Climbing Old La Honda with Tom
OK, I screwed up. I'm lucky I didn't get hurt. I'll be more careful in the future.
After chasing Tom and Andrew up Tunitas Creek Road, I was plain tired. The climb had been challenging and sweet—especially the steep part where I had to push my butt way back and dance ever-so-carefully on the pedals to keep from spinning the rear wheel. But now, at the top, I was close to out of gas. Keeping up with my stronger companions for the last three miles of mild grade had taken what I had left.
At Skyline, we met up with Joe and others and stood around for a while eating and watching other groups of cyclists. We discussed alternatives for the descent and decided to follow the route down Kings Mountain Road.
Wheee! I was instantaneously energized and eager to push past the more cautious riders ahead of me. After the first few tight turns, I found a straightaway and poured on the power to get ahead of the pack.
Rolling up Lower Tunitas Creek Road
I remembered now what Tom had warned me: Watch out for the hairpin turns. One of those cases where a 15 MPH warning sign really means 15 MPH, even on a bike. Especially on a bike. A road bike doesn't have much stopping power, and slowing down takes an achingly long time, especially on a steep downgrade.
I did fine. Deep into the curve, I eased up on the brakes at the same moment I pushed hard, hard on the right handlebar. The rear wheel slid just a little, and then I was out of the curve, nicely aligned with the road and still on the right side of the double yellow. In highest gear, I stood up on the pedals and pushed.
Ahead, a white car was winding through the next set of curves, keeping a pace I hoped wouldn't interfere with my continued descent. For the next few minutes I drew a little closer to the car at each set of curves, and at each straightaway, saw it speed on ahead of me.
Crash Aftermath
It was fun, until the driver suddenly stopped dead in the road.
I can't blame him. There were cyclists climbing in the opposite direction, and an oncoming car had pulled out and around them. The driver of the white car probably saw a potential head-on and hit the brakes.
I hit mine, too, but like I said, a road bike doesn't have much stopping power. My wheels locked and I was sliding. I watched his bumper and trunk and knew there was no way I could avoid spreading a mess of aluminum frame and carbon fork and plastic helmet and meat all across that clean white expanse.
I veered right, toward the road embankment. I felt a brief sense of relief as I found the narrow gap between the car and the damp wall of soil. And then I was over the handlebars, my forearm crashing into a pile of sticks and leaves. And then I was standing up, in an adrenaline daze, peering into the passenger-side window and conversing with a lady who was obviously confused about what had happened and what angle I had come from.
I told her I was OK and asked her and her husband to please go on their way. Andrew and Tom and the rest of the group were there. After I checked to make sure my bike was OK, together we finished the descent to Woodside.