thoughts from the pavement
I was on the back of the big black BMW, enjoying the sunshine and the views of the Sound. All was well.
We started up a steep hill into an older, woodsy neighborhood. At the crest of the hill was a Y intersection. We started to turn right to go down the other side of the hill.
My first thought as we leaned into the turn was that Gus was leaning too hard, and I felt a jolt of uncertainty which I didn't expect. Then I felt another movement and thought he was trying to correct the lean. Then I knew that I was far too horizontal to get back up again, and I was hearing the sound of the bike sliding out from under me. It sounded gravelly and crunchy.
I was already pretty close to the pavement, so I didn't fall far. I felt my right leg and arm hit and then slide, and I saw Gus sprawl. As momentum carried me, I rolled over forward and landed partly on his legs. Out of the corner of my left eye, as this was happening, I saw sparks and then a black shape leaping into the air and flipping over. I was suddenly afraid that the bike might explode, but it didn't.
I got up quickly, looked up and back at Gus, who was sitting up, and asked him if he was okay. He didn't answer - probably didn't hear me - but asked if I was okay. A passerby, a neighbor, and the policeman who stopped by after the neighbor called 911 all asked us both if we were okay. We were okay.
I was rattled, but unhurt. I was surprised how little damage I sustained. My jeans were rubbed but not torn, as was the arm of my jacket. I didn't touch pavement with my helmet, so it was unscratched. Now, three days later, my only indication of injury is a bruise on my right shin.
Gus wasn't quite so lucky. The knee pad of his pants shifted when he hit, and the fabric tore. The jeans he was wearing underneath also tore, and he ended up with a large bloody scrape that has bits of dirt ground into it. He also landed on his right shoulder, which is still sore, and twisted his right ankle and lower leg (I may have helped him do that when I landed on him).
The worst damage, and it's still mostly cosmetic, was sustained by the bike. One of the saddlebags popped off in the crash (Gus was able to get it back on) and is scratched. The fairing is damaged, the front turn signals are both broken, and the engine block is scratched (that's what caused the sparks I saw). The handlebars and mirror were also bent, and Gus thinks the front axle needs to be looked at. The whole right side of the front tire shows scratch marks, since it was still spinning when it went down.
Why did all of this happen? Gus hasn't "biffed" a bike in fifteen years. The answer: Sand. The sand on the road that helped us when it was snowing is killing us now that the roads are dry. The "too-hard" lean that I felt first was actually the front wheel losing traction, and the second movement was the rear wheel going, and then all was lost.
It makes me wonder. Gus and I got lucky, in a sense, because we were wearing armored clothing and helmets, and so didn't get seriously injured. However, he now has to either fix his bike or replace it (repairs will be more costly than the bike is worth). Bikers and bicyclists have been complaining for weeks about the hazardous condition of sand on the roads. Will it take someone getting killed before cities get off their @$$es and clean it up?
We started up a steep hill into an older, woodsy neighborhood. At the crest of the hill was a Y intersection. We started to turn right to go down the other side of the hill.
My first thought as we leaned into the turn was that Gus was leaning too hard, and I felt a jolt of uncertainty which I didn't expect. Then I felt another movement and thought he was trying to correct the lean. Then I knew that I was far too horizontal to get back up again, and I was hearing the sound of the bike sliding out from under me. It sounded gravelly and crunchy.
I was already pretty close to the pavement, so I didn't fall far. I felt my right leg and arm hit and then slide, and I saw Gus sprawl. As momentum carried me, I rolled over forward and landed partly on his legs. Out of the corner of my left eye, as this was happening, I saw sparks and then a black shape leaping into the air and flipping over. I was suddenly afraid that the bike might explode, but it didn't.
I got up quickly, looked up and back at Gus, who was sitting up, and asked him if he was okay. He didn't answer - probably didn't hear me - but asked if I was okay. A passerby, a neighbor, and the policeman who stopped by after the neighbor called 911 all asked us both if we were okay. We were okay.
I was rattled, but unhurt. I was surprised how little damage I sustained. My jeans were rubbed but not torn, as was the arm of my jacket. I didn't touch pavement with my helmet, so it was unscratched. Now, three days later, my only indication of injury is a bruise on my right shin.
Gus wasn't quite so lucky. The knee pad of his pants shifted when he hit, and the fabric tore. The jeans he was wearing underneath also tore, and he ended up with a large bloody scrape that has bits of dirt ground into it. He also landed on his right shoulder, which is still sore, and twisted his right ankle and lower leg (I may have helped him do that when I landed on him).
The worst damage, and it's still mostly cosmetic, was sustained by the bike. One of the saddlebags popped off in the crash (Gus was able to get it back on) and is scratched. The fairing is damaged, the front turn signals are both broken, and the engine block is scratched (that's what caused the sparks I saw). The handlebars and mirror were also bent, and Gus thinks the front axle needs to be looked at. The whole right side of the front tire shows scratch marks, since it was still spinning when it went down.
Why did all of this happen? Gus hasn't "biffed" a bike in fifteen years. The answer: Sand. The sand on the road that helped us when it was snowing is killing us now that the roads are dry. The "too-hard" lean that I felt first was actually the front wheel losing traction, and the second movement was the rear wheel going, and then all was lost.
It makes me wonder. Gus and I got lucky, in a sense, because we were wearing armored clothing and helmets, and so didn't get seriously injured. However, he now has to either fix his bike or replace it (repairs will be more costly than the bike is worth). Bikers and bicyclists have been complaining for weeks about the hazardous condition of sand on the roads. Will it take someone getting killed before cities get off their @$$es and clean it up?