestly, why did it have to go wrong? What did I do wrong? Bicycle, y u no have my back?

So I was knocked out for a few seconds, but my memories before and after the incident are relatively clear. I insisted I was just scraped up a little and that my friend could take me to the hospital. I was mortified to have an audience today, this first race day, and that I had taco’d my shit. What a dummy. And I had finally found a team of girls to ride and race with, something I’ve been looking for for a while, and was concerned about what kind of impression I was making on my new teammates.

My left hip was flayed open to the bone. You could also see my iliotibial band, I was told. The ER doc at Sutter Solano hospital in Vallejo stitched me back together, gave me some prescriptions and sent me home. My parents came, my friends were there, and Michelle, my new teammate, was there seeing to it that I was taken care of. I felt so bad that she didn’t continue her race. I’m glad that Elena did.

I got to spend Tuesday night in the hospital because my GP thought my wounds might be infected, so she sent me for an MRI. While waiting for tests, and surgical opinions, I got to have a sleepover at Good Sam, high as a kite from the Dilaudid.

Here are some really graphic photos of my injuries (I won’t even post the “before” photo of my hip, it’s just too disgusting):

I wish I knew what happened, or how I could prevent it. I don’t believe I was taking that turn any faster or on a different line than any of the other racers. I was afraid of getting dropped, so I made sure I was staying with the group, and I was managing to do just that. I guess I’ll never know. Maybe the biggest thing is that I need to respect the bicycle more than I do. I feel like I DO respect it. I AM careful. I ride within my limits, ALWAYS.

Fortunately no bones were broken, no ligaments or tendons were damaged, and they’re all flesh wounds that will eventually heal. I hope to be back on my bicycle by July. I wish I could say I’ve learned something concrete from all of this. I wish I could say it’ll never happen again. I wish I could say I knew what I did wrong.

And I wish I could say that my ego will eventually heal. It might, but I’ll just have to take it a day at a time.