Mr. Gregory

Riding with Dan Bennett to Craggy, we saw an old man pedaling up hill. I recognized him at once, his safety vest, the upright posture, his slow cadence. As we came up alongside him, I said, "I believe your the guy who saw me wreck two years ago."

"You're the one!" he exclaimed.

He told me that he had called the rescue unit. "I thought you'd need it." And he had written a letter to the superintendent of the Blue Ridge Parkway, insisting - or at least pleading - that the potholes be repaired. They are horrendous and hazardous.

I crashed while descending at 35 to 40 miles per hour. That was on Tuesday, May 21, 2002. Jacob Sessoms and I left home for the arduous ascent to Mt. Mitchell. On the way up, however, foreboding storm clouds began to gather over the ridges of Craggy, and hail began to fall. Jacob and I wheeled our bikes around and started the long and winding journey downhill. About a mile before the tunnel near Bull Gap, we came upon a notoriously rough section of road. In the middle of the right lane, an older man on a mountain bike was coasting home. Jacob passed the old guy on the right. I pulled out to the left and gave him a wide berth.

That is the last thing I remember until almost a minute (perhaps more) later. That's when I awakened on the ground, aware that I had taken a huge spill but unaware of how or why. I lay there, struggling to regain composure but obviously hurt and in a state of shock. All 215 pounds of me had been hurtled from the bike with alarming force. The last time I looked at the odometer on the bike, we were traveling 35 miles per hour. Jacob later described what he heard - he was just a few feet ahead of me - as a metalic crash and a thud.

As I lay there struggling to drag myself off the asphalt and once again erect myself into the world of the living, Jacob came rushing to my side. I managed to sit upright, and the first thing I recall is Jacob's arm around my shoulder. He asked my address to assess my mental acuity. I was confused a bit but gave him the correct answer. Luckily, he had his cell phone and a signal. He called my wife Marjorie to come to get us. During my 24 years of biking, I had never experienced a crash this severe.

I vaguely remember the old guy on the bike hovering nearby. Another man who had been driving up, appeared at my side and said: "I'm a retired doctor. I may be able to offer some help."

The doctor said I likely had a broken clavicle. He suggested that we try to make a sling, and Jacob quickly came ot the rescue with his jacket to form a cradle for my shoulder and arm.

The doctor then asked if I was able to get to my feet, and with some difficulty, I stood wobbily and unsure of my balance. Nonetheless, I had satisfied the impulse to stand - as if doing so were to defy death.

I parked my butt on a bank and sat there talking with Jacob. I began to shiver. Within a few minutes, I heard sirens coming our way. The first on the site was a park ranger, who asked my name and address. He was headed to his car to retrieve a blanket when an ambulance pulled up. The EMTs put me on a gurney and into the ambulance. The old guy said he was sorry, that he felt like he had caused the accident. I told him it was not his fault.

At the hospital, I was cleaned up, X-rayed and prepared for surgery. The clavicle fracture was severe, the attending physician determined, with so much displacement that surgery would be necessary. The orthopedic surgeon on call, however, thought differently. He said that unless the bone had pierced the skin, he would not need to perform surgery. He asked that I come into his office the next day.

Marjorie took me home. I dosed up with a couple of percosets and relaxed. The pain, however, never seemed to rise above, say, a two, on a scale of one to ten.

The next day, Dr. Jay Jansen, made a few X-rays, examined me, and sighed disturbingly over and again. It was a "high energy" injury, he said, with severe displacement. He could not see any bone at the sternum where the clavicle connects. There was an AC tear (shoulder separation (type IV). The clavicle had separated and impaled itself into muscle. He ordered a CT scan, which I had the next morning.

The CT scan revealed 2 cm of bone from the sternum, enough to allow healing. Jansen consulted with other physicians. Some advised him to perform surgery. Others said to do nothing, to allow the injury to heal itself. My clavicle fracture was classifed as a Group III, a fracture of the medial third, near the breastbone-sternum. These account for only 5 percent of all clavicle injuries. In 90 percent of clavicle injuries, however, the broken bones will form a "union" to heal the fracture.

The AC tear bothered Jansen, and he suggested surgery to make the shoulder as anatomically correct as possible. However, he would be equally as satisfied to leave it alone. I opted to leave it alone for now to see how it heals.

About six weeks later, I had complete union. I had healed, with no residual effects, except a protruding bone that I will always wear.

"What's your name?" I asked the old rider as Dan and I pedaled uphill and began to leave our friend in the distance.

"Gregory," he said, pronouncing it as "Grugery."

I am ever grateful to you Mr. Grugery, I said. Ever grateful.

riding on ice

There are studded tires for ice, and I wish I would have had them today.

Mountain biking is an incredible sport, and today was no less awe-inspiring than any other day. That's the thing about mountain biking. Every ride is a good one, except the ones where you wreck. During my rides though the forests, I have seen black bear, bobcat, deer, wild turkey, full moons, Carolina blue skies. Today, the world around me was blanketed in a quiet white. I saw only two other mountain bikers and the same number of cars. I rode about 7 miles up a logging road to the Blue Ridge Parkway. There was so much ice near the top that I had to get off and push for the last 10 minutes. The bike tires would just spin whenever I tried to pedal.

I shuffled my feet and my bike up onto the Parkway, which was closed to traffic and began my descent at about 5:15 p.m. I had 45 minutes to make it back to my car before dark. The Parkway was covered in snow and ice, making the descent treacherous. I fell three times, but the thing about falling on ice is that the bike slides out from under you, leaving you skidding on your rump. I escaped with no injuries, despite the falls and the two tunnels I had to get through, one so long that I could not see the light at the end of it (you know things are bad when there's no light at the end of the tunnel!). I normally carry lights, but today I did not. About midway through longest tunnel, worried that in the darkness I might collide with a wall, I got off the bike and walked, groping my way through the darkness until I could see a faint light at the end and then light casting itself on the pavement, the reflective lines down the center becoming visible.

I made it back, just as darkness filled the sky. It was a soul-stirring ride in a world of white.

the bear

How cold? I've cycled in the 20s, but January daytime temperatures on the Blue Ridge Parkway can be in the 50s, and it's actually better for cycling in that the Parkway gets gated so that cyclists have the road to themselves.

It's extremely beautiful up there in the winter, probably the prettiest time of all to be on the ridges. I was there yesterday in the high elevations, and the clouds were so beautiful that I uttered a profound thanks to god for allowing me to live on this planet, even if only for a relatively brief time.

Two weeks ago, I was cycling down from Mt. Mitchell (need I remind you, the highest peak east of the Rockies?) when I encountered a black bear. He (or she) came bounding out of the woods, across the Parkway and down an escarpment . He never saw me, but it is significant that I saw him, a creature of immense beauty, probably tipping the scales at 200 to 300 pounds, galloping gracefully across the Parkway and moving me in a way that I did not expect. These things just take my breath away.

we don't always make it over

Rode with Matt Johnson from Montreat up Rattlesnake to Pot Cove Gap. Matt, probably the most talented mountain bike rider I know, jumped obstacles that I have never seen anyone else jump before. I, on the other hand, rode my usual sloppy but satisfying ride, even falling while trying to get over a rock that I've never failed to get over. Montreat presents a rocky road, though. It's one of the bumpiest trails I know of.

At the outset of our trip, Matt and I pedaled past two elderly women.

"How do you make it over all of those rocks?" one of them asked.

"Well," I replied, "we don't always make it over." o^o

mountains and moonlight

I rode with Dan Bennett last night from the Tanbark Ridge pullout to Craggy Garden Visitor Center. It was breezy, cool bordering on cold, with a slither of moonlight illuminating the way. The parkway was open to traffic until the turnout for the picnic area at Craggy, but we saw not a single car. Our lights were turned off on the way up, and we made Craggy in good time, one hour after leaving the turnout. It was inexpressablly beautiful, the moonlight illuminating the mountain ridges. We felt, and both said, how it seemed as if we were on another planet. One thing was for sure: It was so quiet we certainly could have been the only people on this planet. o^o

clear skies

I had the clearest day ever, actually able to see the Charlotte skyline, first time ever, from milepost 366 to milepost 365. I could barely make out three skyscrapers on the horizon.

sunset and beyond

We did some serious mountain biking, everyday this week, including Thanksgiving Day. The most beautiful trails are in Montreat, a Presbyterian retreat. Montreat also serves as the gateway to the old toll road and trestle road to Mt. Mitchell. A week or so ago, I rode on snow-covered trails, an hour or so up a single-track trail until I got a glimpse of Mt. Mitchell in the distance. It was gorgeous. The sun was setting on the western range of mountains as I made my way back and the lights of Swannanoa Valley were beginning to twinkle below. It was remarkably beautiful, with the pinkish/orange glow over the mountaintops. I had to use my light, a handy NiteRider, to make my way back through the rhododendron canopied trail to the parking lot.