Six weeks should be enough, right? I mean, my ribs aren’t broken or anything. They aren’t even bruised. So surely by now, six weeks after I rode my bike through that bush, I should be able to pick up something heavier than a beer bottle without grimacing in pain.
Apparently not.
It didn’t even seem that bad a wipe-out when it happened. I was at the back of the pack (as usual) while we hurtled along a narrow, fast and windy, but not particularly steep downhill stretch. The adrenaline was pumping, the trees were whizzing by and I was experiencing the exhilaration that comes with riding at the very limit of ones abilities. A couple of quick pedal strokes to keep up the momentum and my left foot caught on something by the trail side. A rock, a root, maybe just the slope of the ground, who knows. Either way, it was enough to bounce me a foot to the right, off the trail and straight for that damn bush.
On hindsight, this was probably the best place on the whole ride to stage a crash. Pretty much, anywhere else and I would have gone straight into a tree, or a rock, or over the edge of steep drop to who knows where. So on balance, I was happy it was a bush although it didn’t seem all that positive at the time. I went through it, over it and down the far side of it with a wallop that knocked the wind right out of me.
It didn’t take long to establish I hadn’t done any major harm to myself and in moments I was addressing the real concern – my bike. I’ll heal eventually, but bike parts are expensive. Not to worry though, my bike too appeared to have escaped relatively unscathed and apart from a rather dramatic scar along her chain stay, was ready to ride before I was.
I was still sucking air when the others came back up the trail to see what was keeping me. No worries though, and while the ache in my ribs foretold discomfort ahead, for a dramatic prang like this one, I’d got away fairly light. Take it easy for a few days, maybe pop a painkiller or two in the morning, and I’ll see you next week lads.
Except as I said, that was six weeks ago and other than a few tentative cruises along dirt roads, I haven’t been out on my bike since. I’m no longer vacuuming down the ibuprofen like I was in the beginning and some days I don’t need to take anything at all. But if I didn’t sleep well, or if I’ve done anything even remotely physical with my upper body, I’m reaching for the little magic bottle like any regular street junkie.
But what really ticks me off is that I worked bloody hard this year to get into a state of passable fitness. Sure I was blowing hard on the uphills, and on the bigger ones I still had to stop to catch my breath before continuing. But at least this summer I was making it to the top eventually. Now as a result of this layoff, my leg muscles have reverted to their pre-summer, Wonderbread-like consistency and as there are only so many more weeks of snow free riding left before next winter kicks in, I’m not sure how much more saddle-time I’ll be able to get in.
The 2012 London Olympics are only 4 years away, right around my 50th birthday so if I’m going to give fellow Scot, Chris Hoy, a race worth remembering, I’ll need to get some training in.
So if anybody knows a way to make bruised ribs heal more quickly, please let me know.
