Best to get the disasters out of the way before the trip

By the time this column comes out in the papers, Geezer-thon 2010 will be under way. That’s the name I’ve given the bicycle ride I’m planning from Lake Huron to Lake Michigan, and possibly back again, assuming I don’t keel over somewhere along the way.

I’ve received a lot of mail about my upcoming tour, much of it from readers worried after my safety. Considering my penchant for encountering small-to-medium sized disasters, their concern is not, I think, entirely misplaced.

Not to worry, though, I’ve already gotten my disaster de jour out of the way. I’m working here under the assumption that fate spreads disaster around evenly, and that—having experienced one so recently—it’ll be a few weeks before the next arrives. Time enough for me to finish my ride.

It happened last week.

I was riding along 14 Mile Road enjoying the sun on my back, the wind in my hair, and the heady aroma of auto exhaust that permeates every aspect of life here in beautiful Detroit.

The wind was in my hair because I wasn’t wearing a helmet.

Now, there are folks out there with whom I’ve had long helmet issue debates; I generally come down on the side of “let the rider decide” and I’m sticking with that here. But I have, in fact, finally purchased one, even though I look like a nerd while wearing it.

I was not wearing it this particular day, in part because I was only riding a mile or two, down to the coffee shop that doubles as my office. Also, I had just taken a shower and my hair was just too damn pretty to hide beneath a helmet.

My laptop case slung over my back, I pedaled along at a good clip as the pavement vanished beneath my tires. I was thinking about the work I had to finish, about how nice the day was, about old girlfriends and amusing things the kids had done when they were little.

What I wasn’t thinking is that a Cadillac Escalade would suddenly materialize in front of me. But there it was.

I reached for my brakes, far too slowly. Plowing directly into the vehicle’s passenger-side door, my bike recoiled from beneath me. I executed a half-somersault and landed—on my un-helmeted head—on the Escalade’s hood. The dent I left there was about the size of a dinner plate, maybe three inches deep.

For a couple moments, that was all I knew. I’ve never been knocked unconscious in my life and now that I have, I’ll say this—it’s an experience you won’t enjoy, believe me. When I came to, I felt light-headed and nauseous.

The Escalade’s driver—a young guy in his thirties—was standing over me muttering, “Ohgodohgodohmygod!” or something to that affect.

It took me a few minutes to convince him I was not dead or even badly injured. Once the dizziness passed, I felt fine, in fact. What I didn’t realize at the time was this: I was in shock.

The driver offered to call an ambulance, offered to buy me dinner, offered me fifty bucks in cash. He was really, really shaken up over the whole thing. He genuinely felt terrible about pulling in front of me.

I declined his offers of recompense and wrote it off as a bygones thing. My bike was a bit battered, but ride-able. His Escalade, on the other hand, would need a good two grand’s worth of body work. (My head, even without a helmet, is apparently quite hard. Hard enough to seriously damage a Cadillac, at least.)

Shaking hands, we parted ways. It wasn’t until I was at the coffee shop that the shock started to wear off. When it did, I realized I hurt everywhere! I could barely move.

But a couple of days of taking it easy and I was good as new, so no harm done. And now that I have my biking disaster out of the way, my ride across the state will be problem free. Right? Right?

You can follow daily updates of Geezer-thon 2010 at http://mtrealitycheck.blogspot.com beginning Sept. 6.