On the Mend

Well, it's been quite a while since I last wrote. Harvest - and the duties that went with it - has been completed now for about a week and a half. My psyche is slowly recovering (long hours on a tractor can be therapeutic for the mental stress induced by overworking), and my body is even slower in recovering, though for non-harvest related reasons.

Don't get me wrong. Harvest destroyed my body. Between picking up full bins of grapes (weighing in between 35 and 40 pounds) from the field and then later repetitively dumping them into the destemmer, I estimate that during each of the 7 days of harvest I lifted the weight of a bin at least 300 times. Ouch. Sometimes I thought I could feel the muscles in my arms and back ripping and breaking down, all without getting the chance to rest and restrengthen. (There's a reason weightlifters do reps of the same kind every other day...) We crushed the last of the grapes on a Thursday. My mom and stepdad had arrived the day before, and it was a relief to be granted a three day weekend. I slept in and took it easy, going on a few short hikes with my mom on Saturday and Sunday. My body was beginning to recover. A leisurely bike ride Saturday morning and a recreational game of Ultimate on Sunday helped me further in recharging my bodily energy. So by Monday afternoon - a full day of work under my belt after my weekend of recovery - I was feeling up to a bit more bodily exertion. I hopped on my bike (instead of accompanying Colin to yoga) and set of for a tour of our mesa.


At first I considered just doing a loop or figure-8 on top of the mesa. Then I remembered how a friend and I had been talking of biking over a pass in the near future... I should really train for that, I thought. And though the sun was quickly sinking, it was a beautiful autumn day and I decided to prolong my ride by biking down the mesa and then back up. And down I went, taking the same route I had several times before. My speedometer recently fixed, I watched my speed gradually increase: 18 mph... 20...23... brake check... The section of road I was on wasn't exactly beautiful pavement, and so while tapping my brakes to maintain a reasonable speed (around 20 mph for the curves in this road by my judgement) I also tried to avoid the nastiest bumpy places. (An extra incentive toward this goal is the fact that my tires are tiiiiiiny... and pumped up to ~ 150 psi. Combine this with an aluminum frame and you have a recipe for a bumpy ride!)

It's hard to say just what exactly happened. As best I can recall I was trying to avoid some patchy asphalt, and I moved closer to the shoulder (the 2 inches on the other side of where the white line would be if there was a white line... the back roads of Colorado are not accomodating in their width) in doing so. About this time, though I was actively in the process of slowing down, a left turn in front of me told my brain that I was going a bit too fast. And I was too close to the shoulder. And a chunk of the shoulder was missing in front of me. Oh shit.

I think I was trying to brake, but I think I also knew the crash was inevitable. Though my brain was aware it was about to going flying along with it's home - my body - it did not provide me with a way out of the situation. Nor did it even decide the best way to try to fall. Just: you're not gonna make that turn. So what can we do about thi... well, at least we were wearing a helmet. And the next thing I new I was lying half on the road and half in the dirt, my bike on top of me: the classic "endo" (cool biker slang for "end over").

Remarkably, I wasn't very phased. It probably helped that I had had an almost identical crash a little over a year ago (sans mesa). I didn't feel pain, but this time I wasn't fooled. I knew that whatever chemicals my body had pumped through my veins as I was hurtling through the air would dull the pain only temporarily - I would be one sore dude in less than 30 minutes. Damage assessment: knee pretty banged up, shorts torn a bit... *ouch* elbow's pretty sad looking. (For those who have seen my nasty elbow scar from my past bike accident, be sad (or glad) to know that it is no more. This crash managed to obliterate most of it and cleave what remained in two. I can't wait to see what new scar-within-a-scar will form next...) Well, body's okay - or... good enough - what about the bike? I picked up the scattered water bottles and speedometer and turned my attention to my precious bicycle. Hope it won't cost too much, I thought. But as I tested all the levers and spun the tires I realized that not so much as a wheel was out of true. Amazing. Okay, good to go. T minus 20 minutes until I succomb to unbearable pain.


I reached into my fanny pack [Stop laughing. I can't afford the fancy bike jerseys with the nifty little pockets in the back.] and took out my cell phone to call Lance. "Yeah, so uh, I kinda wrecked my bike. Could you come pick me up? Great. Oh, and you might wanna bring some paper towels..." And the rest is just boring details. Lance graciously picked me up and drove me home, I picked the grit out of my elbow, I took some flattering pictures, I cooked some supper, I popped a few ibuprofen, I told Colin to pick up some gauze on his way home... And now I'm on the mend, I suppose.


But for me, "on the mend" is the classic two steps forward, one step back deal. I took the smallest band-aids off a few days after the wreck. Then I smashed my left middle finger between a rock and a hard place (a steel tractor implement in this case) - literally. By yesterday afternoon I was already feeling up to playing ultimate frisbee. I played - in bare feet even, thanks to the beautiful day - and between the dry climate and the stress of running in bare feet both of my feet developed nasty slits (resembling paper cuts) that now hurt like crazy when I don't walk just so. But the bandage is off my knee and that elbow is looking better and better... (So I should wear a helmet to work tomorrow?)

I'd like to end on a positive note, though. I'm a firm believer in experiencing life, and I try to as much as possible. Though sometimes "experiencing life" means taking some risks sometimes, I often feel they are worth it; the rush of the wind in my face as I zoom down a mesa on my bike is well worth the occasional road rash. Some people see my bandages or notice my limp and feel bad for me, but I'm truly in good spirits. I'll mend. And I'm enjoying life. And I do realize that sometimes you don't get to be so lucky, but that's just life too, isn't it? My friends and I joke, but I really do prefer the phrase "tell Mom it was worth it" to "sorry, I can't."

In case that's not a positive enough note, here's an even better one: I finished my first-ever batch of chocolate truffles a few hours ago. They're delicious.