Today I crashed.

So that’s the short story. Here’s the long one. I was on a group ride speeding through the woods at the front and I came to the big “rock drop”. Now for 3 years, I have avoided this rock drop because it looked scary as all get out.  I’ve seen others do it and they’ve lived.  But, last week, the group I was with stopped there to “session” it. They convinced me that it was not nearly the 20 foot ledge I’d built it up in my mind to be and that I could easily clear it if I just sat back on my saddle and rolled over it with some speed. At first I resisted and then I must have gotten the courage blast that comes from the shame wave.  Plus my husband assured me I could do it and I trust his judgement. And I made it.  I was ecstatic. It was nothing. I couldn’t believe all those years, I’d avoided it and here I was clearing it like a pro. Okay, not a pro, but a person who can clear things and not fall off their bike. That kind of pro.

With my new found confidence, I rode over it again on my next ride, when I was alone. So now, I knew it wasn’t a fluke because I did it again. And this time, it was much tougher in my mind because there was no one there to carry me out of the woods if I biffed. What a confidence boost. Yahoo.

So now we come to this week. Same trail. Same scenario. Speeding through the woods with my partners in crime enjoying the flowing singletrack.  Here comes the rock drop. First guy clears it, Second guy clears it, Me….I didn’t clear it. As I approached the edge of the rock, I heard one of the first guys yell something out.  As my mind is registering the question “What did he say?”,  that's when I see it. The rocks on the other side have been moved. Instead of it being a smooth landing on the other side, they are askew.  My front wheel hits one of those rocks, gets caught, stops my wheel dead and sends me sailing over the handle bars onto my hands and elbows. Son of a Nutcracker!!! I pick myself up and now the rest of the group has caught up to witness my bloodied limbs. 

I quickly cleaned myself up with some alcohol wipes that a fellow rider offered me. (I swear whoever invented those is the devil as I think that hurt more than the dirt rash cuts themselves). Luckily I was able to pick myself up and continue riding with the group till the end.
And when I finished, my wonderful husband drove out to see if I was okay after I sent him this picture of my fresh wounds since he actually missed this particular ride. Not to make him feel bad or anything of course, but I thought he'd like to see the pic. Okay, maybe I wanted a little sympathy.
But damn, that fall did hurt. Both my extremities and my pride. And now that new found confidence is gone. And once again I am that rock drop off wussie that I've always been. Oh but, now I plan to carry a first aid kit in my camelbak again. Because the next time someone offers me an "antiseptic" wipe after a crash, I think I just might suck the alcohol out of it rather than apply it to my broken skin because it would likely make me feel better.