Slip Slidin' Away

Warning: loose gravel.

There is always loose gravel on this road, of the natural variety (shed from the hillside). The signs were posted because Mt. Hamilton Road has been freshly chip-sealed, from mile marker 9.0 to a level just above the Twin Gates trailhead (Joseph Grant County Park). The surface is rough, but there was scant loose gravel after the first few turns.

With September promising to be a busy month, I decided it would be best to climb Mt. Hamilton today. My usual ride buddies had other plans, but a cyclist is never alone on this route. For that, I am grateful.

I was strong on the climb, and cautious descending on the rough road. Taking a tumble on that would be, in a word, gruesome.

As the saying goes, there are cyclists who have crashed and there are cyclists who haven't crashed yet. [Can you guess where this story is headed?]

With less than a mile and a half to the end of the road, I rounded the final hairpin bend. The bike slid out beneath me. In the instant that the wheels lost traction, I knew this one was not recoverable. The road was smooth and dry; perhaps I braked too aggressively and locked the rear wheel.

The stats: My speed dropped from 30.4 mph to 0.9 mph in five seconds. My heart rate accelerated from 125 bpm to 147 bpm in those same five seconds.

Miraculously, the bicycle and I are intact. We slid together, and nothing came unhinged. Water bottles stayed in their cages. My sunglasses did not fly off. Most importantly, my head did not hit the pavement. Once I stopped sliding, I sat up and thought "Huh. That wasn't so bad." I thought back to my favorite Jonathan Vaughters quote:

Next time you're in your car at 50 mph, strip down to your underwear and jump out the door. And that's what it's like to crash in a professional bike race.

My right outer thigh took the brunt of the impact (a fine hematoma, there), and my right arm got most of the road rash. Toward the end of the slide, the edge of my helmet visor grazed the pavement. My bike jersey and shorts? Grimy, but not torn.

Being only somewhat the worse for wear, I declined a ride from the kind motorist behind me. I found a safe spot to collect my wits, pulled out my first aid kit and cleaned up the messiest bits.

The bike seemed rideable, until I noticed that the brake hoods were askew and the stem was not aligned with the fork. As I hiked down the hill, the first ascending cyclist stopped to help. He tugged the hoods into place, realigned the stem, and checked the bike over. Worried, after watching me get off to a wobbly start, he turned around and generously accompanied me back to my car.

Thank you, Monta Vista Velo guy. I apologize for being too rattled to ask your name.