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Relativity
In 2003, I started my last road race. I didn't finish. Instead, I crashed out of the race in a section where I was turning a 53x12 top gear, quickly. I don't know my speed, but it was a bad one for crashing, especially on pavement which is consistently less forgiving to hit than trail. I lost some skin in various places, may have cracked my right ulna, definitely retired that helmet, but my bike and I were still able to ride, slowly, back to the start/finish area.
Considering all the factors and potential for serious harm, which I did, I'd fared exceptionally well, but it was still my last road race. In my comparitively less experience racing on the road, I'd seen a number of pile ups, often been behind where they started in the pack, but had always managed to maneuver through a hole in the tumbling bodies and bikes. Mountain bikers have an advantage. We are used to avoiding obstacles and can bunny hop curbs. That had given me a false sense of confidence.
The crash in 2003, in Maine, happened so quickly I had no chance to react and avoid it. I wasn't completely broken, but I credited that to fortune, not skill, and in my final evaluation, what I saw as the higher risk of road racing, wasn't worth the reward of the pleasure I was receiving by competing in that discipline. I was done road racing.
In 2022, after I was hit by the car, and once I had more that two minutes of short term memory to start to processing what had happened, I wondered if I would ride bikes again, even if I was physically able. I had time to contemplate, with still another week in the hospital, then further week at the recovery facility learning to walk again, and then over a month before my broken vertebrae had fused and were cleared by the doctor for riding, as long as I avoided the bouncing of mountain biking.
As you know reading this, I did live to ride again, and there may be more than one correct reading of that phrase "...live to ride...." Am I more distinctly aware of my vulnerability on the roads? Of course, yes. Am I impacted by a degree of PTSD? Likely yes, although I prefer to substitute the D of "disorder" for an A of "awareness", as it seems to me that not being affected by severe trauma would be a more troubling sort of emotional disorder. Ultimately, however, the reward of riding a bike for transportation has allowed me to, I won't say accept, but live with the related risk.
May of this year has given me another perspective of relativity. The first Saturday of the month was the 7 Sisters running trail race, which means enough to me personally that I could use another post, or more, detailing how. I like that race, but my leg wasn't up for it in 2025, so I was a spectator that day, but I still had a positive experience helping at the event. While I was directing cars to park, a competitor even jokingly thanked me when I replied that I wasn't racing that day. The year before I had finished sixth and tied, to the second, the record for the 50-59 year old age category I'd just joined, so he was anticipating moving up a spot in my absence. It was all in good fun!
After lots of physical therapy exercises, both for my leg and to regain more full use of my left arm, I was back in the running this year, yes, quite literally. I also finished over eleven minutes slower than I had in 2024, and on a day when cool weather helped a number of people set personal records. Was that degree of slowing disappointing? Yes, simply, yes.
But relativity isn't quite so simple. I crossed the finish line with a little leap of joy for having just run infinitely faster than the year before, when I spent the race sitting on a rock. This year was also when my newer friend, and old elite mountain bike competition, Tim, aged up to the 50-59 group. He's also been an accomplished runner far longer than I have, but despite my slowing, I still won that age group ahead of him in second, just under five minutes behind. The race's second place overall finisher, and prior winner, Dan, even parted from me at the end of the day saying I he hoped to still be doing what I am at 52, and that is just six years away for him!
Then a week ago, on my ride home from a class about forest bees in New Ashford, I joined a group run at Chesterfield Gorge organized by friend and 7 Sisters race promoter, Amy. After we introduced ourselves to the group, another runner asked me my last name to confirm I was the Salem who'd won the 50-59 group early that month. He then praised my time, which I've since realized, while much slower than I'd previously managed, was still four minutes under the goal of my friend Kevin, who was a tremendous help in my recovery to race less than a year after I was hit. Yes, so much is relative, and I hope to avoid being absolutely unappreciative of the life I've had the privilege to live. I genuinely thanked the runner who applauded me in Chesterfield.
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