We were going on an epic double-your-pleasure-double-your-fun 4th of July adventure. We'd load up the kayaks and the bikes, drive to the take-out on the Monocacy River, unload the bikes, and lock them safely out of sight. Then, we'd drive to the put-in, 6 miles up river, paddle down to where we'd stowed the bikes, and ride back up to the car. Pretty ambitious for us! Undeterred by the heat, we were excited to get underway.
The trip on the river was awesome, and once on the bikes and heading back to the car, we were smugly congratulating ourselves on being over 50 and doing something so much more adventurous, so much more physical than what we imagined our parents doing at this age. We were charging up a hill (and did I mention I hate hills?) when, in the midst of downshifting, I felt my chain slip. I went down on the double yellow line left-knee-first, followed by my left elbow.
The elbow got the immediate attention, as the bleeding and bruising was instantaneous. Curt was saying, "Baby, your elbow..." and I was answering, "Baby, my knee!"
I managed to pull my bike off the road, and hobbled over to the shoulder. After a few minutes of catching my breath, wiping away the tears and the embarrassment of crashing, and working the leg a bit, I got back on the bike and we quietly and not-so-smugly pedaled the last couple of miles back to the car.
I managed to help a little with getting the bikes and kayaks back on the Kia, and as soon as we were underway again we headed to a gas station to get some ice for the elbow and the knee. We got home, and it was only a few hours later that I could not walk. My knee had blown up like a balloon. The pain was unbearable.
No comments:
Post a Comment