4 July An abrupt ending
The physical shock, the sheer visceral experience of hitting granite at 20mph is hard to describe. The pain comes in a few seconds. At first it is just a feeling of shock. What happened?. Being unable to breathe for a few seconds. The world goes quiet and then with the tidal wave of pain come voices. Faces appear. I stand up and then quickly sit down. I know something is wrong. I can feel the bone ends grating.
It started badly. After I had pushed the bike up the half mile 20 per cent hill at the bottom of which I reside in splendid isolation (the delivery drivers describe it more prosaically) and then gone another two miles back down another long hill, I wondered why my eyes were watering. I reached up to check my glasses. No glasses. Worse, patting my head reveals no helmet either. I have a legendary capacity for day dreaming and not noticing stuff. Hmmm...go back up the hill, down to the house and then repeat the walk uphill again? Or take a chance? It is short route on quiet roads - just 15 miles. I press on.
The back lanes are indeed very quiet despite police warnings about holiday traffic. After ten miles I have seen three cars. The roads are wet after days of rain with a thin layer of mud where tractors have come off the fields. The bike gets dirtier.
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I stop for a photo and text Madame Crow to assure her all is well. I wonder how I will sneak home without her discovering the lack of helmet. Despite the wind and rain showers the ride is good. I am not rushing. Enjoying the scenery. The hills are getting easier after three months of cycling 600 miles and 50000 feet a month. We are off to France for cycling and campervanning in few days. No return ferry booked. See how it goes. I am looking forward to warm, empty, smooth roads.
Up the penultimate hill and down the other side, thinking about France, thinking about whether to try for a Strava PB on the way home. A bend ahead. Not even conscious of pedalling. A white van fills the road suddenly and I need to squeeze down the side. Everything happens quickly now. One second I am on a bike. The next I am lying on the ground about three metres in front of the bike. I try to process my memories. I braked. The wheels locked. I couldn't slow. I hit the gravel at the side of the road and then into the hedge as the road bent and I went straight. All so fast. Brutal.
The van has stopped. I tell the driver that my collar bone is broken. I am holding my right arm tight to chest. My ribs hurt. Breathing hurts. The pain is intense. The van driver puts me in his front seat and the bike goes in the back. I feel every bump in the road,
We arrive at my house and I can't move. Madame is white faced. I don't know what the van driver told her. I am soaking wet. Madame cuts my new Jersey off me and then it is the urgent care centre in Truro. Three hours, two X rays; I move up the hierarchy of doctors until I need a consultant. The bones don't meet. Sent home with painkillers and an appointment om Monday. On RidewithGPS I can see I was doing 22mph and then zero. Thats why it hurt then.
Madame Crow is fussing about where my helmet is and do I need new one? I confess. Hell hath no fury like a woman whose explicit instructions are ignored.
This morning I texted my cycling friend with the story, the possible need for surgery and that I had inspected the bike and it seemed OK.
'Glad the bike OK' he replied.
