It's Been a Lifetime

It was 20 years ago this month that I had the worst accident ever in cycling. Worst ever, period. I was hitting it hard at the front of the dirt crits at Castlewood. Ryan Pirtle was trading the lead with me, only a couple laps in. We left the field and went into the woods and BAM! 

I had hit a root sticking up pretty far out of the ground. Both my hands popped off of the bars, and I did a slow-motion Superman towards a fairly small tree. I hit the tree, arms outstretched, between my left arm and my head. I remember it sounding like a bag full of aluminum cans. I immediately sat up, searching for my bike. But no air. None. I had ceased to breathe. I crawled around on the ground, trying to get to any air that I could. There were people standing around. I actually reached out to one, but had nothing. I rolled onto my back. There were more people gathering. Still no air. But more people. 

After an excruciating ride to the hospital in an ambulance, I finally got to see Deanna. She was there, on one of our first few dates, watching the race. She was told by the other spectators that I had a crash. That was a lot for someone to handle, seeing your Thursday night date was in critical condition. But there she was. 

8 broken ribs in my back. Punctured lung. Broken coracoid process. 3rd degree Acromiclavicular separation. I slept upright in a chair for 5 weeks. My shoulder is still ugly. I never got it fixed. Never had surgery. Perhaps I should have, perhaps I should have completed the physical therapy, too. But the ambulance ride alone was $1000. We won't go into the physical and psychological costs.

But she was there. Bad date night or not. That's love.