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That was some kind of different!
First half of February was good on the bike, form steadily, slowly coming back. Excellent ride on the 16th. Finished strong, ready for some real climbs, like Ventoux for my sort of traditional celebrate-my-birthday-ride up the mountain. Do the gravel climb. Rode it to celebrate 73. Why not for 74. Next day didn’t see a patch of black ice on the roof. Dumb. Stepped on it, instant slide, then dropped a couple of meters onto the granite terrace, landed on my feet but cracked a heel bone in the process. Major bummer.
Leg liberation from the cast a month and a half later, 8 April. Three days later rode my bike. Short, slow, but on the bike. Repeat a few days later. The 18th was my birthday, had to ride, celebrate 74 damn years. Not on Ventoux obviously. About as opposite from Ventoux as could be. As in flat. The Farmer’s TT, my name for it, farm roads on the valley floor, some dirt, some rustic blacktop, one of my favorite rides when the mountains are snowed in. But definitely not a birthday celebration ride, no way, not significant enough. Until now. Learning how to be flexible.
Two hours of riding and well before the end my feet hurt, my hands hurt, my butt hurt, everything hurt! Ridiculous. The cost of a month and a half semi-immobilized. Recovery looking longer than I imagined. Down time seriously sucks. True, could have been way worse. Especially at my age. Or so people keep telling me. Still seriously sucks. And adding insult to injury, this was probably the best winter for riding I’ve ever seen here. And there I was either on crutches or driving a wheelchair.
The two hours on the bike beat me up good but nothing but some vague static out on periphery, a small wakeup call, the start of another year of riding. Awesome, 74 friggin years old and I’m still riding! Gotta love it. Sunday, do another ride, maybe longer, maybe less pain. Grab it while I still can.
That’s about all I learned from my dumb move. Life is fragile, one moment dancing with the stars, the next wondering what happened. So, dance when I can. Especially on my birthday. Which I did, slowly, painfully at the end, and loving it. Flipping the calendar, changing numbers, and like the man sang, still crazy after all these years.
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