I thought about calling this post “What I Did on My Summer Vacation,” but then the much more dramatic and evocative title came to me. It also screams “English major geek!” and, since I am definitely an English major geek, I decided to go with it.
My summer vacation was uneventful for the first couple of months. I did the usual things someone in my position does during the summer. I wrote an article for publication in an anthology, and then I started in on my tenure portfolio. I rode my bike a lot and I grumbled about mowing my lawn even though my yard is tiny. I like to grumble about mowing my lawn. I planted a tree in my back yard. In other words, it was very quiet and boring, which is exactly what I needed.
In August, we took our vacation, first up to Rochester to visit the in-laws and then to Vermont. It just so happens that Rochester was hosting a huge bike race the weekend we were there, the Rochester Omnium. This was a three day race, with many of the pros who weren’t off in Beijing racing in the Olympics, and the organizers set aside Saturday for the amateur racers. I decided to do the race in my category despite the fact that the course, a twisty loop through downtown Rochester, looked a little dangerous, or, as we say in the racing world, sketchy.
I lined up with about sixty other racers on the warm Rochester streets, a little in awe of the huge crowds lining the course. I heard later that there were 45,000 there for the pro race, and almost that many for mine, the last amateur race before the main event. Once the gun went off, we all took off at what seemed to be top speed. The first corner was not so bad, and the tricky hairpin turn was not as terrible as I thought it would be. I settled in and watched my heart rate, making sure that I was not going to explode and go flying down into the Genesee River. After ten laps or so, I actually felt good. Not like I was going to win the race, but good, like I could snag a top ten if I raced very smart in the last couple of laps.
But then it started to rain. Hard. Pelting, pouring, time-to-build-an-Ark hard. There were a lot of bright flashes, and a couple of us debated whether the flashes were people taking pictures or lightning. We couldn’t really hear anything with the water gushing down our faces, so we couldn’t tell if there was any thunder. We didn’t have much time to discuss this, though, since every last atom of concentration was required to keep from skidding out on the slippery streets.
The inevitable then struck. One crash right in front of me and then another a few hundred meters later. I slowed down to avoid the sprawling bodies and bike parts and lost contact with the front of the racing pack. I quickly got together with some other guys trapped behind the crashes, and we worked to try to get back into the race. Although the rain was still gushing down, we hammered the pace at almost 30 mph.
We were looking good. The race announcer called out our names as we passed through the start/finish line, talking up our hard effort, and it did help to hear “Rick Magee, racing for Bethel Cycle…” It did not help enough, though, when the five of us snaked through Irving Street, which is really more of an alley. For some reason, Irving Street has at least six steel manhole covers in its short, hundred meter length. Manhole covers are very slippery when they are wet, and the guy in front of me learned that the hard way as he skidded out and went down. I tried to avoid him, but my bike slipped sideways and I flew off and landed on the handlebars of the downed bike in front of me. The guy behind me slammed into my bike.
The spectators (and, despite the rain, there were still a lot of spectators) jumped out to help us up, and that’s when I noticed that my bike was out of commission. The big chainring was bent horribly by the guy slamming into it, and there was a small crack on the carbon fiber frame. Suddenly my fun race had turned into a very expensive ordeal. I took a deep breath and realized that it was also a very painful ordeal—one of my ribs was cracked.
My wife and in-laws gathered around me sympathetically. We surveyed the damage and decided that any crash you can walk away from is a good crash. The casualties were not as high as they could have been: one broken (and expensive) carbon fiber frame, one cracked rib, a little road rash. I’ve been in worse.
A week later, back at home in Connecticut, I built up my new bike, a bright orange Cannondale. Unlike my old carbon black stealth bomber, this new bike screamed. It almost hurt your eyes to look at it. At first I wasn’t thrilled with the color, but had decided to get it because I needed a bike in my size, and this one fit. Once I built it up, though, I like it a lot. It assaulted the senses in just the right way. This was the visual equivalent of a Harley with a loud muffler.
I rode it six times. On the sixth ride, I meandered through Bridgewater, Roxbury, and Newtown, hitting some hills and generally just having some fun. I was on Church Hill Road, riding on the shoulder when I saw a car sitting at the stop sign on a side road. He looked my way, then looked the other way, then pulled out. Unfortunately, I was right there in front of him when he did that, and I went flying over the handlebars and landed on my right side.
Before I knew what was happening I was surrounded by people. Apparently every business in the area emptied as all of the employees and customers flocked out to see the carnage. I tried to sit up, but a physical therapist, whose office was on the corner, demanded that I stay still. I decided to become passive and lie back and let the officials take care of things. Four hours later, I finally got out of the Danbury Hospital emergency room with a badly sprained wrist and a lot of bruising.
This is the tally for the summer: 1 broken rib. 2 broken bikes. 1 broken helmet. 1 sprained wrist.
How was your summer?