Day 4 (September 9): What went wrong? I had my SPD road pedals and bike computer installed. I was ready to expand the adventure. That morning’s destination was the 9.6 mile trail around Lake Hefner. It’s my least favorite venue, but it was on the way to work.
I start southbound on the east side of the lake. The wobble had increased on my start again, but everything is still pretty new to me so I didn’t think anything of it. There several road crossings on the east side of the lake. Each crossing has concrete filled pylons jutting up out of the ground. Since the bike was still feeling less than nimble to me, I came to a stop at each crossings, even if the signage did not require it. One stop that was immediately preceded by a sharp turn and misaligned pylons on opposite sides of the road resurrected the duck walk. In all honesty, I have to slow down quite a bit on my DF to navigate that section.
I reached part of the trail that had a fair amount of distance between sets of pylons and was finally able to build some decent speed. I started to hear some chain grinding so I shifted to the large chain ring... or rather I tried to shift to the large chain ring. Mind you, this is my first SRAM group set, but I thought I had figured out the shifting rudiments by that point. Since couldn’t get the large ring I decide to increase my cadence. I hadn’t installed a cadence sensor on that bike yet, but it felt like I was about 80 rpm and usually average about 95. If my cadence got too high, I would back off to avoid bouncing. I didn’t bounce, I swerved. I recovered, but I had a new enemy.
Each time I ramped up the cadence, the swerve would dare me to keep trying that.
Despite not being able to sprint, I averaged 17.1 mph gobbled up some road between me and some riders I saw in front of me. Surprisingly, I set multiple PRs on this ride. I was starting to think that I better suited for riding in the recumbent position. Misadventures aside, this bike continues to intrigue me.
Day 5 (September 11): God created the firmament and it was good. After adjusting the front (top) derailleur, I took the bike to the paths at the OKC Boathouse District to ride on the south side of the river. Both sides of the river are blessed with fun rolling terrain. In exchange for less gravel, loose dirt and sand being rain washed onto the path, the south side offers more tight turns and narrow bridges.
Pedaling from a stop was still less than natural. I headed west on the path since it very wide and smooth as it flowed through a park like sitting area on the river behind the Hampton Inn. About a half mile down the road, there is an area to turn around or branch off to another trail. I slow down to make the turn around as another cyclist is entering from the other trail, so there was a delay in recognizing that my turn is larger than the turnaround circle. I make the most ungraceful stop I have ever made on a bike other than the sudden stop I made when I crashed on one of my uprights.
I let the incoming cyclist pass. While I’m duck walking around the circle another cyclist come from behind and passes me. I didn’t like the way this was beginning. I refocused myself with a successful push, pull, wobble and roll. As I accelerated, there was a tendency to weave across the path a little before smoothing out.
As I passed my starting point, the path narrowed to two 3’ lanes and snaked uphill to an even narrower bridge. The turnaround had killed the urge to slalom at speed through the winding path. After coasting over the bump at the beginning of the bridge I started to pedal. Wobble! There were too many variables, including psychological ones, to discern the cause. I coasted over the bump on the other side of the bridge and start to pedal. A little weaving, but I was in control.
The path between the bridges was relatively benign. Gentle curves and short hills. Occasionally there was a less benign curved hill. The only outright evil I encountered between the bridges was a dip in the path that launched me slightly off the good firmament. Coming off the ground only sent my heart partway into my throat. No harm, no foul. The path was forgiven.
How a path can be constructed where every path is preceded by a tight turn or snaking passage baffled the mind. It never bothered me much on my DF. Navigating the bridge sections on the V2 had filled me with trepidation.
I was able to build decent speed between each bridge. In fact, I had passed the two riders I had encountered at the beginning within the first 4 miles. Even with slowing down for my tentative passing of other riders and pedestrians, it felt like I was reaching milestones along the trail at a faster clip than usual. Before I knew it, I was at the turnaround at the other end of the trail. Again, I was forced to stop to duck walk around the circle. Ugh!
The return trip still had it’s share of weaving, but was generally more comfortable. Probably because I had eased up on my death grip on the handlebars. I was definitely moving faster than my usual pace. Roughly half way back to my starting point, I decided I was definitely going to lower some PRs on this ride. I had made up my mind that I was going to use the terrain to my advantage. Seeing on of the steepest hills on the trail coming up on the other side of an underpass, I attacked going into the downhill. I waited too long to shift to a harder gear. My cadence didn’t match my speed. When an errand pedal stroke hit its apogee, the bike swerve dramatically. I tried to slalom through my descent, but I couldn’t convince my legs that they were not a part of this equation. Another pedal stroke and a little gravel amplified the swerving until the bike went down.
God told an angel to whisper in my ear, “Stay clipped in.” God made the firmament and the firmament was hard! I wished the angel had reminded me to put on the gloves I left sitting on top of my truck’s tonneau cover. It’s amazing how something that happened so fast seemed to take an eternity to end. The woeful sound of aluminum grinding against asphalt. The skin on the heal of my palm seemed to melt away from my flesh as it scraped along the ground in my efforts to keep my torso and head from meeting a similar fate.
As I got back to my feet, I warned myself that I may be running on adrenaline and to expect some pain soon. A quick inspection revealed that there was a small mar on the carbon seat, but the sacrificial bike component was the left pedal. My LG Course Air Lites weren’t so pretty any more, but were still intact. There was not a scratch on my legs (It’s good to have angels at your side). I was missing all layers of skin from an oval on my hand that measured roughly 1.5 inches by 7/8 of an inch. There were scrapes down my left forearm, but no deeply embedded gravel.
I was in shock. Not the physiological shock cause by trauma, but the type cause by disbelief. I was going about 24 mph when I went down. If this had happened on my DF, I would have been calling my wife to transport me to the hospital and then the bike shop. Even I could have ridden the DF, I better had been able to get into the drops, because there is no way I could have keep my hand on the hoods without the skin I was now missing.
I sat back on the bike and got after it again. I felt no ill affects during the remainder of the ride.
My gloves were waiting patiently for my arrival. All I could do was shake my head and laugh. While loading the bike into the truck bed, I realized that the skin on my hand was not the only thing that melted. A large portion of the material on the left side of my bike shorts had also been sacrificed. Unbeknownst to me, at least a third of my left cheek had been exposed for the last 3-4 miles. I found a round wound also about 1.5 inches on my hip. Over the next week and a half, the would would heal in a ‘C’ shape. Did my bike brand me?!
I almost forgot. I had new achievements on 12 out of 13 Strava segments, including 4 PRs after the fall
