Face Plant

I’ve been riding mountain bikes for more than 20 years and have had my share of crashes. They come with the territory. The bulk of my accidents have been minor “diggers” that resulted in a few scratches or bruises. But then there have been those memorable ones, one of which happened this past weekend.

I was riding with a group of gal and guy friends, including my husband, at a place called Heil Ranch outside of Boulder, Colo. I’ve pedaled the trail many times. As is often the situation, our group split up with the guys riding ahead and the gals a bit back. At one point, the gal group that I was in approached a group of guys taking a break. When those guys saw us coming, they quickly hopped on their bikes and started pedaling.

That got me fired up.

I started thinking to myself, “Oh, I bet that they’re thinking, ‘Hey, watch out, here come those SLOW girls so let’s get a move on.’” I was determined to stay up with them. And I did… for a bit.

The trail wound through the woods and was peppered with rocks of all sizes, along with a fair share of trees. My full-suspension bike was taking the bumps pretty well and I was feeling cocky that I was keeping up with the boys.

Then my right pedal hit a rock and I went flying Superwoman style over the handlebars.

It happened so quickly, but I could see out of the corner of my eye that my face was heading straight for a rock, so I snapped my head to one side and slammed into the dirt. My left cheek was scratched and bruised, and my chin hit the edge of the rock. All I could think was, “Oh my god, did I crack my jaw?” But there was no sharp pain.

My gal friends came rushing as I carefully sat up with a dazed look. I was cupping my chin waiting for the pain. But it never came, thank goodness. I was able to ride away from it all, although I let the group finish our ride while I headed back to the car.

Along the way back, my head was swimming with worst-case scenarios of what could have happened if there had been a pile of rocks in my landing area vs. mostly dirt. It makes me shudder to think about that as I type.

It was a lesson learned. All of my really big crashes—I can actually count five of them in all of my years riding—have taught me something about what to do and what not to do when mountain biking. This time around, I learned that there is no need for me to try and hang with a bunch of guys that I don’t even know and ride past my comfort zone.