Brisbane Ranges Sunday 14^th February, 2010

I was a bit worried about the weather by the time I got to Whittlesea – dark skies, heavy clouds, damp roads. Never mind, I thought, as I rode up to the servo. I knew a good portion of the roads we’d be riding on so I was going to just take it easy and look at it as good practice riding in the not so perfect conditions. That lovely climb up towards Kinglake West was a bit hairy with mist like pea soup impeding visibility. I felt my back tyre occasionally trying to sneak off to another direction on the slick, wet road. Once on lower ground, however, a beautiful blue sky dominated the fluffy white clouds and things were looking up.

I was disturbed after Rod Merrett’s crash, seeing the extent of the damage to his bike. I thought how lucky he was to not be more seriously injured. He seemed okay and the ride continued on as he waited at the scene for assistance from a friend. We stopped for fuel at Lancefield where some chit chat, stories from previous rides to accompany my chicken sandwich and water dissolved my mild hangover – things were on the up and up.

I really enjoy the roads around Trentham. There I was, happily cruising along a road that I was reasonably familiar with, being watchful with the knowledge that the road was chopped up in places, and taking care to look out for gravel after recent rains. I completed a corner and continued turning the throttle as the road ahead straightened when the handle bars started wobbling.

Before I knew it, with eyes shut tight, I felt myself being trashed about by the ground before coming to a rest on my side. I felt relief at coming to a stop, but that lasted only a second until I realised I couldn’t breathe. After much focus and concentration, telling my lungs to start working, I finally managed tiny gasps of air, the intensity of pain in my ribs growing. As I tried to sit up, the pain from my shoulder hit me and I realised I was in trouble.

Pina and Misho to the rescue! And then I was surrounded by people and voices which my mind found hard to grasp as my senses were drowning in pain! Bloody hell! Cut the jacket off! And Uncle Ben had arrived to take photos! GRRRRRRR!

Anyway blah blah blah… fast forward. Pain – medication – pain – tears - pain - surgery – pain – medication – pain – I decide to give up riding – medication – pain – I want my mum but I haven’t told her I ride – medication - pain. Fast forward some more.

A month and a half later, my shoulder’s improved – in leaps and bounds over the last couple of weeks. So I’m happier. And I’ve started working part time from home. But I think I’m still a couple of months away from my life getting back to normal.

Mum and dad still don’t know. I have to manufacture a story - a Big Fat Lie that doesn’t feature any motor vehicle or lead to any conclusion that I’m prone to accidents - to explain the latest fresh 10cm scar and limited movement of my right arm when I’m in Sydney next month for my Mum’s birthday. Any ideas, anyone?

I’ve changed my mind about giving up riding. Of course I’ll get back on in due course. But I really, really don’t want to go through that again. And I really, really, really don’t want anyone else to either. Pina was so right when she told me by email that the fun factor had diminished with all the crash action going on. It does take away from the thrill and joy of that shared riding experience, when instead of a ‘GEEEE! IT’S GREAT TO BE ALIVE!’ type high, one is left with a much more sobering thought of how lucky I am/others are to still be alive at all.

Ah! It’s a dangerous business that I love. What to do?

F!@#$%^ing VTR250 is dead. I’m finally off restrictions. Get a better bike.

NO MORE CRASHES!

Cindy Lee