BIKE COMMUTE TURNS INTO A ROCKY ROAD

I have had many bike mishaps over the years, most of them when I was a kid including slipping on leaves, colliding with trees, and going over the handlebars on multiple occasions. Using reflexes alone, I have always been able to survive without any serious injuries. I’ve never been much of a fan of bike helmets. I do own one, a Cannondale helmet that I attempted to wear back when I was riding a Bianchi road bike strictly for exercise, although that was also when I first started wearing contact lenses. Something about the trajectory of the wind cascading off the helmet made my contacts dry out while I was riding, so wearing the helmet became a cost-benefit situation, either risk a head injury or ride the bike unable to see. What could possibly go wrong?

I have been riding a bike to work every day since 2021. It is a quick ride to the middle school where I teach the eighth grade. The commute takes only about five minutes, a quick trip down an infrequently traveled dead-end road leading to a short dirt trail through a wooded area before dumping out onto a series of paved bike paths and walkways around the athletic fields in back of the town’s high school. It’s a pretty ride, and the only challenging part is a cliff embankment that separates the public bike trail from the paved walkways on the school property. Made up of dirt, rocks, and some grass, this embankment changes with weather patterns, sometimes resulting in deep ruts caused by water run-off. There is a nearby path leading to an adjacent street that was recently repaved by the town to provide a smooth safe surface for those that use it. But the path to the school is the far more widely used trail, a path used by countless numbers of kids and adults to access the school’s recreational areas.

While biking back to school this past Friday after returning home quickly during lunch to check on my labrador retriever, I approached the embankment in a slow and deliberate way. The high school’s senior class was holding a cookout on the fields off to the right of the path, the more gradual way down the embankment and the direction that I would normally go. Instead, I decided to head down the embankment to the left. The turn to the left is a little more challenging, often with deep ruts carved into the rocks and dirt before running down onto the school’s paved walkway. Although it is not usually the way that I prefer to go, I have gone this direction many times without incident. Almost immediately as I turned, I could feel myself losing control of the bike. Falling to my left side along with the bicycle, I was hoping to gradually hit the ground using my shoulder. Instead, I felt myself sliding down the rocky embankment on my nose and then scraping the ground along my forehead, slowly dragging myself to a stop. I put my hand on my forehead as I got up and then picked up my bike. Blood was everywhere, pouring through my fingers meaning that my initial effort to stop the bleeding with my hand was not working. I was soon approached by two of the school’s seventh grade teachers, Jen and Sara. Jen yelled from a short distance, “Are you alright?” But as we got closer, she quickly determined that I was not alright. When Jen first looked at me, she said that I needed stitches. In a state of heightened adrenaline I told her that I didn’t have time for stitches and that I was fine. I said that I couldn’t afford to worry about stitches because I had to be home for the dog and couldn’t be waiting in a hospital for hours on end. With her typical comforting smile, Jen also told me that I probably broke my nose. Sara took out her phone and began the process of calling an ambulance, although we soon came to a mutual agreement that calling an ambulance would only make things worse. The school would be forced to go into a shelter-in-place while I was carted off to the hospital for what could be an eternity. Sara rushed back into the school to get a medical kit. Our plan was to stop the bleeding before attempting to walk me back through the building without calling too much attention to ourselves and then find the nurse. As we made our way through a wing of sixth grade classrooms, Jen pushed my bike walking beside me to the right and Sara stayed by my side to the left. When the school nurse looked at me she thought I needed stitches, an observation that was now becoming a common theme. She recommended a nearby urgent care location as the quickest way for me to be treated. Ironically, I would need to ride the bike back to my house to get my Toyota truck in order to drive to urgent care. Several people offered to drive me home rather than have me ride the bike, but I reasoned that if I had that much of an issue with either my mental acuity or physical dexterity they should be more worried about me getting behind the wheel of my truck rather than back on the bike. Just to be sure, the school nurse checked my pupils and tested my balance, and although she told me I certainly appeared to be ok, she warned me, “Don’t try to be a hero if you start to feel dizzy or nauseous along the way. Pull over and call me.”

The emergency health care facility that I went to was understanding and professional in every way. Although they seemed to have no idea whether to file my case as a workman’s compensation claim or a personal one, the receptionist made it clear that her priority was for me to receive quick treatment which I appreciated. I was in the company of a doctor almost immediately. As with everyone else, the doctor first determined that I would need stitches, but after looking more closely at the wound she said that glue would probably work as long as I promised not to do anything athletic for the remainder of the weekend. She described the cut as wide but not particularly deep since it was on my forehead, an area close to the bone. She had me lie down and began the process of bringing the wound together with glue, a process that she described as similar to painting, and recommended that I also get a tetanus shot before leaving which I agreed to. A trainee entered the room to administer the shot, along with an experienced nurse that was instructing her. Out of the three of us, the trainee was the most apprehensive adult in the room, possibly giving me her first shot ever. She spent an excessive amount of time in the last stages of the procedure, as if time had frozen with the needle less than an inch from my arm. I was tempted to grab the syringe and do it myself at one point, but the nurse and I finally convinced her to go through with it by shouting words of encouragement like we were spectators at a boxing match. After she gave me the shot, the lead nurse quickly slapped a bandage on my arm. I felt nothing. I’m still not sure if she actually gave me a shot. Just to be sure, I peeled back the bandage when I got home and noticed what appeared to be a small speck of blood. I don’t know if she injected the needle far enough to make the shot effective, but I’ll give her credit for breaking the skin.

I’ve had lots of falls from bikes in my lifetime. I understand the risks involved with riding a bike just as I understand the risks involved with driving a car or walking along the side of the road. But a path that is used as a public way for kids and adults to access a school area should not constitute such a risk unnecessarily. Although I certainly prefer the rustic look and feel of the dirt path rather than pavement, it is the steep ungroomed embankment at the end of this public trail that deserves rethinking. It is alarming to think that what happened to me at such a slow rate of speed, an experienced and cautious bike rider, could easily happen to any of the kids riding their bikes going back and forth from the school at any time of year.

All things considered, I was lucky. The principal of my school texted me on Saturday to see if I was ok, urging me to take care of myself saying, “head injuries are no joke.” I replied that I agreed entirely, adding that I might need a day or two before returning to the classroom. After all, I told him, my current appearance was probably not suitable for children with two black eyes, a potentially broken nose, and a noticeable gash on my forehead. And although a helmet would not necessarily have protected me from the specific injuries I suffered during this bike accident, the realization of how quickly my head reached the ground has inspired me to dig out something I have had stored away for far too long, that old bike helmet.

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