Life is Fun, but Sometimes Dangerous. Wear a Helmet and May be Sunglasses

In previous posts, I've proclaimed my love for Italy. Oh sure, I whined about those scary Italian drivers and my equally scary husband-driver. And about mosquitos, starting dinner at 8:30pm, limited availability of air-conditioning and several other minor issues that I can't readily recall. But Italy was fun. Beautiful food, intriguing ruins, gorgeous scenery, helpful people.  It is also where I crashed -- while cycling.

I'm a seasoned cyclist, though not a particularly gifted one. I'm what might be called an unnatural athlete, someone who enjoys a sport in spite of her varied limitations. R and I have taken many cycling trips over the past 12 years. Some were more challenging, some less so. Some overseas and several in North America. This was the first time I recall three people falling off their bikes, including me. Crashing was not part of my traveling plan nor was visiting an Italian urgent care clinic on a Sunday afternoon.

The first cyclist crashed on our first full day of cycling. She was upset, frustrated, and very bruised but she finished the ride and rode everyday the rest of the trip. The other cyclist crashed while cycling with her adult kids. She finished the day in the van but then was back at it, riding every day at least for part of the day. I must say they were more elegant "crashers" than I was, more able to take their spills out of view from most of the group, allowing their middle aged bodies their earned respect and just presenting their bruised and battered selves later for story telling during dinner.

I, however, crashed in a big, public way. Cycling along, I yelled a warning about broken pavement to the three cyclists behind me, slowed way down at the tremendously jagged, dislocated pavement, calculated how I would cross the narrow bridge in the middle and 
then crashed, full body and bike sprawled across the path. No one could miss me. Or did. I blocked the frickin path -- with my body and the bike.

R who from behind watched my terrible decent, quickly phoned the guide in the van while the guide cycling behind arrived to help assess my damage. All seemed ok until the guides, fluent in both English and Italian, switched quickly to Italian as they formulated a plan. I think the blood gushing from my face, the dent in my helmet and R's report that my head 
bounced were the ticket to a clinic visit.

I try to find the humor in the situation. Let's see -- sprawled on the path in the warm Italian sun, left knee propped on the spilled bike because I think I've broken my knee....Probably not funny. Blood gushing from my face, which I was fairly certain was from a broken 
nose....No, not overly funny. Italian soil in my mouth. Definitely not funny. Italian doctor, 
flashlight in hand, examining the inside of my mouth is see if I did bite through my lip. Oh, 
so not funny.

I guess what was slightly humorous was that I won the prize for the most public, inelegant crash as well as the one for the most noticeable wounds -- surgical tape above my lip, black eye, scraped face, scraped, painfully bruised knee, and bruised hand. Apparently, I'm 
competitive even with crashing.


But there is fear in crashing. Our bodies anticipate future experiences based on recent past experiences. Back at home, my body is hyperalert to danger, especially when I cycle.  Unlike the other two crashers, I did not cycle the last day of the Puglia trip, mostly because all my parts hurt, I was limping and unable to bend my knee.

To engage in life, to be active and participating can be dangerous. But to my way of 
thinking, it is much more dangerous not to engage, to hang back, afraid of what might 
happen.

Bits of old, probably wise, useful lyrics and sayings have drifted through my mind of late, 
including "I'm Back in the Saddle Again" "Pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and start all over again" and the just simple, plain, "When you fall down, get back up and try again."
I'm cycling again. So far not more than 15 miles. I'm on alert for oversized pot holes, risky drain grates, and mischievous gravel, in my overly active mind, dangers all. I fuss with and adjust and readjust my helmet, making sure it will not pop off if I spill. Several miles into a ride I begin to relax some and enjoy the sport again. I look forward to the day when I cycle without so much tension.

If we don't risk, we don't gain and if we don't gain....what is life?   Get back in the saddle is
 my advice to myself and everyone else, but wear a helmet and sunglasses and sunscreen, especially in Italy.

   Beautiful Puglia