On Sunday, M and I headed out for our second bike ride of the summer with two friends. Our trail of choice, Fisherman's Trail, is certainly more strenuous than our Canada Day dyke doddle. Just fifteen minutes from home, Seymour Demonstration Forest has a variety of trails from which to choose. Fisherman's Trail offers steep declines requiring concentration to push-your-bike inclines, flat boardwalks and scenic pathways.
One section of the trail always reminds my friend, Jean, of the time she ventured head first off the steep trail, down the forested embankment, with her bike on top of her. She was pretty banged up and bruised for weeks afterwards. It's not one of her warm and fuzzy memories. Until Sunday, I had no biking escapades to share as I have always managed to stay on my bike and on the trail.
Sections of Fisherman's trail seemed to be in worse shape than I remembered. A particular rainwashed gully got the better of me, as small as it was. In trying to pass a fellow rider who had stopped for a drink of water, I got too close to the edge of the trail, which would have been fine, if not for that small gully. My wheel caught the edge of it, I lost my balance and down I went - over the side. As I shifted from being master of my bike to middle-age woman meeting her maker, I thought, "How far down am I going to go?"
Jean, looking over her shoulder, saw me disappear down the embankment with my bike for company. This brought out her motherly instinct; the memory of her own horrible experience and - she braked too hard. She hurtled over her handlebars in grand style. I heard someone come off a bike as I came to rest against a rock.
I stood up, disengaged myself from my bike, and could see Jean running towards me with my husband in hot pursuit. "I'm fine - sore, but fine". I was helped back on to the path where M was making sure that Jean was fine too. He dusted dirt off her back and was graciously concerned about her health. I had to wonder if he realised that I had come off my bike as well. Sure I was fine, a few knocks here and there, but a little more attention from my husband right now would be nice. Hmm, wait until he sees I have a trickle of blood from my elbow.
My bumps and scrapes have healed quickly. I'm pleased to know that I still bounce. Jean, on the other hand, doesn't bounce like she once did. She has purple, blue and black mosaics on her arm and legs - and she is still sore. It's honouring to know that I have a friend who will risk life and limb out of concern for me. And, just as well, she's a trusted friend who is closer to my mother's age than mine.
M's attentions were those of a concerned long-time friend who, having been at the front of the group, heard Jean hit the ground and didn't realise that I had come off my bike too. Why did he think I was helped back on to the path from the embankment? He didn't really know as he was concerned for our friend, "besides which, you said you were fine".
Next time I'll be sure to exclaim, "I'm sore, I'm sore, I'm sore!"
One section of the trail always reminds my friend, Jean, of the time she ventured head first off the steep trail, down the forested embankment, with her bike on top of her. She was pretty banged up and bruised for weeks afterwards. It's not one of her warm and fuzzy memories. Until Sunday, I had no biking escapades to share as I have always managed to stay on my bike and on the trail.
Sections of Fisherman's trail seemed to be in worse shape than I remembered. A particular rainwashed gully got the better of me, as small as it was. In trying to pass a fellow rider who had stopped for a drink of water, I got too close to the edge of the trail, which would have been fine, if not for that small gully. My wheel caught the edge of it, I lost my balance and down I went - over the side. As I shifted from being master of my bike to middle-age woman meeting her maker, I thought, "How far down am I going to go?"
Jean, looking over her shoulder, saw me disappear down the embankment with my bike for company. This brought out her motherly instinct; the memory of her own horrible experience and - she braked too hard. She hurtled over her handlebars in grand style. I heard someone come off a bike as I came to rest against a rock.
I stood up, disengaged myself from my bike, and could see Jean running towards me with my husband in hot pursuit. "I'm fine - sore, but fine". I was helped back on to the path where M was making sure that Jean was fine too. He dusted dirt off her back and was graciously concerned about her health. I had to wonder if he realised that I had come off my bike as well. Sure I was fine, a few knocks here and there, but a little more attention from my husband right now would be nice. Hmm, wait until he sees I have a trickle of blood from my elbow.
My bumps and scrapes have healed quickly. I'm pleased to know that I still bounce. Jean, on the other hand, doesn't bounce like she once did. She has purple, blue and black mosaics on her arm and legs - and she is still sore. It's honouring to know that I have a friend who will risk life and limb out of concern for me. And, just as well, she's a trusted friend who is closer to my mother's age than mine.
M's attentions were those of a concerned long-time friend who, having been at the front of the group, heard Jean hit the ground and didn't realise that I had come off my bike too. Why did he think I was helped back on to the path from the embankment? He didn't really know as he was concerned for our friend, "besides which, you said you were fine".
Next time I'll be sure to exclaim, "I'm sore, I'm sore, I'm sore!"
