My Pedals are my Prozac

So just how did an epic summer of epic biking proportions slip by without a single blog entry? Well, I was having too much fun riding my bike and meeting awesome gals in the St. Croix River Valley to ride bikes with. I was enjoying myself immensely. Until the incident.

"Big Poppa" ready to escort us to the land of glorious red single-track.

 A little over two weeks ago I loaded down "Big Poppa," our beloved family SUV, with all my cool gal pals, gear, and our bikes. We headed to Cuyuna State Recreation Area for some single-track adventure. This was the first "gals weekend" trip I'd ever taken. We were all excited to be away from our regular day-to-day lives, just kicking back, having some laughs and enjoying some time on our bikes. I love riding at Cuyuna and couldn't wait for a few of the first timers to get a taste. We arrived in Crosby, MN without mishap, and headed for the trails after a few other stops in town to eat and check out the local bike shop.

We had ridden a few miles, traversing Boot Camp and Easy Street, when we arrived at a sign that brought excitement to my heart. Sand Hog. One of my favorites (Tied with Bobsled). Sand Hog takes you scampering up a rocky, goat-path of a ledge to one heck of a Vista. The whole valley can be enjoyed from up there and the canopy below gives the impression you are on a mountain top. I loved every second of that climb and waited with my camera at the top to catch my girlfriends as they arrived.

Photo Credit: Kim K.

 
One by one we assembled for a group photo and then decided who would lead us in the descent. I was sure that someone said, "Whoever wants to go fast should lead out..." I shot my hand in the air, "I do!!!" And with that I began to drop so fast I had butterflies. I love to tear down the side of Sand Hog. When I hit the berms, they were hard and dry, I was reaching the tops and felt exhilarated! On the very last berm I was banking left but I came up so high that my front wheel ran along the ledge while my back wheel remained in the bank. I tried to bunny hop the front wheel back down sharply, in hopes I could correct and roll straight into the turn. I felt the bike lurch and knew I was going down. In those milliseconds, I recalled a scene from "West Coast Style" where a botched berm becomes a smooth dismount. Worth a try! I released my cleats from the pedals on instinct, but only my left foot reached the trail, and unfortunately it landed on the slope and immediately rolled inverted. CrAcK went my ankle! I saw my foot roll completely under as my knee then took the impact. My bike landed very gracefully, upside down on its saddle and bars, wheels still spinning, in the middle of the trail. One by one the girls behind me pulled up to the carnage. "What? Is there a moose on the trail," called out Lori, our new "extra Alaskan" friend.

I was loaded with adrenalin in that moment and the only thing going through my mind was, "Don't wreck this girls weekend by getting hurt, Dummy!!!" I could see swelling already and could feel some slight tenderness, but I could stand on it and move it... I could keep riding, right? In spite of being cautioned by Ali to be sure I was okay, I was back on the bike and descending again. I felt the pain increasing with each root and rock in the trail. At the bottom I couldn't turn my foot to unclip from the pedal and I knew my day of riding had ended. Here I assured my pals that I would head back to the vehicle, get some ice in town and meet them after they had finished riding as much as they liked. I definitely didn't want anyone's chance to ride impeded by me!

We had reached a gravel maintenance road that led back to the parking lot and after a little consideration about how I was going to get on my bike, I gingerly mounted and pedaled with one leg back to "Big Poppa." As time passed, the swelling and discomfort made themselves known and I could no long bear any weight on my foot. My ride back was a mixture of emotions. Hot, angry tears rolled down my face. I was mad that my injury would prevent me from riding my bike and I was worried the injury would change the tone of our girls weekend. I was so mad I even thought I was going to sell my mountain bike and only ride my cross bike from now on. A guy in the parking lot took one look at my gimpy and bulging ankle and said, "Bummer, I bet you wish you were just bleeding instead?" Yes, flesh grows back while you can still ride... The severity of my injury was no longer deniable and the dreaded fear of "how long before I can ride again?" hung heavy in my gut. I got to town, soaked my foot in Serpent Lake (which was not as cold as a lake up north ought to be.), and tried to convince myself I would be miraculously healed.

We all met up in a few hours and managed to load the bikes back on the rack- which was like solving a puzzle! With my bum foot I couldn't be of any assistance, so hats off to my fellow traveling gals. I think you are each exceptionally gifted and talented. (Seriously.)

Thankfully, before we left town, I took a multitude of photos at all angles of just exactly how the bikes were loaded. Every single one had to be just right on the rack or nothing fit.

After a quick change at our hotel on Lake Mille Lacs we headed out to a local hotspot called the "Y-Club." The "Y" does not stand for yacht. There happens to be a Y-shaped turn in the road. So there you have it. I was hopping through the place on my good foot with my arm wrapped around a friend. In spite of being sober, I appeared less than that and my friend jokingly told the gawking patrons that I was wasted. Debbie, our server, got the real story and brought me a bag of ice. She had a few of her own war stories to share and before long we were in fits of laughter. After a round of harmless beverages with "extra Alaska" and coke" in them, we were having a grand time. Debbie offered to find me some pain killers (which, for the record, I declined!). Don't get me wrong, she was quite wholesome, I'm pretty sure Garrison Keillor has a character based on her. Our friend Julie joined us later in the evening and was so kind as to bring crutches, ace bandages, magazines, and crosswords.  Big thanks for being so considerate and literally saving me from such incredible misery as hopping everywhere.

Take three of these and call me in the morning...

We were rained out our last day in Cuyuna so we departed early. (Kim, you're an excellent Chauffeur, thank you for taking the helm!) It wasn't raining at White Tail Ridge so some of the ladies headed there to ride after we returned. I went to the hospital for the first assessment of the damage. Severe sprain. Recovery unknown.

"Salute to our fallen comrade, Kristen" read this super photo as it arrived on my cell phone between having x-rays. I did laugh out loud when I saw it! Thanks! Photo credit: Lori G.

Ten days later I saw an Orthopedist who informed me that my sprain was so bad I would have rather broken my ankle. I have been off my bike for 16 days and 7 hours. But who is counting? I have just begun to tolerate weight bearing on my injured ankle. I'm told that if I rehab with diligence I might be close to full recovery in four weeks, but it could take as long as four months. Now, in my convalescence I have come down with a nasty virus that has settled in my lungs to aggravate my asthma. I can limp around my house on two legs finally, but can only travel as far as the bathroom before I have a wheezing and coughing attack. (I wouldn't be sick if I had been able to stay active and riding). I am beat down. My spirit is crushed. Tomorrow I return for another semester of college. As of right now I don't know how I am going to get to my first lecture at 9 a.m. My campus has a temporary parking issue and they will be shuttling us from a parking lot off campus to class each day and we are expected to arrive 45 minutes early. I will be battling Monday morning commuters to get to St. Paul (what road construction?), traversing a metro parking lot of unknown capacity with a giant walking cast on my foot and a backpack full of bio/chem textbooks, riding a shuttle, crossing campus, and puffing on an inhaler. I do hope I survive.

But I'm reminded of some pretty challenging moments I've endured in my life. Both in my personal life and while on a bike doing some ridiculous gravel challenge in the middle of nowhere. I've always survived. If I can fill my lungs even half full tomorrow I will limp, wheeze, and crawl my way to lecture hall. I'm only going to be facing greater challenges as my education accelerates. Toughen up. Now I'm feeling rebellious. Maybe I'll ditch the cast tomorrow and attempt some PT in the form of a campus hike. I dislike weakness, and I dislike having to be still right now. I don't move slowly EVER and I don't like to accept help from anyone for any reason. This has been a test of my will and patience. Thank you dear friends and loved ones for tolerating me and continuing to offer assistance. My pedals are my Prozac. When I am stressed, sad, anxious, happy, excited, bored, or you name it- I ride my bike. There are nights when I've actually felt the poison of the day sweating out of my legs and dripping off the pedals. Just get me back on the bike. Please.

As soon as I can spin the pedals I will be cranking to get my legs and SANITY back. Praying that I can do this before Chequamegon Fat Tire 40. Which, you may recall, was botched last year by lingering illness. Drat. It's not over yet. And Wendi, whom I miss the most because you love to ride at all the exact same times and places that I do,  you better be ready to pedal til the snow flies if I rehab this fall. You're my pedal pal.

To my Cuyuna Ladies- Thank you for taking such good care of me! I'm sorry that on the weekend you were able to procure time away from children, husbands, work and household duties you were forced to accommodate my temporary handicap! I think the silver lining is that due to my lack of mobility we were forced to avoid walking down that long pier the seagulls liked so much. Who knows, maybe we would have slid right off the slippery deck into the deep waters of Mille Lacs! Hahaha!

Cheers and here's to mud in your eye!
~Kristen

P.S. Cuyuna- you haven't seen the last of me. 

Maybe we shouldn't have...