Now that spring has arrived a little early in the Midwest, you might notice some of my blogs changing from slightly Geeky Chic to a bit more Sporty Spice. I love biking in Wisconsin and I was especially psyched for my first ride of the season this St. Patty’s Day weekend.
A friend of mine who recently found out about my two-wheeled hobby asked with a mildly judgmental tone, “You’re not one of those bikers who rides in packs out in the country and doesn’t move over for cars, are you?” Well, I have to admit that I’ve been known to ride in packs, always ride in the country, but pride myself on being a courteous biker who does move over for cars. I have ridden one foot practically in the ditch to avoid the traffic behind me and I never ride two abreast despite the fact that the law allows it. The way I see it, I will always lose in a “car vs. bike” battle of the wills and I’m not interested in that type of challenge.
This afternoon I eagerly suited up into my favorite biking gear and headed south hoping to start the season with about 20 miles. The smell of fresh farmland leaves a lot to be desired, but it was still awesome to get out from the dark basement where I usually exercise. Almost halfway into my ride, everything changed. I rode up to a stop sign and, in preparation for crossing a major highway, I shifted down to ensure for a swift crossing when the time was right. What I didn’t realize is that I was still between two gears so when I started moving again, my bike sputtered, the chain slipped off, my right foot got caught in the pedal clip, and down goes Tiede.
I picked myself up and removed the gravel that was embedded into my knee, my elbow and my shoulder. Then I noticed the blood. Ugh. The first thing that crossed my mind was that I needed to turn around and go home to clean up. My second thought was anger at myself because I had plans to wear a cute halter top to a party later in the week and I wasn’t intending to accessorize with road rash! A girl has priorities, you know.
After examining my bike for damage, I realized that the chain was pretty messed up. I walked awhile hoping it might jump back into place, but no such luck. It is Saint Patrick’s Day after all – where was my luck?! Oh crap, I’m not even remotely Irish so this day doesn’t give a hoot about me. Well, I didn’t see rainbows or leprechauns, but apparently you don’t have to be Irish because a few moments later, a dark handsome stranger in an Audi pulled up and asked if I needed help. Ummmm, YES!!! He effortlessly flipped my bike upside down, tugged on the chain, and I was back in business. Except for the bleeding, of course…geez, I hope he didn’t notice the bleeding!
So, my 20 miles turned into only 14.5 and my arm is slathered in Neosporin but I feel pretty good. Not good enough for a ridiculous green beer, but I may just reward my efforts and soothe my bruised ego with my most favorite and timely sweet treat of all, a Shamrock Shake. I hope your St. Patrick’s Day is luckier than mine!