I’ve been extolling an adage this afternoon, “I pushed my luck, and luck pushed back.” Yesterday I was fortunate not to have gone down in a crash at the Oak Bay criterium, but today at the Bastion Square Grand Prix I was not so lucky.
All the other categories of riders were fortunate to have missed the rain, but during my warm up I could see a few blackies hovering menacingly nearby in the skies overhead. I was hoping their wet promises would not be kept, and indeed, the start of the race at 1pm was dry for the men’s elite field.
There were only 30 of us on the line, but it was a strong field with the likes of Andrew Pinfold, Will Routley (both Symmetrics), Kirk O’bee (Health Net and 2007 U.S. Criterium Champion), Zach Garland (Kona Adobe and winner of the Oak Bay Crit), Max Plaxton, Olympic Mountain biker, and of course all the local strongmen from Victoria.
The race was scheduled for 70 laps of the 900m circuit. The pace was quickly dominated by Symmetrics and Obee, and strung out immediately. After about 10 laps, those three, I believe slipped off the front. I managed to get from near the back, essentially, into a chase group of four or five with Nic Hamilton, Max Plaxton, and Zach Garland and another. We had pulled quite far ahead of the rest of the group and dangled a few seconds behind the breakaway. At one point, Garland, I believe, attacked full out to attempt a bridge and Nic Hamilton and I lost the wheels in front.
Stuck in no-mans land at that point, I rode around for about 4 more laps until the next chase group with Bob Cameron, Mike Korb and the Worsfold twins caught me up.
Changing tenses: then the carnage begins. The rain pelts the course, just lightly enough to liberate the oils from the pavement. A couple of more laps pass, and with our group turning left up onto the corner past the start line, a rider slides out. Another follows, and I have no where to go but into the back of him. This is a soft landing, luckily. I land on top of someone, but get back up, fix my chain and head for the wheel pit for a free lap. But that was where my luck ran out.
With the roads still slick I consider “ok, that’s it, I’m out – I’ve gotten off lucky and I don’t need to jeapardize Tobago anymore.” But still I roll down toward the start line for a free lap (I think we actually had two free laps), and the twins are waiting to rejoin after they had gone down – “c’mon Hugh, let’s go,” Chris says.
Against all rational judgment, I ride back onto the course and as Bob’s group rolls around again, we rejoin and are right back in. The rain stops momentarily, but then it commences yet again – just lightly enough to slick the roads.
We are being extremely careful around every corner, but even that was not enough. Perhaps six laps later, still we are proceeding down Yates through to the notorious Crash Corner, taking it cautiously onto the icy, off camber, descending turn.
Then in the blink of an eye there are riders all over the road: Bam, one goes down; bam, Bob goes down, and bam, I’m down with direct impact on my left elbow. Someone is down behind me.
I realize I can’t move my left arm and there’s no way on god’s green earth I’m getting up. I’m shouting out in pain, and St. John’s is there. The other riders are up. I’m still in the middle of the road, and riders coming around are cautioned to slow down completely as the attendants hoist me onto a stretcher. I’m wincing in agony, my eyes are clenched closed, while voices around me pepper me with questions that I can hardly answer. Chris Paul is there with Rhonda Callender, and Chris lends a hand and assists the attendants with rolling me onto a stretcher. Ben Cotter, who was watching at that corner, comes by to help, Dr. Walker is nearby, and Trevor Connor stops by, after wisely retiring from the race, to lend some moral support. Michelle and Ryan Calbick graciously offer to take my bike.
While I have had a few health scares in my life, as have we all, there is nothing more frightening than being alone in agony. And, as much as one often takes for granted what he believes is his strength in being alone, it is surprising how much you really need to have a friend nearby in a crisis, and I can’t thank Ben enough for sitting with me in the St Johns ambulance while waiting for the ambulance, and to Chris and Rhonda for helping, and to Trevor for stopping by and for Wayne’s concern, for Ryan and Michelle offering to take my bike, and everyone else who gave me a word of encouragement, and of course to the St John’s and ambulance attendants.
I’ve never been in such intense pain before – moving me from one stretcher to the next was certainly a new experience in the searing mind numbing pain that has one howling out in pain, and while I am far from a religious person, in such situations you can clearly see, like a piercing ray of sunlight, a little piece of God in everyone who says a kind word or offers a kind gesture. For every ounce of pain you feel, that perception of God in everyone around is at least as strong, clear and poignant. It is a strange and beautiful experience.
(toggling between tenses) In the ambulance I was given nitrous oxide, which dulled the pain somewhat, but the sensation of hyperventilating on it was heightening my discomfort and I withdrew from the laughing gas. The attendant kept telling me I would become forgetful on the gas, light headed and not know where I was. He kept peppering me with questions: “what’s your name” a. “Hugh Trenchard”; “how do you spell that”; I spell it while sucking gas. “Where are we?” a. “somewhere in Esquimalt”. I wanted to explain to him that my mind is a steel trap in such situations. “Do you remember how the accident occured?” I provide him times, and minutiae of detail – much more than I would had I not been on the gas. Needless to say, I had no trouble remembering anything.
Finally in the hospital, after waiting for a while to be admitted but with the ambulance attendants nearby, and me aching with thirst and being allowed only some ice to quench it lest surgery was required (apparently you need an empty stomach for it), I was attended to by physicians, who gave me morphine initially and then put me under with something much more potent.
I am somewhat wary of sedation, as I’ve had a history of waking up early before sedation was scheduled to wear off (once as a child in the hospital I awoke about 12 hours before a sedative was scheduled to wear off and was determined to escape from the hospital; once when I had my wisdom teeth out I awoke part way through the operation to the uncomfortable wrenching and bashing of my jaw). Explaining this to the doctor, he reassured me “we have much better drugs now and you won’t remember a thing”. So, as the mask was donned, I kept saying “I’m not asleep yet. Nope, not asleep yet….ummm, ok noww, I’m starting…to…feel…something….”
So a few zzz’s and some blissful dreams later, I begin to awake, and seem to believe I still hadn’t fallen asleep. I remember saying “while I might be whistling dixie soon, but you might need to play it for me first.” Someone replied, “Yeah, good.” I open my eyes, and lo and behold there’s a sling on my arm and I’m not feeling any pain. Guess those drugs really do work! Ben, the beautiful man, arrived shortly afterward to pick me up.
Well, to cut a long story short – there’s no hope of racing in Tobago. The plan is still to go, but I won’t even be able to take my bike with me. Looks like I’ll be riding in the team car, handing out water bottles to the team, shouting encouragement and snapping photos. Perhaps I will spend more time in the sun this way too.
Now it is bed time, leaving tomorrow.
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