I remember what happened!
I don't remember everything, but I was just talking with my friend Jerry, one
of the rider's in the group, and we talked about my fateful day, and it
triggered some memories.
We had just come down from the Marshall Wall, where I reached my personal top
speed of 43 mph. I remember this, because I was so elated, until Jerry told me
he got up to 47. I can't believe this, but I remember feeling disappointed,
like, WHY couldn't I go faster? That's kind of lame. You do your best
performance ever, you're happy, until you find out someone went faster, and
then you're mad about it. That is so just plain wrong, and I remember even
telling myself, don't feel bad. You can try again. This is just so sick. I
should be appreciative that I can ride in the sunshine through the beautiful
hills of West Marin. That is what is important! 43 mph is enough! It's my
best! I should be happy!
The incident occurred shortly after turning left at Marshall onto Hwy 1. I was
riding with Jerry and Chuck, and I remember first riding in the front, and
then remembering this would probably be a whole lot easier if I rode third.
So, Jerry led, Chuck was second, to his left, and I was behind Chuck, to his
left, on purpose, knowing that if anything happened, if I had to swerve, it
wouldn't be off a cliff or into a guard rail or something. Someone in Marin
Cyclists taught me this tactic, telling me this would be safer. And don't
overlap the wheels, which I did not do.
This was another obstacle I was trying to overcome, riding in groups, using
the draft to conserve energy. Obviously, I still need to work on this one.
We were just passing a house, travelling at a nice cruise speed and a black,
fluffy dog named Satan* came running out. Jerry yelled, "Dog!", and Chuck
braked, I think, and swerved to the left to avoid Satan. To avoid Chuck (our
wheels might have hit), I mashed my front brake to avoid my front tire hitting
Chuck's rear tire. This is where things get hazy, but I think there is a
strong possibility that I might have braked too hard.
So, I guess I went over the handle bars. In fact, I kind of remember that,
too. Jerry replayed the sound affects over the phone, not necessarily
appreciated, but it helps the memory.
A helicopter was used because the roads to Santa Rosa Memorial Hospital are so
windy, that I would only be in more pain. It arrived in just thirty minutes.
Amazing!
I was fully conscious, and crying, and that's good. Crying is such a healthy
release.
All I really remember is some people around me in a helicopter, but I also
remember not quite comprehending that this was a helicopter. I think they gave
me some very strong drugs.
And I remember the sun on my face as they wheeled me from the helicopter into
ER, but again not quite comprehending why this was happening, but not wanting
to question it.
There was a very nice lady who's mother was next to me in ER, surrounded by
curtains, coughing something awful, who kept coming over to visit me and keep
me company. I remember just kind of drifting in and out of sleep, but waking
up to her warm smile. I don't remember at all what she said, but it was just
comforting having her there. She'd stand by my bed and talk and say happy
things, and then go back to her mother who was having such a terrible time.
And the next day, while I was plugged into some machine pouring morphine into
my veins, she called me, and of course, I could not remember her, but then she
reminded me that we had met in ER, and she had called because she said she
would, and she again said very nice, warm things that filled my spirit. I
remembered her then, but I still could not tell you her name. But her mission
was accomplished. Just one more vital stastic proving to me that people are so
innately good, that in the midst of her mother's pain and suffering this
stranger could find the energy to call ME of all people to relay a positive
message.
And then Charlie called and said I should stick to something safe, like racing
cars.
Katie K.
*Not his real name.
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