May 6, 2009

The Robeast Goes Down

Our good buddy the Robeast sends in this story of some recent carnage
Q: Just how far can you fly when you are doing 30 down a hill and your chain locks between your cog and spokes?
A: approximately 20 - 25 feet according to Bloomington's finest.

70+ degrees and happy to be out of work and into some waning sun light. The park behind me as I begin the descent down Poplar Bridge hill just hanging up a phone call from my mom as I'm picking up speed. passing just midway down the 3 block stretch I feel and hear some protest from my chain (tension is within a resonably tight tolerance and the wheel quite snug)...grinding noise gives way to an attempted skid to fight back for control...chain pops and locks into itself around the inside of the cog...*poof*. .I'm airborn in what feels initially like a gracefull manualed front flip, like I pedal kicked my fixy into some never seen before freestyle imposibility. I make contact head first onto the pavement; as in the top of my head first, square on the top. My neck neither jarred nor even sore as I write this. Now my head should be split open you're thinking. Aparently as my new buddy in blue points out after he gathered some forensic evidence from the skids layed down arcing to the curb and the demolished downhill third of a triple mailbox stand; I must have either still been partialy on my bike as I midair-swiped the mailboxes landing on my front wheel a split second before my noggin, or some sort or riccoched pinball like shit went down and the mailboxes broke some of my body's momentum. None of it really makes sense but the evidence is clear (according to officer Ric): You can make it about 20-25 feet. The woman walking down the street said " At first I thought you were some kid doing some fancy jump until i saw how you landed". Ha!

On a more somber note: today marks the passing of a dear friend. A companion who has taken me countless thousands of miles, through sub zeros and double zeros. Slept with me in foreign prairies where we woke up and wondered where we were. To work and back at least 500 times. My dear gray freind who has ripped a fathom of alleys and probably as many pairs of pants,knickers and chamois. A true confidant and loyal drinking buddy(my most trusted designated driver).

(side note: I haven't scientifically checked the frame allignment yet...but I fear for the worst as judging by the rest of the bike. Services will be held this weekend if she flatlines)

stay safe out there, and wear a helmet.

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