Cycling helmets... When I was a youngster cycling around the
cul-de-sac in which I lived, fields around my home and to and from school I
rebelled against wearing one. They were un-cool, ruined hair styles and in the
1980s/90s generally unflattering in style.
Today it’s the opposite, everyone wears them, they’re
stylish, if you don’t you’re seen as foolish and not serious about the sport.
So, I wear one.
I, along with my husband, am training for Nightrider London
2013, a 100km cycle challenge around the country’s Capital in the middle of the
night in June.
It’s going to be a great challenge and like all challenges I
take on, I train as hard as I can. The longest distance we’ve been so far is
40km around rural east Kent. Today we aimed for 50km along the north Kent coast, something we felt was
completely achievable.
It was a lovely 11km ride to Herne Bay then along the cliff
then down onto the promenade for a luxuriously flat ride.
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Cycling along the promenade between Herne Bay and Whitstable
About 20km in, just as I was thinking about suggesting to
stop for a drink, I found out how vital helmets are and how foolish I was as a
child for believing I was invincible and not wearing one.
Somehow (it’s a little bit of a blur), I cycled at 20km/hour
off the promenade, falling about three feet and landing head first in the stony
shingle below.
I remember the hard impact on the top of my head and wondering
if this is it, one of those defining moments which last just seconds but you
live with for the rest of your life. Over dramatic? May be, but laying hunched
on the floor and in pain I began testing my body while my husband (and another
man) came to my rescue.
I was extremely winded, couldn’t breathe so need to calm and
relax, which I did. With my husband then at my side telling me not to move I
wanted to test my legs, yes, they worked and I could wiggle my toes. I would be
fine - relief.
Slowly, very slowly, I got up, sore, stiff and my ego bruised,
it took a while but I was soon perched on the edge of the promenade which I had
dived off resting, recovering and gently stretching out the stiffness. My eyes
then did something very odd, I began seeing everything as if it were extremely over
exposed, fortunately after a minute or so of lying on the promenade everything
returned to normal.
I looked at my helmet; it was battered, dented and saved me
from more serious injury than the jarred back and neck now currently have.
They say the best thing to do after a fall is get back in
the saddle, so that’s what I did cycling a couple more kilometres on to
Whitstable when the shock kicked in and I realised I was not going to be able
to get home by bike. I was stiffening up so didn’t have enough movement in my
body to feel safe cycling so the decision was made. My husband cycled home to
collect the car while I walked the short distance to a supermarket where he
would pick me up.
As I walked the enormity of what happened hit me, without
that helmet my injuries would have been far more serious without question. Ultimately
I walked away, something some don’t have the luxury of saying.
As well as being thankful for that helmet, I’m also
extremely annoyed at myself for ending up in that situation in the first place.
I still managed a 25km ride, half of what I set out to do, but hopefully after
a week of R&R I’ll be back in that saddle with a new trusty helmet, re-tracing
my steps and conquering that 50km ride, and above all staying as far away from
the edge of that promenade.
RIP – my special Specialized Echelon helmet – the best £50 I
ever spent.
