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 Today's picture: It started out as a sweet mountain bike ride downtown in the snow. But instead of taking my usual bike route, I took the road more traveled – and that made all the difference.
I should have listened to Robert Frost this morning when I ventured out in five inches of snow.
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I –
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
– Robert Frost, The Road Not Taken On a lot of mornings, when I leave for work on my bike, I feel I'm taking Frost's "road less traveled by" – and it has made all the difference for my health and my attitude if nothing else.
This morning I knew five inches of fresh snow would present a challenge, so I made some calculated decisions – and one small mistake.
I'm not afraid to admit the error of my ways, right along with the triumphs and successes. This morning I made a mistake that hurt. The hard part to face is just how avoidable my little mistake really was. This one was straight out of the beginners' book of how not to ride a bicycle.
My office was on a two-hour delay because of the overnight snowfall that left about four or five inches of powder on the streets. So my brain went to work immediately figuring how I could make this scene work into my morning bike commute. I should have consulted the bus schedule instead.
My choice of bicycle – That's easy. In sloppy, wet or snowy conditions it's my Trek 4300 mountain bike. The tires were already running a little low from hanging in the garage for several weeks. Ideal for extra traction in the snow.
Choice of apparel – Nobody's going to be dressed in their finest on a day when they're digging cars out of the snow, so I follow suit. A pair of khakis will do. The usual dress shirt and silk tie will match up with a navy blazer that's already hanging at my office, just for instances like this when you don't want to haul clothes to work.
Outerwear – I'm throwing on a thin layer of fleece and a ski jacket, plus a pair of cheap rain pants. The reflective yellow vest is for visibility and my messenger bag will hold all the notebooks and stuff I usually carry in panniers or saddle bags on my other bikes. The mountain bike has no cargo space – and no mud guards. That's why I'm wearing the rain pants. They'll take the splatter of salt and slush. I'll peel them off in the parking garage and arrive at my desk dry as a bone.
The route – This turned out to be the critical decision. I'm thinking the busier way is best because it will more likely be plowed and salted thoroughly. My usual route, Payne Street to Spring to Story, is a Bike Route, but not as heavily used in the morning rush hour. Frankfort Ave. is bound to be the better choice. NOTE TO SELF: I'll have to be on the lookout for those railroad tracks at the wacky angle up near Nancy's Bagels.
"Right, watch for railroad tracks at that wacky angle," I'm thinking to myself.
So, off I went on Frankfort Ave. The tires dig into the snow just fine – not a bit of slippage. I increased speed a bit. I'm on the lookout in my riny rear-view mirror to make sure nothing is gaining on me. Traffic is well behind me, maybe half a block or more, I'm guessing.
Snow is pouring down from the skies. I'm rolling along just fine. Life is good.
Suddenly, my front wheel acts as if it has a mind of its own. It takes a sharp left, as if yanked by an invisible force – NOT as if I hit a slick spot. I don't need to look. I already know. "IT'S THE TRACKS, STUPID!"
My front wheel is in a deep groove West, while the rest of my bike and I are headed North. On my way down, I can see the faint, diagonal path of the rails across Frankfort Ave. I feel an odd torque in my twisting right leg – first in my knee and then in my ankle. I'm still on the bike when we slide on the ground like a Major League Baseball player beating a throw to second base. I can hear the right pedal scrape the pavement under the snow. OUCH! The ankle is complaining and so is the knee, but I'm not sure how bad it may be. I can take inventory after I collect myself from the ground. And like that base runner, in one smooth motion, my hoizontal sliding converts into a vertical force as I come to a stop. But I don't have an ump to tell me if I'm safe or out.
For starters, I'm fairly pleased with myself for not tearing up the bicycle – and maybe even pulling off a sprain that won't require medical care. As I pedal the ankle and knee are talking to me, but thank goodness I'm wearing my Vasque Sundowners. They're the classic hiking boots, laced tight around my ankles. Huh. No throbbing yet. Good sign. I can still pedal in higher gears. That's good. At the next traffic signal I take closer inventory. I move my right foot off the pedal and onto the pavement. I put my full weight on it. That really smarts!. But the good news: I CAN put my full weight on it. (My worst-case-scenario brain is imagining a compound fracture held together in that Sundowner boot.)
The signal changes. I use my right foot for the first pedal stroke. That really hurts, too, but I can still pedal! I can still make it to work. The remainder of my four-mile commute wasn't much fun. The anxiety of possible serious injury, torn tendon or broken bones, can quickly take the fun out of cycling. Before I know it, I'm maneuvering into my parking garage. I take off my jacket and rain gear.
I try without success to walk without an obvious limp. I'm embarrassed. I don't want to admit to others what I'll admit to myself. I made a dumb-ass move. I could have taken the freaking bus! I could have taken my usual, less-traveled bike route instead of the busier streets. I could have left the bike at home.
It's true. I should have taken the road less traveled by. It would have made all the difference.
Epiblog: Yes, I rode the mountain bike home after dark. I took my usual bike route through Butchertown and Clifton. On the way home, I got an elastic support for my knee and ankle.
I took a second dose of ibuprophen.
Rest. Ice, Compression, Elevation – RICE.
PS: Remember, every lane is a bike lane. Share the road.
freewheelin
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Enjoy the ride home.
See you at pedalaround
© Copyright, Kirk M. Kandle, MMX
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