I was in an accident. The words seem so innocuous...such a cliché...until the day it happens to you.
At the start of my lovely daily commute,there is about 1 mile of cycle route that happens in traffic. This is legal and fair, and at 7:30 am you'd think there's not much traffic around, right?
There I was, obediently signalling to the left in order to exit the roundabout, and from the corner of my eye a huge, grey blurb moved closer, and closer...ta-dum...ta-dum...a modern-day Jaws...and bang - I went flying. What an absurd moment. It happens so slowly and yet too fast to do anything about it. Sailing through the air, I screeched like a harpy; the sound transposing into a stretched out yelp as we (my bike and I) slid across the asphalt.
My first reaction was absolute, red-hot, straight-from-hell, dripping FURY. But then the pain made itself known, like an unwelcome salesperson persisting at your door.
'Knock, knock.'
'Who's there?'
'Pain.'
'Pain who?'
'From this moment, your constant compainion!'
I left a few things back on the tarmac. A trust that a motorist would see a pink neon-clad cyclist on huge purple bicycle in the
prime position on a bright morning with no other traffic around. A bit of skin. A tad of ego.
But I am alive, in one moving piece, and VERY grateful for that.
PS: On a sober note, according to this brilliant (yet belated, in my case) article on the Cycling Plus website, bikeradar,
this is the rule of the road:
Stay alert, follow the traffic rules, stay alert, look out for HGVs and stay alert.
Showing posts with label Cycling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cycling. Show all posts
Tuesday, 18 September 2007
Friday, 14 September 2007
Accidentals
On Monday, 10 September, at 7:35am, I was bumped by car on my way to school. See what happens if you gloat...
A single vertebra, L2, was crushed. Fortunately, it was a stable break, and I was released from hospital after two nights to recuperate at home.
I am still in shock. And not in the mood to write, but I thought I'd let you know.
A single vertebra, L2, was crushed. Fortunately, it was a stable break, and I was released from hospital after two nights to recuperate at home.
I am still in shock. And not in the mood to write, but I thought I'd let you know.
Friday, 7 September 2007
Daily commute
I thought I would like to make all my readers (in my mind you are BILLIONS) seriously envious by giving a short description of my daily cycle commute. Sigh, I know, I know.
I belong to the smug group who cycle to work. I am doing it more for my bum and less for the planet, so South Park can leave me alone. (I am referring to the brilliant episode of South Park in which Stan convinces his entire town to buy hybrid cars...)
But another reason for commuting to work is because, here in lovely Scotland, I can. I am safe from hijackers, muggers, dangerous predators and other taxis, and I have a cycle route that delivers me safely from my door to the mechanised entrance of the school. Here is the evidence:
1. The moment just before I get on my bicycle.
2. View of the downhill and only serious uphill on my way to school.
3. The hill, up close and personal, with a couple of coo's hanging in the background.
4. First view of Dunfermline: Legoland, or its most recent suburb.
5. The Dunfermline skyline.
6. Destination.
I belong to the smug group who cycle to work. I am doing it more for my bum and less for the planet, so South Park can leave me alone. (I am referring to the brilliant episode of South Park in which Stan convinces his entire town to buy hybrid cars...)
But another reason for commuting to work is because, here in lovely Scotland, I can. I am safe from hijackers, muggers, dangerous predators and other taxis, and I have a cycle route that delivers me safely from my door to the mechanised entrance of the school. Here is the evidence:
1. The moment just before I get on my bicycle.
2. View of the downhill and only serious uphill on my way to school.
3. The hill, up close and personal, with a couple of coo's hanging in the background.
4. First view of Dunfermline: Legoland, or its most recent suburb.
5. The Dunfermline skyline.
6. Destination.
Monday, 13 August 2007
Cycling away
Last week, Duan and I cycled from our house in Fife all the way to Inverness. In three and a half days. Applause, applause - I am mightily pleased!
Cycling tours have so far proven to be one of the best discoveries we have made as a couple. I mean, we could've spend our free time watching dvds of corny old Sci-Fi series like Star Trek and Babylon Five, or waste days reading brainless whodunnits or playing Medieval Total War into the wee hours of the morning. Which are actually also things we have been doing lately. But we balance these passive leisure hours with periods of serious activity, and now we can relax again in front of series two of Lost. We are offsetting our passivity with calorie-burning exercise, like trading in carbon emissions and whatnot. Maybe I should start a company?
We left without incident on Monday, three hours after our planned starting time. I belatedly discovered that Vossie, my beloved furball, has not been innoculated recently enough, and after a deperate dash to the vets, they were dispatched into the kennels. In between we also quickly had to make an offer on a house (again), so we left a bit later. This time Duan did his husbandly duty by towing most of our luggage on a quaint new trailer. I love it, especially the yellow flag.
On Tuesday the weather was atrocious, and as I bore forward against a mighty headwind, I swore under my breath and wondered why I chose to spend my precious holiday time in such a barbaric manner. My average speed dropped to approximately 2,snail km an hour, and it started dripping. Conditions worsened when we saw the campsite don't click here at Pitlochry where we had booked to spend the night. Don't go there, it is horrible and depressing. Crowded, loud music, litter lying around, just not nice.
Everything became lovely again on days three and four with perfect sunshiny days and the most incredible cycling scenery on Route 7 of the National Cycing Network. They don't always get it right, but if they do - and on Route 7 they really, really do - it's amazing. Never a harsh hill to climb, mostly traffic free or on a minor road, and surrounded by the most breathtaking scenery this world has to offer. It was spectacular, and we promptly celebrated by spending a night at the charming Scot House Hotel in Kingussie. (Pronounced King-yoosie).
We saw loads of animals, including red squirrel times three, gazillions of sheep and coos, and, of course, rabbits. We had such a hard time getting one of these highland sheep to stand still and pose for a photo, but Duan ambushed an unsuspecting ram and managed to snap a pic:
My holiday is almost finished, so I have to make the best use of my time and return to the next episode of Lost.
Cycling tours have so far proven to be one of the best discoveries we have made as a couple. I mean, we could've spend our free time watching dvds of corny old Sci-Fi series like Star Trek and Babylon Five, or waste days reading brainless whodunnits or playing Medieval Total War into the wee hours of the morning. Which are actually also things we have been doing lately. But we balance these passive leisure hours with periods of serious activity, and now we can relax again in front of series two of Lost. We are offsetting our passivity with calorie-burning exercise, like trading in carbon emissions and whatnot. Maybe I should start a company?
We left without incident on Monday, three hours after our planned starting time. I belatedly discovered that Vossie, my beloved furball, has not been innoculated recently enough, and after a deperate dash to the vets, they were dispatched into the kennels. In between we also quickly had to make an offer on a house (again), so we left a bit later. This time Duan did his husbandly duty by towing most of our luggage on a quaint new trailer. I love it, especially the yellow flag.
On Tuesday the weather was atrocious, and as I bore forward against a mighty headwind, I swore under my breath and wondered why I chose to spend my precious holiday time in such a barbaric manner. My average speed dropped to approximately 2,snail km an hour, and it started dripping. Conditions worsened when we saw the campsite don't click here at Pitlochry where we had booked to spend the night. Don't go there, it is horrible and depressing. Crowded, loud music, litter lying around, just not nice.
Everything became lovely again on days three and four with perfect sunshiny days and the most incredible cycling scenery on Route 7 of the National Cycing Network. They don't always get it right, but if they do - and on Route 7 they really, really do - it's amazing. Never a harsh hill to climb, mostly traffic free or on a minor road, and surrounded by the most breathtaking scenery this world has to offer. It was spectacular, and we promptly celebrated by spending a night at the charming Scot House Hotel in Kingussie. (Pronounced King-yoosie).
We saw loads of animals, including red squirrel times three, gazillions of sheep and coos, and, of course, rabbits. We had such a hard time getting one of these highland sheep to stand still and pose for a photo, but Duan ambushed an unsuspecting ram and managed to snap a pic:
My holiday is almost finished, so I have to make the best use of my time and return to the next episode of Lost.
Monday, 4 June 2007
Taking a tumble
I had my first prang on the mountain bike, unfortunately on the first time ever on a mountain biking trail. Not that it's put me off mountain biking, in fact...
As I whooshed down Pennel's Vennel, feeling invincible, I was already thinking of ways to describe the experience: almost as good as really great sex? More thrilling than sex? (but not when my husband was involved), incomparable to great sex but on the whole as incandescently exciting? You get my drift. (And my husband is one HECK of a good lover!)
But in order to avoid embarrassing my mom, who is also reading this blog, I'll step away from that metaphor. It was just fantastic.
We were taking some kids from school on an outing for tha day, as part of activity week, to the world-renowned Glentress 'The Hub in the Forest' cycling trail outside Peebles in the marvellous Scottish Borders. click this to go there The site is beautiful and feels remote even though it's only half an hour out of Edinburgh, and I felt great to be there. Scottish kids are like the rest of the population: not given to extravagant emotion without due reason - for example a teacher falling off her bike at great speed. So we were all pleasantly, quietly excited, and I managed a difficult ramp-thingy on the skills loop. Alas, even excellent advice by Dave, one of the mountain biking specialists on the trip ("when going down a steep ramp, lift your bum off the saddle and place it to the back, in order to prevent all the weight from going to the front and handlebars, and you going head-over-heels") did not prevent my fall from grace.
I went down the very easy blue freeride, at a steady pace, in control, keeping the bum behind, and then, suddenly, as I was preparing to fly down a steep incline, a ditch appeared. My bum had taken on a life of its own and I executed a classic 'headlong over your handlebars' move, well known in the annals and inventories of mountain biking, road racing and A&E departments worldwide. As I was gliding through the air, I had a sinking feeling in my gut that I was going down (pun intended) and not in a good way, and all I could think of was....my teeth. I struck the ground with my forehead, smashed my right arm and shoulder again and ended up the wrong way around, with my arm being VERY sore. Again, I felt if my teeth were intact (they were, and so much for vanity), and then gave serious attention to the pain, discomfort and loads of white spots in front of my eyes.
In retrospect, the next bit was vastly funny. The boys who witnessed my smash were hysterically trying to rally adult assistance, and I instructed Kieran to slowly put my arm in the right direction. I am very impressed that I managed to do this with the normal assuring authority in my voice, which we teachers seems blessed with as both default setting and emergency backup. Kieran was great and VERY SLOWLY helped put my arms more-or-less right by the time Malcolm, Dave and the rest arrived. My knights in shining lycra. Let me tell you, when you're feeling like shite just after a nasty crash, there is nothing as reassuring as a person in a Scottish accent telling you what to do, with assuring authority (all teachers), and who continues to laugh at your jokes. I must have been beyond hysterical, because I continued to make the silliest, most awkward jokes for quite some time.
(Malcolm: "Anything else sore or broken?" Me: "My ego". Pffffff!!!)
My dad said he's going to ask me in a week's time what I've gleaned from this experience. I've learnt that I make jokes in an emergency, that I cry only when speaking to my husband, and that I am excessively grateful to live in a country where people have a wicked sense of humour.
I ended up in hospital for one night, observation only, my right arm is still sore as I'm typing away (and in a sling, will keep you posted) and my bike is ok. Here is a pick to keep the sympathies flowing:
As I whooshed down Pennel's Vennel, feeling invincible, I was already thinking of ways to describe the experience: almost as good as really great sex? More thrilling than sex? (but not when my husband was involved), incomparable to great sex but on the whole as incandescently exciting? You get my drift. (And my husband is one HECK of a good lover!)
But in order to avoid embarrassing my mom, who is also reading this blog, I'll step away from that metaphor. It was just fantastic.
We were taking some kids from school on an outing for tha day, as part of activity week, to the world-renowned Glentress 'The Hub in the Forest' cycling trail outside Peebles in the marvellous Scottish Borders. click this to go there The site is beautiful and feels remote even though it's only half an hour out of Edinburgh, and I felt great to be there. Scottish kids are like the rest of the population: not given to extravagant emotion without due reason - for example a teacher falling off her bike at great speed. So we were all pleasantly, quietly excited, and I managed a difficult ramp-thingy on the skills loop. Alas, even excellent advice by Dave, one of the mountain biking specialists on the trip ("when going down a steep ramp, lift your bum off the saddle and place it to the back, in order to prevent all the weight from going to the front and handlebars, and you going head-over-heels") did not prevent my fall from grace.
I went down the very easy blue freeride, at a steady pace, in control, keeping the bum behind, and then, suddenly, as I was preparing to fly down a steep incline, a ditch appeared. My bum had taken on a life of its own and I executed a classic 'headlong over your handlebars' move, well known in the annals and inventories of mountain biking, road racing and A&E departments worldwide. As I was gliding through the air, I had a sinking feeling in my gut that I was going down (pun intended) and not in a good way, and all I could think of was....my teeth. I struck the ground with my forehead, smashed my right arm and shoulder again and ended up the wrong way around, with my arm being VERY sore. Again, I felt if my teeth were intact (they were, and so much for vanity), and then gave serious attention to the pain, discomfort and loads of white spots in front of my eyes.
In retrospect, the next bit was vastly funny. The boys who witnessed my smash were hysterically trying to rally adult assistance, and I instructed Kieran to slowly put my arm in the right direction. I am very impressed that I managed to do this with the normal assuring authority in my voice, which we teachers seems blessed with as both default setting and emergency backup. Kieran was great and VERY SLOWLY helped put my arms more-or-less right by the time Malcolm, Dave and the rest arrived. My knights in shining lycra. Let me tell you, when you're feeling like shite just after a nasty crash, there is nothing as reassuring as a person in a Scottish accent telling you what to do, with assuring authority (all teachers), and who continues to laugh at your jokes. I must have been beyond hysterical, because I continued to make the silliest, most awkward jokes for quite some time.
(Malcolm: "Anything else sore or broken?" Me: "My ego". Pffffff!!!)
My dad said he's going to ask me in a week's time what I've gleaned from this experience. I've learnt that I make jokes in an emergency, that I cry only when speaking to my husband, and that I am excessively grateful to live in a country where people have a wicked sense of humour.
I ended up in hospital for one night, observation only, my right arm is still sore as I'm typing away (and in a sling, will keep you posted) and my bike is ok. Here is a pick to keep the sympathies flowing:
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