The FeMan Bites Asphalt

The winter of 1998-99 seemed to drag on forever. The winter nights had seemed never ending and the gray, northwest days dripped like Fast Eddie's forehead in the summer.

There had been a few tantalizing days in February and March was in like a lion and out like a lion. April had some warmth and some days of frost.

Then the sun came!

The FeMan's goal to wear shorts every day of 1999 was made easier as the ambient temperature rose.

It was time to turn off the air-to-air heat exchanger and open up the windows, letting in the bird songs and the sweet, sweet smells of spring.

Aching to get in some bike miles, The FeMan had been gradually lengthening his commute rides, but the weekend rides were still tricky, with trying to dodge the rain drops.

Fast Eddie was working a mid-day shift so he called up to connect for an early morning ride with The FeMan on his journey to work.

Together, the two of them set out across the lake, The FeMan on his Rock Hopper with full panniers and Fast Eddie astride his red Kestrel. After meeting above the bridge, they were off.

It felt good to push along feeling the wind against his face. No flapping jacket since arm warmers were sufficient to protect against the morning chill.

Through the swamp, south along highway 405, to Renton.

Then just north of Renton The FeMan waved to an oncoming cyclist as was his practice. The cyclist waved back and passed on by.

Within a half mile there was Roadie Tim with the two of them. It was Roadie Tim who The FeMan had waved to and his youthful eyes recognized The FeMan.

Always sociable, he wheeled around and caught up with the duo. Lucky dude, he was on a 3-week vacation and this was his last day in the northwest before heading to Hawaii for a heat break.

Now a group of three, they wheeled through Renton and around the south end of the lake.

After getting on Rainier Avenue, Roadie Tim took a pull and away they went. He was down in the drops and really whipping along. The FeMan's cycling computer read 22, 24 mph.

Two miles and Roadie Tim pulled out to give the pull to The FeMan. Without wheel to suck it was real work. Luckily, Roadie Tim had pulled most of the way so The FeMan only had 3/4 mile or so to try to sustain the same blistering pace.

All three leaned their bikes over to take the turn onto Seward Park Avenue, then spun up to the stop light at Henderson.

At this point The FeMan broke off from the group to head up over the hill to work; the other two continued on home.

Heading across the valley, The FeMan was totally stoked. He'd forgotten how great it is to ride fast in a group.

Four blocks and then the dreaded encounter happened.

As The FeMan pulled away from the stop light to cross Renton Avenue, he saw the white Acura/Honda come up on the left, then turn right in front of him. Like actions happening underwater or in movie slow motion, The FeMan tried to hug the curb. But the car kept coming.

Time slowed down as survival took over. His front tire just bumped against the rear quarter panel of the car and he was down.
It was a hard thump and he came unclipped going down. He jumped up to see the white car driving away.

Filled with anger The FeMan gave the retreating car the one-fingered salute. A car stopped in the intersection honked (in unity?) as the white car disappeared into the distance.

Adrenaline pumping, anger filling his being, The FeMan jumped back on this bike and pedaled away. The aches were there, but nothing was seriously hurt.

Then, heading up Carkeek, the pain in his leg began. It was excruciating. No riding in big gears, just shift down and spin as best he could up the hill.

The FeMan wondered if he would make it to work.

He did.

Removing his cycling clothes at work, The FeMan saw that his beautiful jersey had a big asphalt mark on it. No torn clothes, though. Elbow, shoulder, and ankle abrasion. Hip bruise. Tremendously sore leg.

Showering was hard due to difficulty in moving about.

"Bring on some drugs", he thought.

As the day wore on The FeMan became more and more stiff. Hobbling around brought sympathy but no relief. He finally called The Big J for a rescue. She was able to pick him up in the afternoon and it was quite a show seeing the two of them get the Rock Hopper into the back of The FeMan Mobile. But, they did and headed for home, ice, rest and more drugs.

The dreaded car encounter had happened and The FeMan survived it. The only permanent reminder will be that streak of asphalt on his jersey.

With drugs and forced rest he soon recovered and was back on the road and ready to rip.

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