Cycling Across America #12
Part 12 of the Cycle-Across-America series relayed day by day, exactly ten years after it happened. (Read from the start in Boston)
Still recuperating in Virginia, three days after being almost killed, ten years ago today this happened:
Still in Chester in Virginia. Determined not to think about cycling, last night I had a surprise.
The swelling has gone down on the haematoma, leaving me with a bruised bum. A spectacularly bruised bum. Nice to stop with the ice packs. But that wasn’t the surprise.
I pushed my body a bit more last night. Frustrated with the limitations on movement, such a contrast with the freedom of movement on the bicycle that took me the several hundred miles to here, I took a step. Not a shuffle, but a step.
So for the first time since being hit I lifted my foot. It hurts. It hurts a lot. But I can do it. I can lift my left foot up and take a step.
My aunt came home from work. I was on my feet instead of on my good hip. Look at you, she said as she came in the door. It’s better than this, I said and then took a step with my left foot. And if I can do that, I can do this, I said lifting my left foot up a full twelve inches off the floor. And if I can do that, then I can pedal a bicycle.
-Do you want to go buy a new bike?
-Yes pleaseRichmond is only a few miles away. The biggest bike shop in the whole area said it had touring bicycles when I phoned them. On the way my aunt’s car ran out of petrol on the Interstate and she left me sitting alone on a narrow shoulder as she went looking for some. I lasted three minutes before I scrambled out away from the traffic and climbed onto the hill beside. Terrified I couldn’t convince myself that I wouldn’t be hit from behind. Again.
The bike shop said they had hundreds of bikes. It was huge. But when I looked they only had three touring bikes. The sales assistant actually didn’t know what a touring bike was, and kept directing me to mountain bikes. After explaining a couple of times I had to ignore him as I realized it served me right for not going to a small bike shop.In the end I didn’t have to choose a bike; it chose itself by default. The other two were too big for me and my short legs. And I wasn’t happy. Aluminium fat tubes at funny angles with fat tyres and the brakes on reversed sides. It didn’t look like a real bike.
And a new helmet, red, that should be better for visibility but I was tempted to get one to match the skyblue and navy Dublin shirt I cycled in. And panniers. New bags for the back of the bike.
The poor sales fella was confused. All I ever did was stand over the bike to test it for size, and that was sore enough. He wanted me to take it out the back to test cycle it like everybody does. They have a little track there in the lot. I wouldn’t hear of it. Then he said he trusted me so he wanted me to take it out properly for ten minutes to get the feel of it. Take it out in the traffic, go down the street.
I was aghast. Cycle a bike when I can barely walk? Cycle a bike only days after getting knocked down? Are you mad, I all but asked him as I handed him my credit card and bought a new bicycle.
Read from the beginning of the Cycle Across America
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