I don’t usually do this.

Put the same post on Derailleur as I do on Derailleur Aesthetic that is.

I never want to assume you are reading ‘both sides.’

In this case, I will put the same post up.

It does a pretty good job of explaining my relatively short absence.

Here you you go,

 

 

 

I have been doing well with my weekly posts. 

Not for the last little while though. 

I am sorry about that. 

I had to take a little time off. 

I went down. 

To be honest, I slid out. 

Last Friday on the CGV. 

Circuit Gilles Villeneuve. 

It was on a corner that I have taken easily thousands of times. 

But this one time, everything lined up. 

Everything lined up wrong. 

I was forced to cut the corner sharper. 

I am good with that. 

My bike is wonderful for taking sharp turns. 

But there was gravel in a place where there had never been gravel before. 

I slid out on it on my side. 

Like really slid out on it. 

Kind of the way a downhill skier goes down. 

My bike kept sliding another twenty metres as I came to a stop. 

I am grateful it did not take any other cyclists down. 

I am grateful for that. 

That would take me a very long time to get over if it had. 

It was me and me only. 

I have had accidents before and not all of them have been on my bike. 

I truly do not know why it happens, but something happens every time. 

Every time I have an accident, that is. 

I get right up, get on my bike, and I go. 

AKA LEAVE 

AKA HIDE 

It is like an animal that gets hurt and immediately runs into the forest to hide. 

I like to use the ‘forest’ to hide, suss out my injuries alone, and deal with them alone. 

The problem with the CGV is that there is no ‘forest.’ 

I went and got my bike and as I did, I became fully aware that I was bleeding everywhere. 

I got to the side of the track and was greeted by a Medic who happened to be right there. 

Yes, he was right there. 

He told me that I needed to stop. 

I had to stop. 

That I was running on adrenaline. 

That I needed to use him as my ‘forest.’ 

I took his advice. 

He cleaned me up. 

Bandaged me up. 

Wrapped me up. 

…And told me I needed to get to the hospital, as I needed stitches in multiple places. 

All the places I could not see. 

Forehead. 

Eyebrow. 

Elbow. 

Shoulder. 

He was a wonderful man, and I let him know it. 

Probably ten times. 

The whole time he was wrapping me up, I watched the distant sky become darker and darker. 

I wanted to make it home before the storm came. 

I rode home. 

Oddly, my bike was totally fine. 

I got my key in the door. 

The exact moment the sky opened up. 

I cleaned up the best I could. 

Removed my bloody clothing. 

Changed. 

Made my way to the hospital. 

Two stitches on my eyebrow. 

Five on my elbow. 

Seventeen on my shoulder. 

I woke up the next morning with a black eye. 

At two o’clock, I got back on the same bike. 

I rode to the CGV. 

…and I rounded that same curve nice and sharp ten more times. 

‘The stitches came out today’ 

Insert red siren emoji here. 

‘Dress Confidently. Ride Boldly. Ride You.’