A Concrete Mishap

 Crazy that next week is Labor Day weekend.  Where did the time go? I remember getting to that point of the summer as a kid and having the excitement build because it meant a new school year was about to start (oh, it also meant our annual Disneyland trip was right around the corner, which was more exciting than back-to-school of course). But now the holiday weekend means nothing in particular other than a day I don't have to do any school driving.  It doesn't mean back-to-school (we've been back in school for more than a month), it doesn't mean a Disney trip (I don't have that kind of vacation time or cash), and it definitely doesn't mean the start of fall (because you desert dwelling die-hards may start decorating for Halloween and drinking pumpkin spice gunk but really, it's still over 100 degrees here and will be for at least another month if not longer).

August was always going to be a busy month for me. There were about a billion doctor & dentist appointments on the schedule (OK, maybe only a million...), plus exciting stuff like B's 18th birthday. But apparently I didn't think it was quite enough excitement because a couple of weeks ago I went and crashed on my bike during a Saturday morning bike ride with Terence.  It's not even a good story-- well, like my father before me I can make almost anything into a good story-- but honestly, it's a pathetic one.

Was I daring the Goldmine trail on a bike? No. (I've seen nutcases or adrenaline junkies attempt that once or twice. Emphasis on nutcases.)

Was I enjoying one of our amazing desert biking trails and distracted by the beautiful sunrise? No. (That would theoretically be possible, except every time I have ever dared an actual trail I am usually staring intently at the ground in front of me in fearful concentration, not enjoying the view.)

Was I riding along one of our narrow two lane roads where drivers speed like it's the autobahn and I had to swerve off the road to save my life? No. (Although this is totally plausible in our neck of the woods.)

Was I riding on the dirt road along the farm field and a herd of javelinas charged me like a pack of ROUSes? Did I hit an unexpected patch of quicksand? Or even regular sand? No and no and no. (Sometimes riding along in our area may feel like a jaunt in the fire swamp, but alas, no.)

Soooo... what on earth made a woman who was doing nothing risky at all and not even riding very fast crash badly enough to need a visit to urgent care?

Uh...there was a kid jogging toward me and I moved off the sidewalk onto the completely level, hard-packed dirt.  Then when I passed him, I tried to get back on the sidewalk and apparently I suck at picking the right angle for that.  My bike went sliding out from under me, I pitched forward and hit the sidewalk with my hands, and then for good measure, managed to smack myself in the face at just the right angle to miss my helmet.

For about three seconds I thought I was fine.  Until the pain in my hands and my wrists caught up to me and blood began to drip into my eye. By the time Terence reached me and helped me into a sitting position I was escalating into a full-blown panic attack.  My hands stiffened and froze, and I couldn't so much as twitch my fingers.  Then my arms locked into place at about 90 degree angles.  I couldn't see out of one eye at all, and blood seemed to be everywhere. By that time I was hysterically crying.

Fortunately, Terence is a pro at emergency situations. (There are some real pluses to being married to a twenty-year veteran cop.)  He was calm and got me to slow my breathing down and lessened the panic to a reasonable level.  He asked me a bunch of questions about where I was injured.  (I was pretty certain nothing was broken, but it freaked me out that I couldn't move my arms at all.) He tried to call the kids and nobody picked up the phone (any phone) at the house.  I think he tried the landline plus everyone's cell phones.  But about that time a friend (and neighbor) passed us on the road, and she made a u-turn and came back to see if she could help.  She ended up driving me back to the house.  Terence ran both bikes home, and he was able to drive me from there to urgent care.  To my great relief, as we were driving my arms loosened up and then little by little my wrists, hands, and fingers relaxed, so I could move them again. Thank goodness!

Terence was kind enough to take an urgent care pic so I can always remember the fun of sitting for twenty minutes with blood running down my face.

So the results of my misadventure with a sidewalk? A beautiful shiner for my right eye. A glued gash right through my eyebrow (and probably it will be a permanent scar, the doctor said). Really bruised and aching wrists and hands (the right one especially-- it still hurts). A bunch of bruises I didn't even realize I had until a day or two later. And a determination never to leave the sidewalk again.  (OK, that may be an exaggeration. Slightly.) In any case, I am mostly healed and ready to attempt to bike again. 

The lovely part of my story? My friend that drove me home told me later that she had just left her house for work when she had a strong impression to call in late.  She pulled over, called and told her work she'd be late, then continued on her way.  A minute later she saw us and stopped to help.  And yes, she was late...but it was no big deal because she'd already called in.  A small little miracle to remind both of us that God is paying attention to the details of our lives.  :)