Today is my birthday, and these little milestones often provide the catalyst to reflect. I have reached 36 years old, and sometimes I wonder how on earth I have made it this far.
I narrowly escaped with my life on Saturday. After five days, I'm just now getting to where I want to talk about it.
I was descending the hill on Deer Valley Road—a narrow, quiet country road I use often—doing about 35-40 miles an hour. I was in the middle of the traffic lane, as the rough surface dictates you need options right and left because of the broken pavement, patches and potholes. There was nobody anywhere behind me, so I felt safe and comfortable. It was a warm, sunny morning, and I think I was probably smiling a little as I flew down the hill.
I came around to the little S-bend turn at the creek crossing and a car was coming right at me with all four tires in my lane. All I can remember is it was a maroon sedan with a chrome bumper. They were doing about 70, tires squealing, and probably misjudged the turn. Unfortunately we met right at the little bridge, which narrows so two cars can't easily pass. The guard rail prevented me from bailing into the ditch. I hit the brakes hard, locked up the rear end a little, and angled to the right, squeezing as close as I could to the railing.
The driver saw me at the very last instant and cranked the wheel. All I remember seeing was the oncoming bumper. It went right past my left shin. So close. I barely cleared the guard rail and went into the ditch, crashing into some scrub oak and bushes. Thankfully, it was a fairly soft landing. I jumped up and shook my fist and screamed a little, but he/she/they were long gone and out of my sight line.
No license number, make of car, anything. It happened too fast.
I was really angry, and that anger carried me all the way home. It wasn't until I got home, went upstairs and hopped in the shower that the seriousness of the situation really hit me. I was a bit shook up. It was a very close call. Very close.
The collision could have killed me simply because of the combined speeds. At the very least I would have lost a leg or two. I have to think my handling skills saved my ass. It really was a nice maneuver, if I may say so.
Anyway, I only received a small scratch on my forearm and skinned my knee. The sidewall on my rear tire is cut, and there's a little flat spot from skidding. The rear wheel (brand fucking new!) needed a true job. That's about it for damage.
The incident prompted me to order my Santa Cruz Blur. I have been going back and forth for months trying to decide if it's the right bike for me. Now I figure it's time to get back on the trails and do more dirt riding. The roads get crazier every day.
I realize that the incident could have happened anywhere, even my old favorite roads in Auburn, but I am now even less enthused with where I am now living. Narrow roads, rednecks, speeding SUVs and cyclists just don't mix. I can't quite put my finger on it just yet, but the people here in Shingle Springs are different. Every ride I feel like a foreigner. They do not want me here.
I drove down to Folsom and rode on the bike trail a couple times before I finally got the nerve to go out for a local road ride again. Once I got out there I didn't really trip out on it too much; it was fine. I rode the Jergens/Luneman roads. The ride was nice and hard, and that kept me from thinking about it too much. I must admit I crept down those steep hills, though. I was no Paolo "Il Falco" Savoldeli, that's for sure.
Anyway, that's the story. I didn't really let on how close it was to my mom or Jennifer, although Jenn definitely knew something was wrong when I got home. Man, I already miss that boring WeeFun bike trail.
Like a very wise man with big, big hair from the legendary band Cinderella said: "Don't know what you got, 'til it's gone . . ."
Later.
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