The wrong side of the tracks

I have a thing with railroad tracks. Ever since I was a little girl learning how to ride her bike back in Holland, railroad tracks have scared the bejeezus out of me. There was something about the dark, gleaming iron tracks, with the treacherous gutters on either side just waiting to reach out and grab your tire, that made me want to avoid railroad crossings at all costs. When I was little I would cross railroad tracks at a snail's pace, until one near-crash made me realize that going slow was actually the antithesis of a solution. Over the years, I figured out that speed and angle was the solution, and so Dutch railroad tracks slowly lost their sense of doom for me.

But then I start riding a roadbike. A bicycle with tires no wider than my thumb. A tire that is just dying to get stuck in ruts in the road, lose its balance while crossing into the gutter, and cause a fall and certain death at railroad crossings. Fortunately, Georgia is not exactly awash in railroad crossings, so for the past few years, I have not had to worry about dealing with the slick iron, the uneven pavement, and the gaping gutters. But then we started adding on the miles, and there was simply no avoiding the ancient, poorly maintained, barely used, but oh so quaint railroad crossing south of our town.

The first time I had to cross the uneven, slippery tracks, I squealed and complained the entire road leading up to the crossing, then unclipped my left foot from its pedal, just in case I needed to stop and get off, and slowed down to about 7mph. As the months wore on, I got better at navigating the track, although husband-dear and I never got careless. Never.

That's why whenever we approached the tracks. we always slowed down, made sure we're not right behind each other, and took the tracks at as much of an angle as possible. That's why we always keep our eyes on the road, and keep our conversation to a minimum. That's why we don't draft, and give each other space to swerve or stop if need be.

So one would think that two experiences athletes like ourselves would know to be extra careful on the last long ride before this season's major race. We would know to make sure we took the crossing at an angle, keep our eye on the other person, and stay a couple of feet behind them just in case.

One would think, yes. One would. But obviously, last Saturday, neither husband-dear nor I did that. You know, think. Instead, we were having too much fun riding together, talking, and planning next week's race. And so when we came upon the railroad tracks, we were not at the angle we needed to be. I was right next to husband-dear. Oh, and we were far too close to the side of the road.

You can all imagine what happened next I'm sure, even though I still have a hard time remembering exactly how it happened. Husband-dear's front tire hit the little gutter at the wrong angle, and gut stuck. The bike slide out from underneath husband-dear, who went down with a loud thud and an even louder "Whoa!". Cycling right behind him, the only thing I could do to avoid hitting his bicycle was swerve to the right, in the direction of the railroad tracks. My front tire hit the gutter as well, my bike slid out from other me, and with an apparently amazing display of acrobatics, my right foot unclipped, my right leg swung up, and as my bike came down, my body twisted counter-clockwise, and swinging out my right arm, I was able to break my fall ever with a loud thud on the gravelly pavement.

Immediate triage revealed bent handlebars (my bike), a broken gear line (husband-dear's bike), a ripped pair of bike shorts (husband-dear), a chafed, bloody arm (me), a chafed, bloody hip (husband-dear), a bruised knee (both of us), and bruised thigh (me). And as so typical to the south, a passing runner with his dog stopped to see if he could help. And when he realized we were bruised, bloody, but fine, he, in good southern fashion too, stayed and chatted. About an upcoming race. Endlessly. 

So does this mean we're not racing on Satuday? Of course not. I might look, to quote one of my students today, as though I've been in a knife fight, and our local bike store owner might have once again been able to add to his retirement fund, but we. are. racing.

We just better check out the bike course to make sure there are no railroad tracks we need to cross. Because I will get off and walk.
For real.