I had a most interesting experience today longboarding with some friends. There is a 9.5 mile trail/loop in a forest preserve not far from my house. My friends and I decided to go at it since it is a nice trail for biking, walking, skating, or whatever means of efficient ambulation you have. About 8 miles in there was a fork in the road which led to an offshoot, or you could keep going on the trail loop. My friends, being more avid and experienced longboarders than I had gone right and were turning around after a pair of cyclists directed them to the left as the route to continue the loop. This turn, I made with a gliding graceful effortlessness which made the subsequent events all the more contrasting. The turn was immediately followed by a downward incline which allowed me to pick up prodigious speed. I think I might have gotten a good 15-20 MPH on this downhill, which made the physics of what happened next all the more extraordinary and possibly, had someone had the fortuitous foresight, viral video fodder for the internet.
I must pause for a moment to discuss the downhill first and foremost. I live near Chicago, where everything is predictably flat. For the most part. There are softly rolling hills, if they could even be called that! Just understand that when I say hill, or downhill, this is referring to a segment of trail in which one must put forth minimal effort beyond leaning weight forward, if at all on a longboard, or a bike to increase speed to an equivalent of pedaling, or kick-pushing at maximum effort. That note/reference made clear, continuing....
I am barreling down this incline at an accelerated pace. A cyclist is at the base of a concrete and metal bridge over one of the many streams and brooks which dot the forest preserve. My lane is open, and I feel confident in my neophyte experience I can clear through. My eyes rapidly scan in that seemingly super-human speed in which your mind races and takes in all environmental information which permits, what at times seems to be automatic responses by more experienced individuals. As the distance between the bridge and I closes my eye catches the difference in tone of the concrete on the bridge. I can say I was maybe about 50+ feet away.
At 40 or so feet away I see a difference in the level between the concrete of the bridge and the trail. I calculate this to be between 1 and 1.5 inches. My body tenses in anticipation.
At 30ft, I have the infallible certainty that my 68mm wheels will not roll over that 1"-1.5" offset. I am wholly aware that my longboard has transformed from a leisurely ambulatory mechanism to a catapult/slingshot which is engaged with me as the human ammunition. There are two 8 inch steel supporting struts on either side. The one that concerns me most is the one on the left side of the bridge as that is the lane I am traveling in.
20ft. I lean slightly right, placing myself just left of the center dividing line of the trail.
10ft. My hands reflexively come up a bit to protect my face. I am eternally grateful I decided to invest in a helmet for longboarding, and doubly so that I am wearing it.
5ft. I square my shoulders and as my feet come free of my longboard. I do not scream or shout. I had no time. I am merely scanning the ground in front of me hoping I do not spear myself on one of the many twigs which last weeks storms littered on the concrete bridge. I fly for some indeterminate distance before having the wind knocked out of me. I slide gracefully like a penguin, Edward Norton's power animal in the movie adaptation of Palahniuk's "Fight Club" every nano-second, and planck time wistfully wishing it had been ice or snow as that would probably not have hurt as much. My hands bore most of the brunt of the graceful, and apparently gymnastically professional fall. My shirt had a few holes poked in it from my midsection dragging across the concrete. My pants to gained a "distressed" look fashionistas will pay 500 dollars for at some classy designer boutique. Even my Chuck Taylor lowtops got a scraping.
I got up to assess the damage, my hands looking bloody with drag marks on my palms. I noticed my left pinky finger opened up like a cherry cordial candy with a bite taken off revealing the cheery within, blood emerging like syrup, and Was that a pebble or a woodchip embedded in my finger? Was that a pebble or woodchip embedded deep in my finger where I need tweezers which I do not have to get it out?! My board rolls by me as I get up, and my first instinct is to get back on it and keep riding. The cyclist offered me his first aid kit, which I felt sure I did not need. It was all superficial wounds anyway. The cyclist and my friends remarked on how fortunate I was that I was wearing a helmet, that I did not impact the strut of the bridge, and how I fell like a pro and took the fall like a champ!
A little bit down the trail... like maybe 30ft, My vision blurred as whatever adrenaline high I was on which gave me the sense of well being rapidly faded. I took a seat on my board just off the side of the trail, fighting off waves of nausea and a strobe effect which my vision seemed to come and go like a looney tunes cartoon, and everything was dotted with grey blue and black motes. After a few minutes of swatting at mosquitoes which proved to be painful since my hand were scrapped, and made me look like I was in worse shape than I actually was because I was leaving blood stains where ever I squished a mosquito, my friends and I got back on our boards, finished the trail, and made our way back to my place where my friend used his medical expertise to dig the pebble which had become engulfed by my pinky. Apparently I clot very quickly and he had to reopen the wound to dig the debris out... quite possibly the least brave I have ever been while having someone tend to some injury or draw blood or what have you....
