“I thought you were dead,” these are the words the garda said to me today, two days after I crashed off my bike at about 35+ miles per hour, going down a hill on the road from Roundwood in Co Wicklow. I’ve never broken a bone in my body, and miraculously, that’s still the case. From talking to anyone who heard about a bike crash like that, it really makes me realise how lucky I was. Really lucky.
I place the odd bet on football and golf, and if someone had asked me what are your chances of being seriously injured if you fall of a bike at speed, I would have said pretty short. Going down a hill, even shorter. With a van coming the other way, miniscule. I’m not trying to dramatise here, but really do feel go raibh an t-ádh liom. I still feel a bit like humpty dumpty, but at least they could put me all back together. My bike came out the worst.
On Saturday, the sun was shining so I decided to go for a decent cycle. I’d done the Enniskerry-Glencree 45km route a good few times, so wanted something different. I looked at Roundwood which is a 60km round trip from Sandyford, and I figured I’d give it a go. With only 2 weeks to Chicago, I wanted a good fast cycle on decent roads, not just up- and down-hill. I reached Roundwood after about 1:25 hours and after a break for the now obligatory Lucozade Sport and Nutrigrain bar, headed back towards Enniskerry. The road was busy with traffic, but a decent surface. The last 3km down to the junction towards the N11 or Enniskerry was full of bends. I was going at a fair lick, but stayed well back from the 3 cars in front. As I came round a bend, onto a straight patch of a few hundred metres, I steadied up and saw a van come around the bend at the bottom.
I must have been going at least 50 kmph (35 mph) and when I peddled in a high gear, suddenly my right foot clipped out of the pedal as I pushed down. Most of my weight would have been on my right side, so I wobbled to the right (sorry, couldn’t find a more graceful word J). The van was heading straight up the hill and I was on a direct course towards it. I can’t remember what I did next, because it happened so fast, but do remember thinking maybe I could turn right and go into the ditch to avoid it. But I didn’t have time to do anything and next thing I know I’m flying through the air. I didn’t see the van but was assuming I would hit it. The seconds passed (like milliseconds) and next thing I’m lying on the tarmac on my right hand side, my head resting on my outstretched arm. I didn’t know what state I was in, other than alive. Being in an accident isn’t something they teach you in school.
I didn’t feel pain. I just saw the tarmac, my arm and the ditch. Then I saw blood. My arm was bleeding and my mouth was bloody. Had I broken my arm? My leg? What about my head? Within a few seconds, there were a group of people around me. They had a first aid kit and started to help. Before they had a chance to do anything, I heard “I’m a doctor”. A middle aged man with a beard knelt down and spoke to me “What is your name?” From there he proceeded to ask me a few questions and realised I was fully conscious. In hindsight, this was a very good sign. His priority was to ensure I didn’t move my arms or legs. He used the first aid kit to bandage up my injured elbows. He kept talking while we waited for the ambulance to arrive. He even called my dad to let him know what had happened (these days, nobody knows mobile numbers off by heart, but I knew his thankfully). The gardaí arrived pretty quickly. I could hear people saying “he was going very fast, he looked out of control.”
The ambulance sirens whined and I knew I was going to be in hospital soon. The doctor was worried about my shoulder being dislocated and my right arm being broken, so they were very careful putting me on the stretcher. They applied the neck brace in case my spine was damaged. I was able to lower my right arm and my shoulder didn’t pain that much. In fact, I felt ok considering. Maybe that was the shock. Aisling, the paramedic, looked after me on the way to St Vincents Hospital.
On arrival at A&E, I was wheeled into the “resus” zone. Once they knew I wasn’t a critical case, the pace of action around you slows down, but still they were excellent. The doctor checked out my arms, legs, upper body and back and figured that I hadn’t broken anything which was amazing. I still had a lot of wounds all over – cuts, scrapes, burns, bruises. So it was up to the nurse to clean them up (yes, ouch with TCP for a kick). I still wasn’t in serious pain, just very uncomfortable because of open wounds and raw skin. Then I realised my teeth didn’t feel right. Given all that I got done on my jaw last year, this was the last thing I wanted, so just to be sure I got a jaw x-ray. In the end it was fine, but I realised by lower front teeth had been pushed in a bit and an upper tooth was chipped. More trips to the dentist...
So I spent the night in Vincents which was good as wouldn’t have been comfortable at home. I had a TV so could even watch the Premiership. The worst part was lying in the bed, as the open wounds on my back were very uncomfortable. The next day I got a blood test and even felt like a pregnant woman for a while, when they did an ultrasound on my liver! The doctor even showed me my heart beating (“cool”, his words, not mine). When I saw the consultant, knowing that nothing was seriously injured, my immediate thoughts were the Chicago Triathlon. This is what I’ve been training for since April, and with only 2 weeks to go, I didn’t want to have to miss it. It would have been a real sickener. But at that stage I really didn’t know how fast recovery would be. I could see myself being able to run, and possibly cycle, but swimming sounded tricky, given the state of my elbows, back and face. But the consultant said that yep it should be possible. I’ll have plenty of scabs and scars but once they don’t get infected I should be all right.
So let’s wait 7 days. By next week my elbows and back should be a lot better. My biggest worry is the pain in my lower back. I hope that goes away. And I won’t be able to train, so not ideal preparation, but falling off your bike wasn’t good prep to start with. Saturday night I definitely didn’t think I’d be able to race in Chicago, but was determined I was going either way. By Sunday I was a little more confident and today I’m happier that I should be able to do it. Although I won’t be setting any world records – the swim might be at a snail’s pace, but I’ll be happy to get there!
Today I picked up the bike in Bray Garda Station and, given the news of two guys being stabbed to death last night, it made me realise that life is precious. I hobbled in and met the garda who arrived on the scene. He showed me the bike in a sorry state. Two buckled wheels, front fork twisted, handlebars messed up, but the frame and chain set all look intact. Once we got it to Cycle Superstore (Pete, I left my credit card outside just in case they tried suck it dry again), the guys there took it in their stride and said no bother, they’d give me a quote and it should be fixed by the weekend. Sounds like a day’s work for them. So at least I’m not the only dodgy cyclist in Dublin.
So with 13 days to the big day in Chicago, my thoughts are
I place the odd bet on football and golf, and if someone had asked me what are your chances of being seriously injured if you fall of a bike at speed, I would have said pretty short. Going down a hill, even shorter. With a van coming the other way, miniscule. I’m not trying to dramatise here, but really do feel go raibh an t-ádh liom. I still feel a bit like humpty dumpty, but at least they could put me all back together. My bike came out the worst.
On Saturday, the sun was shining so I decided to go for a decent cycle. I’d done the Enniskerry-Glencree 45km route a good few times, so wanted something different. I looked at Roundwood which is a 60km round trip from Sandyford, and I figured I’d give it a go. With only 2 weeks to Chicago, I wanted a good fast cycle on decent roads, not just up- and down-hill. I reached Roundwood after about 1:25 hours and after a break for the now obligatory Lucozade Sport and Nutrigrain bar, headed back towards Enniskerry. The road was busy with traffic, but a decent surface. The last 3km down to the junction towards the N11 or Enniskerry was full of bends. I was going at a fair lick, but stayed well back from the 3 cars in front. As I came round a bend, onto a straight patch of a few hundred metres, I steadied up and saw a van come around the bend at the bottom.
I must have been going at least 50 kmph (35 mph) and when I peddled in a high gear, suddenly my right foot clipped out of the pedal as I pushed down. Most of my weight would have been on my right side, so I wobbled to the right (sorry, couldn’t find a more graceful word J). The van was heading straight up the hill and I was on a direct course towards it. I can’t remember what I did next, because it happened so fast, but do remember thinking maybe I could turn right and go into the ditch to avoid it. But I didn’t have time to do anything and next thing I know I’m flying through the air. I didn’t see the van but was assuming I would hit it. The seconds passed (like milliseconds) and next thing I’m lying on the tarmac on my right hand side, my head resting on my outstretched arm. I didn’t know what state I was in, other than alive. Being in an accident isn’t something they teach you in school.
I didn’t feel pain. I just saw the tarmac, my arm and the ditch. Then I saw blood. My arm was bleeding and my mouth was bloody. Had I broken my arm? My leg? What about my head? Within a few seconds, there were a group of people around me. They had a first aid kit and started to help. Before they had a chance to do anything, I heard “I’m a doctor”. A middle aged man with a beard knelt down and spoke to me “What is your name?” From there he proceeded to ask me a few questions and realised I was fully conscious. In hindsight, this was a very good sign. His priority was to ensure I didn’t move my arms or legs. He used the first aid kit to bandage up my injured elbows. He kept talking while we waited for the ambulance to arrive. He even called my dad to let him know what had happened (these days, nobody knows mobile numbers off by heart, but I knew his thankfully). The gardaí arrived pretty quickly. I could hear people saying “he was going very fast, he looked out of control.”
The ambulance sirens whined and I knew I was going to be in hospital soon. The doctor was worried about my shoulder being dislocated and my right arm being broken, so they were very careful putting me on the stretcher. They applied the neck brace in case my spine was damaged. I was able to lower my right arm and my shoulder didn’t pain that much. In fact, I felt ok considering. Maybe that was the shock. Aisling, the paramedic, looked after me on the way to St Vincents Hospital.
On arrival at A&E, I was wheeled into the “resus” zone. Once they knew I wasn’t a critical case, the pace of action around you slows down, but still they were excellent. The doctor checked out my arms, legs, upper body and back and figured that I hadn’t broken anything which was amazing. I still had a lot of wounds all over – cuts, scrapes, burns, bruises. So it was up to the nurse to clean them up (yes, ouch with TCP for a kick). I still wasn’t in serious pain, just very uncomfortable because of open wounds and raw skin. Then I realised my teeth didn’t feel right. Given all that I got done on my jaw last year, this was the last thing I wanted, so just to be sure I got a jaw x-ray. In the end it was fine, but I realised by lower front teeth had been pushed in a bit and an upper tooth was chipped. More trips to the dentist...
So I spent the night in Vincents which was good as wouldn’t have been comfortable at home. I had a TV so could even watch the Premiership. The worst part was lying in the bed, as the open wounds on my back were very uncomfortable. The next day I got a blood test and even felt like a pregnant woman for a while, when they did an ultrasound on my liver! The doctor even showed me my heart beating (“cool”, his words, not mine). When I saw the consultant, knowing that nothing was seriously injured, my immediate thoughts were the Chicago Triathlon. This is what I’ve been training for since April, and with only 2 weeks to go, I didn’t want to have to miss it. It would have been a real sickener. But at that stage I really didn’t know how fast recovery would be. I could see myself being able to run, and possibly cycle, but swimming sounded tricky, given the state of my elbows, back and face. But the consultant said that yep it should be possible. I’ll have plenty of scabs and scars but once they don’t get infected I should be all right.
So let’s wait 7 days. By next week my elbows and back should be a lot better. My biggest worry is the pain in my lower back. I hope that goes away. And I won’t be able to train, so not ideal preparation, but falling off your bike wasn’t good prep to start with. Saturday night I definitely didn’t think I’d be able to race in Chicago, but was determined I was going either way. By Sunday I was a little more confident and today I’m happier that I should be able to do it. Although I won’t be setting any world records – the swim might be at a snail’s pace, but I’ll be happy to get there!
Today I picked up the bike in Bray Garda Station and, given the news of two guys being stabbed to death last night, it made me realise that life is precious. I hobbled in and met the garda who arrived on the scene. He showed me the bike in a sorry state. Two buckled wheels, front fork twisted, handlebars messed up, but the frame and chain set all look intact. Once we got it to Cycle Superstore (Pete, I left my credit card outside just in case they tried suck it dry again), the guys there took it in their stride and said no bother, they’d give me a quote and it should be fixed by the weekend. Sounds like a day’s work for them. So at least I’m not the only dodgy cyclist in Dublin.
So with 13 days to the big day in Chicago, my thoughts are
(i) I feel so lucky I can still walk and talk,
(ii) delighted I’ll be on the start line,
(iii) will check my equipment a little closer next time
(iv) pissed I missed the golf classic in Carton House yesterday,
(v) stoked we made out fundraising target for Crumlin last night and
(vi) can see myself a little more likely to cross the finish line in downtown Chicago like these brave souls
Jesus man. Sounds like it was all over in a heartbeat, at least you're out the other side.
ReplyDeleteWill call over later to punch you in the gut for being a wuss.