May7
With most things, I am an all or nothing kind of gal. Nothing’s worth doing unless you push yourself to the limit every time, I always say to myself.
This philosophy does me well in so many areas of my life – particularly the physical aspects: Ascent, marathon, Warrior Dash, P90X, CrossFit to name a few.
But sometimes I need to just take my time and learn from experiencing, from getting the feel of things before I just jump in. What prompted this revelation?
*sigh* I laid my bike down today.
I have been feeling more comfortable with my riding – no stalling out at lights, making my turns tighter, riding in heavy wind as well as light rain. Even so, I don’t know what possessed me to drive up Ruxton Ave. The fact that it’s kind of steep and bit winding is one thing. The crux of the problem was turning around. Just before the cog railway, there is a turn around point. You are basically coming uphill, then turning in an acute angle going downhill. I was doing okay until I hit the gravel. Shit.
I hit the ground first, and made a valiant effort to hold the bike up, but gravity coupled with gravel and incline took us down. The engine stalled out as soon as I let go of the throttle. Gas started pouring out of the carburetor. Some girls who were either coming back from or heading to the Incline helped me get the bike up enough to put the kickstand down. I thanked them profusely. I sat to the side, catching my breath, preparing to bring the bike down. *deep breath* I told myself, I can do this.
I got on the bike, put it in neutral, and tried to roll it down to flat ground. No go. The hill was too steep, the bike was leaning downhill, and then there was the gravel. I went down again. Shit. Shit. Shit. This time another gal tried to help me pick it up, but the position of the bike on the hill was worse now. I couldn’t get any footing because now the bike was pretty much right up against the gravel. I was so irritated with myself for even attempting this. I hate making this turn in my CAR.
Then from around the corner, my guardian angel appeared clad in a tank top and – hmmm, I think cargo pants?. I think I had seen him driving on Ruxton earlier in a green Jeep with the top off. Seeing Jeeps always makes me miss mine.
Anyway, he came up the hill, and assessed my situation. He asked if I was okay, and if he could help me get the bike up. Yes, please. He inquired, “600?” I answered “800.” “No problem, we can do this,” he says.
He took the handlebars, and I lifted near the seat, and the bike came up. “No damage!” he declared. “You’re good.”
No sooner had I started thinking, “But I can’t get it down the hill,” he was saying, “Do you want me to bring it down there for you?” Yes, please. I tried to make myself useful by propping up on the left side of the bike, steadying the back while he braked and rolled efficiently and got me to more neutral ground. It was while we were pushing the bike, I noticed that he had a sidearm on right hip. And, for some reason, I suddenly felt safer.
We parked it, and I must have sighed with relief. He asked if I was feeling shaky, and I told him that I was just out of breath from the effort. And frustrated because I hadn’t dumped the bike before. He was gracious, said it has even happened to him, and that “If a guy tells you he’s never laid a bike down, he’s not really riding.” LOL. He gave me tips on picking a bike up when not on a hill, and again asked if I was going to be okay from here. I said that I would be. And shook his hand while thanking him even more profusely, this time noticing his tattooed arms.
And then he was gone. I took some breaths, felt extremely grateful that he showed up when I was thinking I was so out of options. I honestly had no idea what I would have done.
So I started the bike, and decided I needed to ride a while to get my sea legs back – motorcycle legs? So I went through Manitou, down Colorado and around downtown for about half an hour. It was only then I noticed some drops of blood on my left pant leg. What the? Then I noticed a little slice on my left thumb. Oh, nice. Time to head home and clean up.
I was going to take the bike back to my dad’s garage where I’ve been keeping it (nice flat ground there), but then decided that I hadn’t pushed myself enough in getting back in the saddle, so to speak. So I headed home. Up our steep hill, turned right up onto our steep street, then a hard left up onto the steep driveway. If you’ve been to my house, you exactly what I mean. I was tired, and made the fatal mistake of pausing at the bottom of our steep driveway.
I went down again. Hard this time – on concrete. I tried to pick up the bike, but I was exhausted from the earlier efforts. Again, the gas was pouring out of the carburetor. Oh hell. I ran into the house and called to Doug to help me. We got the bike up quickly, and I put it on the kickstand again and sat hard on the ground to catch my breath.
And berated myself some more for being so stupid. Doug was extremely supportive and sympathetic. And then I noticed the damage. Left rear signal hanging, lens broken. The tip of the clutch handle broken off. ARGH. Stupid, stupid, stupid. And here was evidence of that stupidity.
I should have let myself be. But that’s not what I do. So. Limitations. I must remember that I don’t *always*, *every* time, have to push myself to the edges of my capacity/ability in *every* single thing I do (except every CrossFit AMRAP). Sometimes, I need to take my time and learn.
Yeah, I’ll need to work on that.
A huge thanks to the gals who helped me and to my Jeep-driving, side-arm-wearing, tattooed guardian angel. I mean, c’mon – that angel is just tailor-made for me, right?
Oh, and in no way will this keep me from riding. I love riding. Just not on steep hills. Or gravel. Or both.
Looks like a sun shiny day