I am typing this without the benefit of my left thumb, which is in a big, fat splint. My doctor wanted to give my fractured digit enough time to see if it will fuse naturally and we could avoid surgery.
I sustained this when I fell on my bicycle trying to avoid hitting–and I am not making this up–a baby in a stroller, pushed in my path by a father not paying attention to traffic. I was going so slow that I could not get my foot out of the stirrup and reached out with my left hand to cushion the impact. Ouch.
This mishap occurred after I had crossed the finish line of the annual 500-mile ride across Iowa, an event for which I had ridden 900 miles in two months to get ready. When it happened, I was pedaling to my club’s bus to stash my bike.
Undoubtedly there are many lessons to learn about this experience, but the one I am going to take from it is this: The ride’s never over until you’re off your bicycle. The last 50 feet, even if you’ve pedaled a mistake-free 1,400 miles up to that point, can be a killer.