The Dangers of Two Wheels

This past weekend we went on a trail run in a small canyon not too far from where we live.  It was so small that whatever trail we found ourselves on seemed to inevitably lead to the same junction.  We ended up passing this crossroads at least four times.  Some might argue that this indicates we were running in circles and perhaps this says more about our sense of direction than the size of the canyon, but those people are haters whose mothers didn’t pack their school lunches and slip in encouraging notes telling them they are special and have an awesome day (mine didn’t either).

Every time we came upon this intersection, we saw two men wearing bike helmets sitting on some rocks on the side of the trail.  On the first pass, I assumed they were resting.  On the second, we saw the scraped knees on the larger of the two.  On the third, we realized his injuries went beyond the nasty road rash and lacerations on his limbs and back.  On the final encounter, we returned in our car to give them the ice pack in our cooler.  We felt like beatified samaritans who Pay It Forward, however we've been the recipient of so much goodwill as of late, we're technically  Paying It Forward Negative Ten, so really it barely chips away at our cosmic debt.  Not to mention the ice pack did little in the way of comfort since judging by the way the injured rider was cradling to one side, A and I speculated he was dealing with a broken bone or two.

Bike riding is dangerous business.  I love riding my bike, but hazards are everywhere.  Just the day before our canyon run, we were talking to a friend who was knocked off his bike when he collided with a clueless pedestrian.  He told us he broke his collarbone and it was set incorrectly so now you can see the bone protruding from underneath his shirt.  The silent scream in my head made me unable to hear the rest of the conversation, but I certainly got the point.

We have another friend who was also permanently disfigured with the exact same injury when he got doored in the bike lane.  We met yet another man who biked across the United States on an officially designated cross-country bicycle route, and despite this heady distinction, he was still hit by a car on three separate occasions.

I myself broke my elbow falling off my bike a long time ago, and I know how terrifying riding in city traffic can be.  The dedicated riders we know get up before the sun rises and drive their bikes out of the city because it's so dangerous.  I love the idea of joining them, but in reality I can just knock out a run from my front door and be back an hour later without worrying about breaking any limbs or clavicles.  Maybe I should stick to the running and leave the biking to the gym.