Battle Wounds

It was five past five. We were trying to beat the sunset as I drove up to the radar station with my mountain bike crammed in the back. Brad, on his bike, held on to the Rav for a joyride. This was going to be a great downhill ride, I thought to myself. I got on my bike and glanced around the unfamiliar path. To my surprise, we were heading the opposite direction… no pavement, just some good ol’ dirt and loose gravel. I felt unsteady on alien ground and focused on things that I didn’t want to encounter. Eventually, I skidded and fell off. Aside from busting the front brakes, I didn't really hurt myself but I held on to my hunny for dear life as he gently helped me up.

I finally gathered up the courage to shake off the shock and got back on. Oddly enough, I felt more confident and went whizzing downhill. But before anyone could say supercalifragilisticexpialidocious I flew off, hit the ground hard, face and all! I knew I wasn’t superwoman because this time I was hurting all over… I couldn’t even tell where the pain was coming from. I had my face buried on my knees and was crying like a little girl. As I struggled to stand up, I examined the injuries I’m sure I obtained. My right calf was as swollen as a bruised peach, my thighs were bleeding mercy and a tiny piece of skin was hanging out of my thumb. My black clothes were filled with dust and dirt while my watch got all scratched up! It was one of those unfortunate moments where I couldn’t help but laugh in between tears.
We continued on our adventure with extreme caution and saw some amazing sights. Somehow because of the pain, i overcame a steep hill that I use to bike-walk. I’m glad I rode on.
Three days later, with a body filled with battle wounds and discoloration, I rode with the dream team (Vince, Rhonda, Tawny and other crazy bikers) up the dusty Far East Hill and down the paved road.
Riding is definitely a new thrill!