I've never thought of myself as an ex-cyclist.........and I'm not. But I have been. I had a big crash about 19 months ago. I hit a pot hole, apparently, and splattered myself over the tarmac. I was unconscious for a while, and the only thing I can remember of the whole few hours was the police car across the road, shutting it. I lost a lot of flesh, and cut my face fairly badly (yes, I was wearing a helmet). My wife, who was riding with me (and who hadn't called out the pothole!), took her shirt off to staunch the blood, and some kind soul erected a gazebo over me as I lay on the tarmac (it was one of those near 40 degree days). I can't even remember getting into the ambulance. The first thing I can recall is my wife collecting me from hospital after I'd been stitched up.
The thing is, because I can't remember a thing I was fine to get back riding in a few weeks when all the wounds had healed, but my poor wife was utterly traumatised. She had thought I was dead when she first came back to me, lying on the road unresponsive, so she just couldn't cope with the thought of me riding again. We've ridden tens of thousands of trouble-free miles together over the years, but there was no way I could get back on a bike until she was ready, and that took nearly a year. We've done a few little 10 mile rides both together and alone, so finally we're getting over the trauma. We've got a St Davids to Lowestoft coast to coast tentatively planned for later this year, but she's still not confident, and it may not happen.
And before you ask....the bike was all-but fine. I did a great job of protecting it with my flesh.
