This is how you know you're seriously addicted

Today was my first day back at work after a glorious nine days of vacation. Really, there are some things that aren't so great about sitting at a desk every day, no matter what your job is, but paid time off makes it well worthwhile.

But, even after nine days away, I think some part of my subconscious wasn't ready to go back to work, and so, while I was out on a ride this morning, prior to starting an afternoon/evening shift, my body thought it would throw me to the ground, possibly in an attempt to sabotage my plans of working later on.

Really, I'm not quite sure how I managed to crash while riding alone, on a slight downhill without a car, dog, person, or sandy patch in site, but I am quite sure that going back to work with a bunch of skin missing falls somewhere between chest waxing and bamboo shoots-under-finger-nails in terms of how much fun it was.

On the up side, although I did loose a bunch of skin, I don't seem to have done any serious damage, and my bike is fine.

Just another day in the life...

The real measure of how nutty I am, though, came post-crash when I got back on my bike.

Once I got over the initial oh-my-god-this-hurts-so-bad-gonna-die sensation, I took stock of my situation. My right knee was bloodied, my bibs' right leg was ripped wide open to expose a large patch of road rash on my thigh, blood was dripping out of my elbow, and the back of my right wrist had been scraped away to expose a nice red sheen. In the mean time, someone had taken some 100-grit to my shin, and my palm was covered in small abrasions.

Although I'd landed on my right side, I had blood spouting from two of my fingers on my left hand.

So, I was in pretty tough shape. Almost before I'd picked myself up and walked down the road a bit in an effort to mitigate the pain, I was thinking about who I could call on a Wednesday morning to come pick up my bloody carcass.

But then I walked it out a bit. I circled back and picked up my bike. I gave it a quick inspection, and other than a mis-aligned brake and a cracked hood cover, it was fine.

"OK," I thought, "I can ride home." So, I picked up my sunglasses from where they had fallen, mounted up and rode on.

Now, I'd crashed at the mid-point in my ride. I had set out to tackle three climbs, Lake D, Plank Road, and Ormsbee. I'd crashed after coming down off of Plank. Now, I was heading home, which is also the direction of Ormsbee.

So, I'm riding along. The wind in my wounds hurt like hell, but other than that, I really felt fine. As I got closer and closer to the turn that would bring me most-swiftly toward home, I started thinking, "What the hell, you might as well finish the ride."

So, I did. I got quite the look from a stranger as I climbed Ormsbee, bloody leg hanging out of ripped shorts, but so it goes. It was a nice morning, I wasn't going to waste it. Besides, the sooner I got home, the sooner I'd have to go about the painful business of cleaning the wounds. And, boy was that painful. But, even as I scrubbed dirt from my knee, I was thinking about Bear Mountain, the second of my three fall goals, planned for Sunday.

At the beginning of the week, I'd decided that I'd race, even after a crappy run at GMSR, as long as I could find someone to drive down with. Immediately after the crash, I thought Bear Mountain was out the window. But, "Hell," I thought while spreading bacetracin on my hip, "If I can climb Ormsbee, why I can't I race Bear."

So, in all likelihood, I'll see you at Bear on Sunday. And that is the measure of someone truly addicted to racing his bike.

I decided that I wasn't going to post photos of my injuries here, lest they offend some of my more-sensitive readers. However, if you enjoy gruesome photos of wounds dripping blood, you may click here. And yes, I did go straight for the camera when I got home, even before taking off my helmet.