Pile Drive (part 1)

snapping ligaments, and general trashing of a perfectly good knee, June 2010

I really saw this going differently in my head.  The original vision of effortlessly dropping over the out-cropped boulder to a sloping trail below gave way to that queasy feeling Wile E Coyote got each time just before falling off the cliff.  Why hadn't I taken the veritable 'super-highway' of flat dirt on either side of this dumb rock instead?  Now sailing through the air on an unplanned trajectory, I had enough time to wonder how that irregular nub of rock bumped me up an extra foot or two and nudged me off a vertical plane.  Pitching forward while rolling to the right, as a pilot in descent might, I struggled to correct my trajectory and re-write this story.  Where will I land?  Oh, way down there between that rut and that dirt bank; could be worse, I suppose.  Crunch; ouch; something gave; thud; crash; more ouch.  To this day, I still cringe recalling that impact.

Damn the brain-muscle reflex that made me reach my right leg toward the ground!  A straight leg and front tire made contact with the dirt trail at essentially the same time.  Bike suspension compressed - and so did my bones, ligaments, cartilage and muscle.  From ankle to hip and the weak link in the middle.  I don't recall a audible 'snap!' due to the general noise of impact and crashing body/bike, but I sure felt it.  Cloud of dust; first thoughts turn to 'gotta pick up my bike' (why do we always insist on doing this?)  As if Captain James T. Kirk said it, however, "I -- was...... un - able..... to -- breathe......"
Having the wind knocked out of you feels like dying.  Breathing finally resumed, must get up.
One step left, one step right resulted in 'containment failure', and a collapse to the ground again.  Whaaat-the?
Knee bends ok.  Damn sore, but so is everything else.
No blood spurting from any jagged bone-shard-induced gash in my flesh. Gotta be ok, then.
Better try again.
Two ginger but successful steps took me to my fallen orange steed - pick up bike and take two more steps; right, left, right; the knee buckles again, unable to hold any weight.  At least I have the bike to hold me up this time - unfortunately I'm not taking this thing any further and it will have to balance on the stand by itself.

Peter, Sean and John, June 2010

I scare myself all the time (and then afterwards laugh a grim - reaper - kind of a laugh).  Risk-takers do feel fear, yet choose to confront it - confident that the thrill and satisfaction of overcoming that fear are waiting on the other side.  I recently came across a very effective way to conceptualize what truly motivates people, and why we think the way we think and do the things we do (a kind of Freudian 'super-ego').  Condensed here from an MCN article by Mark Barnes, and in my own words - essentially each of us has a cheering section in our heads, passing judgement on everything we do.  It is made up of influential people in our lives from birth to current events; typically mother, father, siblings, teachers, friends, mentors and heros, but also bullies, old bosses, your arch enemy and other 'frienemies'.  Further, they all manifest your own distorted impression of themselves and the world, comprised of how you believe that they would respond. This internal rabble witness your every thought and action and respond according to your perception of their point of view, with cheers or jeers.  When you screw up, they're there to remind you; another Nelson Muntz "ha-ha!" to add to the humiliation.  When you do well, they go wild - who doesn't want to hear that?  There are as many different cheering sections as there are people (heads) on earth, and each marches to his/her own.  This is also why when a risk-taker approaches a cliff his/her cheering section applauds while that of the risk-averse boo and disapprove.   You revel in the approval and thumb your nose at your detractors, then act accordingly.  The bottom line is - you Care what they think, despite all other external cues.

Up until this moment of the ride, my cheering section had been on their feet doing the wave!  It didn't matter that no one was around to see, I was bowing to the only real audience that mattered.

Ok, time to collapse now; maybe John or Peter were close enough to hear me?  Maybe better to just remain in denial.  The novelty of another breath or two wouldn't hurt.  Damage assessment - me, not the bike..... although I am very tempted.  Golf ball inside right knee quickly gives way to an orange which becomes a grapefruit before my eyes. Initial pain has greatly subsided by the time I see John running up the trail towards me, shouting.  Yeah, he looks pretty concerned.  John, I didn't know you cared!  As he was only a little further ahead on the trail he actually heard my shout (scream? cry? wail?) as I hit the ground.  With Go-Pro rolling he turned up to capture nothing more than an expanding dust cloud and silence.

Peter came up about this time: "What is your pain on a scale from 1 to 10?"  "Ummm, about a 2" I replied.  "No, on a scale from 1 to 10 - how much pain are you feeling?"  "Yeah, about a 2 - just don't make me move it!"  He's got to be in shock because he's not answering my questions, Peter thought.  Rest.  Fluids.  Lie down and elevate the legs.  Ok, now how the heck do we get out of here?  Options surfacing and sinking to the chemical cascade of millions of synapse's transmitting.  "Swear, now.  Just promise me there will be no helicopter rescue!!"  Holy crap - I think I had this same conversation with Peter about 6 years ago [see The Trough].