On an overcast morning in April, your author lined up his bike on a red dirt trail with several hundred other riders all prepared to race for 100 kilometers or fire road, single track, and granite rock gardens. Not my first bike race, but my first mountain bike race. There’s a big difference.
Racing always takes a cognitive toll, but when you are new at something your brain is in overdrive. This is not necessarily a bad thing to be thinking. However, racing a bike takes a lot of feel and instinct. “Flow” is what the kids are calling it now. You stop thinking things though step by step and just start doing things.
On that particular Saturday, I was not just doing. Or whatever I was doing, I was doing wrong. At the 8 kilometer mark, on a quick piece of trail I grabbed too much brake and found myself sailing over the handle bars with plenty of time to think about how bad this was going to hurt. My fellow racers behind stopped to warn others coming up and check on my status. I got up, checked my systems and remounted my bike.
The shunt, firmly lodged in my memory, had cut and bruised all of my extremities except my face which was spared this time. Doubt about carrying on – – this race, any race, riding a bike – – was almost too much. I don’t know why I ignored the doubt and pain and went on.
On a granite ridge, the cloud burst hit me and the temperature dropped instantly. The wind began to blow and the rain started coming down. It felt like ice pellets and could have been. The cold rain stung my cuts and scrapes. All around, lighting was flashing in the distance.
Within minutes, the lightning was all around me. A good portion of my summers during my youth were around treeline so I am well versed in the dangers of lightning strikes and what they can do. In this case, Really didn’t want to see if those things were also true here in the hill county. I found another gear.
I also found my shoes filling up with water.
When I finally made it back around, a rider in the switchbacks let me know that they were going to stop the race for lightning and we would not be allowed to start another lap. I was sad and relieved. I hurt so bad and my wrist felt like garbage. Everything was caked in sand and mud. A Marshall delivered the bad news and a volunteer placed a finisher medal around my neck. I went to the medical car for evaluation. Nothing felt broken, but I needed to dress my wounds.
I was starting to shiver and before hypothermia could set in, I climbed in the car and put on the heater and seat warmers. A grin began to develop around the corners of my mouth. I survived and can’t wait to do it again.
Never Go Alone USA 