MARosko's Blog

What fragile cases we come in.

The boo-boos heal a little slower now, at 44.  It's Monday, and the bike crash happened Friday.

So, I was having trouble getting my MS-150 bike ride training off the ground from the get-go. I am signed up with Erik the Bikeman's team, Team Bikeman--a team I can only assume is having better training success than I am.

I got my usual late start on the bike.  (I have months to train!...then later....Wait, I have less than a month to train!)  One ride was shortened by rain; another night, the leader of a group ride was injured so that didn't happen, then on Friday evening--well, that's when this story takes place.

I declined an invitation to get happy hour margaritas, in favor of doing the right thing.  Getting on the bike.  Training, so I don't let Team Bikeman down.

Next thing I know, I ride by the Flat Pac house on Cedar Lake Bike Trail, and then I lose control of the bike--for reasons, I still don't know why--and I'm veering past one metal pole but careening headfirst into a tree.

And now a bit about the helmet.

I cannot say I always wear a helmet when I ride. Not 100% compliant. But I had it on this time, and I'm real glad. The front of the helmet came away cracked. When I went back to the scene of the impact, there was a chunk of tree sheared away, and I found my sunglasses in pieces. (Turns out "lifetime warranty" on the glasses does not include unintentional impact with a tree.) The glasses are toast, but at least eye abrasions are not any of the many wounds that need dressing and undressing.

The other ones are swollen and oozy enough.

Back to the ax-- during that unimaginably embarrassing wait for the ambulance, the aftermath of an accident you vaguely suspect is your own fault but you're not sure why, I was treated to the comments of a random guy who wandered by.

A typical Hidden Beach habitue. He looked down at me lying in the weeds, and told me that, as his mom would say, "Someone up there doesn't like you." Then he offered me some water from his filthy jug. Just a little Minnesota Nice for ya.

Hours and hours later, after an ambulance ride made pleasant enough by Paramedic Amy, and the staff at Methodist ER, I walked away...slowly, from the whole ordeal with a dislocated finger, bruised shoulder, wicked facial road rash, sore back, and at first, a nausea-inducing headache. And I can't emphasize how long it takes to dress the oozing facial wounds.

The Boyfriend (tm) wondered what sort of makeup strategy I was considering for Monday TV time, and I said, "Dude, I'm still in wound management mode." But I am thinking that a full-on profile approach might work, as I took the brunt mostly on my right side.

Well, enough about me. Team Bikeman still needs your help. Absolutely none of what you contribute to me or my team will go toward those expensive, individually- packaged, gauze pads that are pre-impregnated with Vaseline, so they don't stick to the most unmanageable wound.

I'll eat the cost of that out-of-pocket.