Triathlon Training Ride

It was a long weekend to begin with. I thought I was being sooo good by not going out on Friday night, and waking up and getting a run in with Kelly on Saturday morning that did us both well. But of course, if you run, shower, then immediately head to the Standard Hotel and begin drinking, it could lead to trouble. By and by (which I've learned you can say when you want to skip ahead in a story) after a full day of poolside drinking, and a full night of not remembering how I ended up back in my hotel room, I was one hurting dog on Sunday morning.

Water, food, a little wine (ok, not the best hangover cure, but we were in downtown so we went over to the San Antonio Winery...) and I was finally starting to feel better, so I thought it would be a good idea for me to get a bike ride in, as the L.A. Triathlon was in two weeks, and I really wanted to dial in the training. So I went out and headed towards Palos Verdes, and although I was feeling bad, I climbed Silver Spur over to Hawthorne, and came down and around for a hilly 25 miles.

I entered the Hermosa Beach city limits feeling good about myself, and as I cruised up Valley Blvd I smiled to myself at all the activity going on in the park. Kids were playing soccer, there was a family having a picnic, and someone was flying a kite. My eyes settled on an older man with a gray beard sitting on the grassy hill reading a paperback. It looked so peaceful. He looked up with a look of content that equaled mine, and we made eye contact. Feeling good, I gave him a nod. He returned the gesture.

As he did, I hit the biggest pothole on Valley, and my hands immediately slipped off the handlebars. In an instant, I was scrambling to try and recover, the front wheel was wobbling back and forth, and I pitched forward onto my left side and went down hard onto the concrete. A guy with his daughter asked me if I was all right while I was picking myself up. I said yeah, then looked down at my arm and leg dripping blood; and then proceeded to let out a loud "fuck!" before realizing that the guys daughter was standing right there watching me. An old lady stopped in her car to ask if I was ok. All I wanted to do was get the heck out of there and away from the crowds that were forming.

I grabbed my bike and walked off towards home as quick as I could. I was only a 1/4 mile from my house, which is where they say most accidents happen, don't they? My helmet was cracked, and it turned out my shoulder was oozing a little blood as well. But the worst part about the whole thing, is that the image that stuck in my head the most was seeing the look of concern on that poor old codger as I was going down. I sure hope I didn't mess up his peaceful Sunday afternoon...