Crash, bang, boom
You know what's coming. The exact moment when there's no forward momentum to carry you through.
And you can get your feet out of the pedals.
You're going to crash.
(Actually, you just sort of stop, shake a bit and fall over.)
You cannot change the fact that you are going to fall; you only have a choice onto which side you want to fall.
Always check your gear.
I ride with clipless pedals, meaning I have a little cleat on the bottom of my mountain biking shoes that fit into the pedals of the bike.
I was dicking around.
Reading Sports Illustrated.
When I noticed I needed to get a move on, or be late to meet up with friends for a beer.
I tossed on my stuff, put my shoes on, grabbed the bike, put the iPod headphones on, put the pack on and closed the garage door.
I clipped into the pedals, waved and said hello to the neighbors who where out doing yardwork and rode down to the end of the street - and the first stop sign.
And I could not get my cleats out of the pedals.
Momentum stopped, I wobbled a bit.
Then I fell. To the left. Toward the grass (and the false sense of security that it was softer than the pavement).
(Oh, I suppose I could have ridden home and grabbed a tree or something, but I didn't think of that.)
I have road rash.
I have contusions.
I have pride, banged up.
Problem was, I still couldn't get out of the pedals. And the bike is now sort of all over me, like a sexual position. I'm now at the point of working both feet, pumping them, to get free.
Finally, one.
Then the other.
Saturday's weenieness (and the constant clipping out) loosened both clips. Enough so that they just moved in the pedals. I took them off, tightened them up with my multitool, glanced around to see who might have witnessed the crash (nobody, thank God) and hopped back on the bike.
I didn't even brush myself off.
I didn't pick the rocks out of the road rash.
If you're going to do something stupid, you might as well wear the results. Like a badge.
But not of honor.
And you can get your feet out of the pedals.
You're going to crash.
(Actually, you just sort of stop, shake a bit and fall over.)
You cannot change the fact that you are going to fall; you only have a choice onto which side you want to fall.
Always check your gear.
I ride with clipless pedals, meaning I have a little cleat on the bottom of my mountain biking shoes that fit into the pedals of the bike.
I was dicking around.
Reading Sports Illustrated.
When I noticed I needed to get a move on, or be late to meet up with friends for a beer.
I tossed on my stuff, put my shoes on, grabbed the bike, put the iPod headphones on, put the pack on and closed the garage door.
I clipped into the pedals, waved and said hello to the neighbors who where out doing yardwork and rode down to the end of the street - and the first stop sign.
And I could not get my cleats out of the pedals.
Momentum stopped, I wobbled a bit.
Then I fell. To the left. Toward the grass (and the false sense of security that it was softer than the pavement).
(Oh, I suppose I could have ridden home and grabbed a tree or something, but I didn't think of that.)
I have road rash.
I have contusions.
I have pride, banged up.
Problem was, I still couldn't get out of the pedals. And the bike is now sort of all over me, like a sexual position. I'm now at the point of working both feet, pumping them, to get free.
Finally, one.
Then the other.
Saturday's weenieness (and the constant clipping out) loosened both clips. Enough so that they just moved in the pedals. I took them off, tightened them up with my multitool, glanced around to see who might have witnessed the crash (nobody, thank God) and hopped back on the bike.
I didn't even brush myself off.
I didn't pick the rocks out of the road rash.
If you're going to do something stupid, you might as well wear the results. Like a badge.
But not of honor.
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