It’s 85 degree heat with nearly 100% humidity. The heat from the asphalt hit’s like hot breath. I watch my heart rate, which is usually in the 140 range when I’m going 20mph, hit 150 and then climb. I’m not thirsty really, but I try to remember to keep drinking. My legs feel strong, and the view is euphoric: fields where hay is being cut; horses standing along a fence in the shade; purple martins swooping into the low eaves of a barn; chamomile and cornflowers blooming thickly at the edge of the road. It’s the end of the ride and T is a little ahead.
I tuck down into my drops and start pedaling hard. And then, without warning, my world goes suddenly black.
Just for an instant. No road, no fields, no handlebars. No warning.
In the next instant I’m pitching over my handlebars into the grassy stubble on the side of the road.
I hear my wheel hit the uneven lip of the asphalt, and I have just enough to reaction to tuck and roll, clipping out of one pedal just in time to avoid twisting my ankle.
I land, chest first, my bike on my back, on soft dirt, narrowly missing the guard rail.
T has seen me as I’m falling, and is looping back, at my side in an instant. I’m already trying to sort myself out: unclipping the other pedal, disentangling myself from my bike. I’ve got a sweet crank set mark on my jersey: just between my shoulder blades.
My face stings, but I’m barely scratched. Just grass stains on my shirt.
I try to stand, but a rush of nausea and darkness descends again upon me like a hood over my head.
Because he’s a diabetic, T’s first thought is to give me a glucose tab, and it helps. The grape flavor sugar dissolves in my mouth, and I drink water, and within minutes I’ve cooled down and feel good enough to get back on my bike and take it easy the last mile to home.
Riding home I keep thinking how it could have happened so differently. I could have swerved in any direction. It’s in these moments that I feel like I’m held by something greater than myself. Some filament of grace, some spirit wing between me and what could have been.
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Have you ever had a moment like this, a close encounter, a moment of protection, a sudden certainty that your life is right and full of grace? I want to hear your stories.
I have had six close calls. I couldn’t stop my car from accelerating and tried to brake to slow down. Somehow I called my dh and he suggested I pump the gas pedal which worked. The scariest five miles of my life! A year later an on-coming car drove in my lane and at the last minute and I had to drive in the ditch to avoid a collision. The following year I almost died during an emergency c-section of my first child. Four months later a tornado hit our home and I couldn’t find my husband when it struck. Luckily we were all in the basement and were able to repair our home. Three years ago I was sure I had ovarian cancer due to a dull ache, periods of intense abdominal pain and some bleeding. I waited for two weeks to get into the doctor for an ultrasound. At 4 a.m. (just hours before my apt), I woke with the worst pain in my life and noticed I was bleeding heavily. Thankfully my husband was home and took me to the ER where I learned I was two months into a doomed ectopic pregnancy. The tube had ruptured and I could have bled out. Luckily emergency surgery stopped the bleeding. Two weeks ago, a severe wind storm caused a huge limb of a Cottonwood tree to fall on our camper. We were preparing to run for shelter when he limb fell and came through the ceiling! Had we exited the camper a minute earlier, some or all of my family would have been killed by the falling limb. Weird to think I’ve had all these close calls at home considering I am a military veteran.
Glad you are ok sweet sister
Thank god you’re ok! Funny that I was worrying about you even in my dreams…
Close encounters for me? The one that always comes to mind is the car accident when I was a 10 and the time I got shot in the face with a frozen paintball on Halloween. Both could have been so much worse. But there have been many others since then!
Good for you for getting right back in the saddle. Blacking out would be terrifying, and waking to see the ground coming at you even more so.
I’ve had one instance of this-feeling protected-and while I am grateful for it, once is more than enough.
This is my story: http://positivelyorganic.blogspot.com/2008/10/ghosts-in-our-minds.html
I think my head is so full of your story that I can’t think of any of mine, but I remember that feeling. That feeling of awe, and of gratitude. I remember talking with my husband saying, “We are so lucky.” But I can’t for the life of me remember why.
How scary to black out! Even while sitting on the floor, it would be scary–but riding a bike?? At first I was picturing you running, but even that wouldn’t have been as dangerous. I am so glad that your guardian angels surround you, and that you are okay. I have gone out to run both yesterday and today, but the heat index is 117 here, so I ended up walking. Stay safe!
Oh my goodness, edge of my seat. I’m glad you are okay, though you are sure to be SORE tomorrow. The heat would be enough of a close encounter for me!
I have no doubt that there are angels around you. Goodness gracious, glad you’re safe. No real close encounters for me, though I’m sure I’ve narrowly escaped harm while driving many times. Take it easy out in the heat, ma’am!
Yes, there’s been a few while I’ve been surfing.
I have no doubt you’ve got an army of angels following you.
xxx
such stunning writing. can’t think of a story to share, but want you to know that i am glad you are alright. x