Sunday, April 17, 2011

tying things up...

Before life gets too far ahead of me, let me finish the tale of Spring Break. There isn't much to tell and it will be brief.

So we were in Sedona and it was beautiful and lovely to wake up early in the morning which appeared to be a problem for Chase (poor thing) as Ray and I were up and dressed before 0800(a.m.), breakfasted and ready to ride...and ride we did, from the Bike and Bean out onto the rocks. We rode and rode, single tracked it, cow-trailed it, were lost briefly in a neighborhood where we met another biker, camelbak(ed) up and asked each other directions. We refound the trail, were inadvertantly split up (the boys in a group and then, me), attempted to get back together and in my rush and push to "catch up" to the boys, I fell. Head-over-heeled it onto the rocks. Stupid really and left me out of breath and feeling like a nincompoop as it was not even a difficult part of the trail. I had just picked up too much speed and inadvertantly 'braked' can see (can't  you?) a middle-age woman going head first over the handle-bars, landing primarily on her chin, skidding on the heels of her hands, chest, belly and legs and having the bike come back over her left arm and shoulders (yes, there were tire tracks on my back).
Top of Pig Trail, heading the right direction!

The boys were nowhere in sight.
Ray was desperately trying to call me, however, the phone was on vibrate and in my pack. I didn't hear it. Didn't hear it during the five plus mile ride (via the roadway, roundabouts, et al) back to our point of departure. The Bike and Bean.
Those poor people.
The sun was high and already it was becoming warm. There was blood on the handlebars, my chin was a caricature of Jay Leno's and my front was covered with red dust. Business had picked up and there were families, overweight moms, waddling children and others readying to ride. The boys at the bean were kind enough to show me the restroom and hook me up with an ice-pack for the chin. Poor Ray and Chase. They were working their way back the Pig Trail, the opposite direction, the difficult direction, the direction they suggest (at the B&B) that you don't take. That trail, that way.
Poor boys. Oh for a mother who had thought that a Thai massage along with some good foot and hand care would be the way to spend the day, but had to go and 'prove her stuff'...poor boys. Saddled with a ridiculous old gal who..well, when it came down to it, didn't prove her stuff, other than the fact that she could fall. And fall she did....

At work they now call me 'crash'...or the boys do (Matt and Eric). "How many bicycle crashes have you been in since we started working together?"...and I roll my eyes. Next year, next year. I'll go back to that trail or maybe, out to Colorado, or Utah (Moab?)...and I'll ride. And NOT crash.
Then again? Maybe I'll take up skiing I tell them..(and they laugh).....

No comments:

Post a Comment