a sad, sad tale with a happy ending...

I suppose it's time I told the whole story of the accident. The last thing I remember before the accident is a water break that Don and I took. We saw a bicyclist pass us without a helmet and had a long conversation about the necessity of wearing protective gear because freak accidents do occur. Little did I expect to participate in such an occurrence, least of all within the next ten minutes! We set off and that's the last thing I remember before I began to regain consciousness in the ambulance. Don was riding behind me and we went down a hill and around a curve in the mountainside. I was going about 30 mph and beginning to take the turn when my front wheel hit some roadside debris, exploded and caused me to lose control. I was going too fast to do anything but follow Camille into the curb and face-plant the mountainside. According to Don, I lay on the ground intertwined with Camille, my face full of dirt and blood, moaning. Not quite the entrance to San Francisco I was hoping for.

An ambulance came and loaded me up. As we neared the hospital I slowly began to emerge from the haze. My first moments were full of questions. Where was I? Who was the guy leaning over me? Why couldn't I move my neck? I asked the medic what country I was in. When I found out I was in the US and more specifically California, I was surprised. California? Why would I be there? He informed me I had had a bicycle accident. I was even more puzzled...why would I be in California on a bicycle? He told me I was on a 6,000 mile bicycle trip with a friend. WHAT? This didn't sound at all like anything I would do and my fragmented memory took a while to piece it all together. Meanwhile I arrived at the hospital where I was confused and overwhelmed by the activity and questions. I didn't understand what was going on and decided I wanted to leave, but when I asked if I could, I got a very definite "no" as answer. Despite my refusal to be treated, they took very good care of me and talked me back to my senses. A final catalogue of my injuries consisted of a broken molar, tar, asphalt and gravel road rash from above right elbow to right hip, sprained arm muscle, numerous bruises, scrapes to the right side of the face, a black eye which took a day to manifest its full glory and a doozy of a concussion which resulted in a rather large lump on the head. Finally, very woozy and a oozing mass of pain, I was allowed to depart, with promises to the good doctor that I would stay off the bicycle for a while. I carefully avoided asking for an exact definition of "a while" and headed off in search of pain meds and a bed.

I have to say that the Best Western of Corte Madera was utterly fabulous. Not only did they pick us up from the hospital, but they sent breakfast up to the room and then took us to the police station in the morning to pick up poor Camille. Camille was desperately in need of a repair shop and a kind highway patrolman dropped us off at the nearby REI where Camille was rushed into surgery and left for a few days of intensive care. Meanwhile, my cousin John met us and whisked us off to his home south of San Francisco where several wonderfully hazy days were followed by a burning desire to burn up some more pavement. Three days after the accident we were on the road again and tried to take it easy. My only regret is that those days from San Francisco south are so hazy in my memory.

I am very grateful that Don was riding with me at the time of the accident...it was only his second day of riding with me! I am also very grateful that I hit a mountainside rather than going off a cliff into the ocean and that I didn't break anything worse than a tooth.