Sounded like a fun plan to me and so I rode Caroline’s mountain bike in to have some fun with them.
We rode around the tracks for awhile until we came to the bit of the park where people had put the jumps.
I’d been looking forward to this bit of the ride, but hadn’t seen the jumps before and so didn’t really know what to expect. When I saw them I have to say I took one look and thought, “Oh well, buggered if I am going to kill myself, they look way to advanced for me.”
So we settled for a bit of a ride around and some minor little jumps that we could handle.
Of course, as time went on we got a little more adventurous. First it was the attempt to go down the incline that looked rather steep and had something of a drop off in the middle of it. No problem, that was fun. Though when my mate tried it, he did kind of forget to turn at the end and finish up in a tree. Unscathed though.
Then there was the challenge that I issued … see how far you can jump off that. I thought my mate’s attempt was pretty lame. Then I had a go. I easily cleared what he had jumped, but kind of landed front wheel first and had to dump the bike as I leapt off over the handle bars, much to the amusement of everyone (My mate, his wife and their 2 kids) that was watching.
It was at that point that Belinda issued us with the warning, “you guys have to remember that you’re not 15, that you’re getting up in your 30’s!” So we settled for some more sedate activity after that.
Then we decided to go and get ice-cream. But just before we did, Jase went down a slope and over a jump … one of the scary looking ones. Though he braked at the jump and just rolled over, not getting any air.
I decided to have one last shot at glory before we left and went over the same jump. I didn’t use any brakes. For a few brief moments, everything was exhilarating. I got air.
The next thing that I recall (and I remember this extraordinarily clearly) I was headed for the ground.
Head first.
I had just enough time to think, “roll” and tucked my head and attempted to get my shoulder under in order to roll with the fall. I succeeded in not hitting my head, but landed with the full weight of my body on my shoulder. Ouchies. The bike (according to later recounts of events) sailed over the top of me to land somewhere beyond my crumpled form.
To demonstrate, I’ve added this little pictorial representation of the event (click to enlarge):
At that point, Belinda dropped her bike and ran over, full of concern. Jason of course, just pissed himself laughing.
As my heart attempted to slow from something like a billion beats a second, I stood up and tried to assess the damage, spitting dirt from my mouth. The shoulder was bloody sore, but I thought that I would survive without too much drama. After a few minutes we decided that we’d ride off and get that ice-cream and laugh of my suicidal tendencies.
But as I rode the bike towards the road, the first two little bumps that I hit demonstrated to me that I might need just a little more assessment and intense pain flared through my shoulder. Yep, a trip to the hospital was called for.
Fortunately, following x-rays, a pethidine injection in my arse and some rather bashful explanations of what I’d done, it was revealed that nothing was broken and that it appeared that I’d just bruised everything rather severely.
That of course did nothing to assuage the guilt that I felt from having done something utterly stupid that now meant that Caroline would be faced with packing up all our camping equipment when it was time to go as I watched as a spectator in a sling! Following that little thought came things like, “I guess that’s it for the start of the soccer season.”
Its now almost a week since I did this and I am constantly amazed by the number of ways in which this shoulder has limited me. Initially my arm was in a sling and I became ‘that guy that fell off his bike’ around the caravan park. Its amazing how fast word travels. Sam couldn’t quite understand how everyone that saw me seemed to know that I’d managed to do it falling off a bike.
Currently the arm is improving, but it still hurts like buggery with certain movements. Tying up my shoes is still a massive challenge (enough that I’ve asked Caroline to do it for me). But I have moved a long way from the initial challenges I faced when I could barely move the arm (less than 20 degree swing).
The first night I realised that I was still variously covered in dirt from the crash and that a shower would be in order. Of course with one arm immobile, even getting undressed was going to present massive difficulties for me. The obvious solution was to get Caroline to help.
Of course, we were in a caravan park at the time, with communal (though not unisexual) showering and toilet facilities. So the debate ensued as to whether we were better off sneaking Caroline into the men’s with me, or me into the women’s with Caroline.
In the end I held out and we went to the mens. We checked that there was no one in there (made sure it was quite late at night too) and then hustled into the shower.
That was fine, except for the fact that as soon as we were in there, there was an inexplicable late night rush for the showers! Within moments, went from being the only ones in there, to having every shower occupied and someone standing just outside our stall waiting!
We took our time, but once we were finished, the other people were still going and someone was waiting. I told Caroline just to walk out but she was too embarrassed to do that, so she knelt down on the floor, looking under the stalls to see when the feet disappeared so that we could make a dash for it!
Finally someone else left their shower and after he’d spent an inordinate amount of time dressing and preening we were free to go.
We quickly hustled ourselves out the door only to run into an old guy just about to come in!
Caroline was a little mortified, but the sling on my arm along with Caroline’s rushed explanation gave credit to the fact that it was not ‘hanky panky’ kind of visit. (We’ll have to save that for next time?).
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