I've been participating in the Houston to Austin MS-150 since 1997. For those of you who unfamiliar with this event, it is a charity ride for Multiple Sclerosis. It's split into two days over a weekend in mid-April. The MS Society holds numerous events throughout the country, and the Houston ride is the largest. I started because I had some friends at work who had been riding it for years and really talked it up. Before my first, I'd been mountain biking exclusively for several years. I didn't think much of road cycling, but these friends made it sound very appealing. The first year I rode with this group of friends and had a ball. The second year, I helped organize a team for my company. Since that year, I've been involved with the organization of every team sponsored by my employer.
In 2001, I began to question my dedication to cycling. It had always been a big point of contention between me and my wife. I was getting a little tired of the struggle. I told my closest cycling friends that I was either going to give it up in 2002 or rededicate myself to it. I made my choice. I bought a new bike and became president of the club. With some effort, I resumed my training for the MS-150 and increased the amount of time I dedicated to the club. This created more static with my home life, but I felt strongly about it. I felt like I needed this.
I'd ridden with my regular road cycling buddy for several years prior to 2002. I did most of my training with him. He is a great guy and had been a strong cyclist. This year was a little different. He was preparing to get married and this kept him from most of the training rides. The few in which he participated didn't go very well. He was not himself, but the sense of loyalty I had kept me from leaving him behind. This was true during the training rides and it was true during the big ride.
The ride began with some ominous signs. There were two close calls with other riders early. My buddy had three flat tires on the first day. Another friend had an equipment malfunction. Something just didn't seem right, but we rode through it. At the end of the first day, my friend came across a unique opportunity. A representative from a major bike manufacturer offered him the chance to ride a three thousand dollar bike on the second day. He had been lusting after this bike and jumped at the opportunity. I wasn't comfortable with the idea of changing a small thing on my bike, much less ride a whole new bike, but I didn't want to burst his bubble. I didn't express my concern when he told me. Little did I know that the new bike would be a contributing factor in what was to come.
The second day began without incident. I couldn't put my finger on it at the time, but things seemed a little unfamiliar. We just weren't riding with the same consistency as usual. We arrived at lunch, which was the midpoint, in decent time. We left the lunch stop looking forward to completing the ride. Around twenty five miles away from the finish, something happened.
I'd been pulling for quite a while, but my buddy didn't feel comfortable drafting as much as he was. He'd come around me to take his turn to pull. When he did, our speed would drop slightly. I could tell that he wasn't feeling strong today. I'd let him pull for a mile or so, then go around to bring our speed back up. He would rest for a few moments then repeat the cycle. After a while, I accepted that if we were going to ride together, I was going to have to let him stay in front for a while. This is where the new bike came into play. Having ridden with him for so long, I'd subconsciously become very familiar with the sound of his bike. I instinctively knew when he stopped pedaling from the bike noises. The new bike was different. The new bike was virtually silent.
Without realizing it, I was going just a little faster then
my friend. I didn't realize that he'd stopped pedaling while I continued
to push. In no time, our tires were overlapping. As soon as I saw that our
wheels were touching slightly, I exclaimed "watch it!" I shouldn't
have said anything. I should've touched my brakes quickly without saying
a word. My exclamation prompted a response from my friend. He moved quickly
towards me and took out my wheel. I'd been in plenty of accidents on the
mountain bike and felt like I knew how to handle this type of situation.
I had not had any type of accident on my road bike in over a decade. Of
course, there are some significant differences. On the mountain bike, you're
typically going much slower and landing on soft, pliable dirt. The road
is less forgiving. The impact is harder and the asphalt is cruel. As I quickly
learned, it snaps bones and tears skin. I tucked in to roll, but hit the
ground at better than twenty miles per hour. I got up with a broken collarbone
and significant abrasions. I was out for about eight months. I became too
comfortable and paid a heavy price for it. I've been able to get back on
the bike again. I have a new appreciation and respect for the road. I don't
ever want to be in that situation again.