Sunday provided a short weather window for another great weekend ride. Spiz showed up at my doorstep and we departed shortly after 8am, Chugg and The Furnace ready for a nice, fairly flat, 60 mi day. We churned through the miles, save for the two flat tire workshops (front and rear, for good measure) and as many potty stops. During the return we ran into a strong headwind, 15 knots or so, and we passed another cyclist struggling against the gusts just south of Lake Stevens. He quickly tucked a wheel in behind me and so we three formed a paceline. We held it strong for about 5 miles, until we reached Machias Station and the old guy dropped off with a "Thanks for the Pull," shoutout. Spiz and I took turns up front, switching every mile or so, and were holding 17.5-18mph the whole time. We all need to work on our pack riding skills, but it's certainly easy to measure the benefits in a short situation like that. Continuing our journey south we moved back to riding abreast, sacrificing aerodynamics and speed for conversation.

And that was my literal downfall.

Nearing our destination, on Homeacres Road just shy of Ebey Island, we were chatting about something. I don't remember exactly what happened, and I think I was talking with one hand off my bars, when they twisted around in front of me with a CLANG. Then I went THUD and SCRAAAPE across the chip sealed asphalt. Then The Furnace CRASHED into Chugg, then my front tire went PPOPP (still not sure what caused that).

Damage list (still not totally assessed):
The Furnace's front tire is out of true and rear brake needs a realignment, also some paint chips.
Chugg's front tire shredded, bartape shredded, scrapes and scratches in shifter levers and rubber hood. Rear blinkly light exploded too.
My jacket has a new ventilation hole (see 3 foot day-glow orange streak on the pavement).
My jersey also breathes better than ever.
My shoulder also breathes better than ever.
So does my elbow.

I need to thank 'Mike the Samaritan' who stopped and drove us other two shaken-up-Mikes the rest of the way home in his truck. We were in no shape to make the rest of the trip home.

1 comment:

Gerald Rizzer said...

Dang! My previous worst biking phobia was drifting backwards down a steep hill while clipped in. I now have a new phobia or riding in a pack.

I think we should open up a new leg of the "majors" competing for bloody injuries. Or offer a bye for the ridiculous Abdominal Awareness month if you've fallen off your bike (that might make me fall on purpose).