Wednesday 5th Sept. A long story

Peter Heath.

Yesterday the 12^th of January 2013, for the first time in four months, I went out for a ride. On the road. Riding my Mercian road bike for 12 miles with Peter Heath. Why the long gap in my riding? I'll come to that shortly. Right now I want to share with you the detail of our ride, and how it came about – after all, not only have I not ridden since September, I haven't written a blog since 31^st of July. To get me to the point of going on a 'proper' ride I had received offers of escort duty from three other friends since late October. But they relied on me getting my act together first, and I still had a slight feeling of anxiety. A couple of weeks ago I had tottered down to Beyton to meet the chums before they left on their ride. It was OK, but still a slight uncertainty. What was needed was a more positive incentive. Peter Heath.

His email carried an outline short route and a suggested time. Being Peter, it was an imperative suggestion “I'll come to your house on Friday afternoon, I'll phone first ” it ended. Then, on the day, the call. “What do you think?” he asked “Weather seems fine” I said. He turned up at 2pm and barked “Now, you're still happy to do the ride round to Woolpit?” . . . “Yup” Say I, . . . “RIGHT! Off we go” says Pete. . .pausing to check traffic. . . . “ALL CLEAR!!,” ….. and he twiddled off our forecourt and up the A1088 at what felt to me like a positively Wigginsian pace – and I'd yet to get my second foot in. I was already chasing and it was only the first few yards of our ride! How would I cope? But I was back on, just before the left turn to Thurston, “I caught up” I said “only because I waited!” Peter barked with a grin, and we cruised down to the hump back bridge over the Blackbourne (well, Peter cruised, and had no reason to doubt that I was doing any different). We discussed drainage, and the whereabouts of my new running route which used a brand new wooden pedestrian bridge over the Blackbourne and then followed a footpath and a Byway up the top of the climb to Great Green Thurston (on my run, I turn round and go back down hill to home, and a bath. No chance this afternoon). We climb (don't laugh )on the road to the Z bend at the top, and turn left towards Tostock. A hundred yards along the lane, past the excellent new house belonging to Harvey's Nursery, we pass the opening to 'my' Byway. We discuss Barn Owls, and marvel at the amount of standing water along 'my' route today. I relish hearing the sharp cries of warning from Peter “car behind!” “hole!” and “puddle!”. This is a proper ride. We go over the railway bridge, commenting on the newly restored Victorian houses on the right. Peter tells me that the railway is where Thurston officially ends. This was a surprise to me, as one who only recently aware that Great Green was IN Thurston. So on we went. Side by side along the lane to Tostock, down into the dip with another double bend then up through the lovely woodland to the junction. Then right ande left, then right again along the lane to Drinkstone, down past the windmills, the left and in to Woolpit. After a detour to the Health Centre (to collect Peter's drugs – I didn't ask), we stopped for tea in Woolpit and discussed post traumatic whatnots, over tea and cake and scones. In an act of almost excessive generosity Peter insisted that I have the only remaining scone, and that he paid for the entire repast.

Sharon & Rob at Thetford GC

So, how did I get to this? Wednesday the 5^th of September, was the last ride that I had. Around ten of us set off on a ride that followed a route decided by me. We followed a fairly routine route north east, followed by the equally familiar course along to Croxton (which is always a surprise to me, it being such a familiar place when riding west from my previous home of Cambridge), then an enjoyable blast back to Thetford – especially enjoyable, since I was on Flandria, the best bike, and feeling good. Obviously 'feeling good' is entirely relative, and nearly always ends being caught just before turning right to Tesco and the Thetford Garden Centre, the latter being our refreshing destination. Jonathan Howe left before the tea stop – allegedly to ruin someone's life. Jerry Barton also chose the early bath. After our tea we took the usual and always enjoyable via Brettenham (yes, another duplicate) and up onto the A1066 to Rushford where, if my memory serves, Gareth Doman (one of our two Critical Care Medics) turned right to join the A1088 and reach home in Ixworth as quickly as possible. We follow the route (my route) to Coney Weston, where we turn right, as always, and follow the route that gives us the choice of left to Bardwell or straight on to Honington. As in 90% of the rides that follow this general route – we go left. I am on the front (must have been the best bike effect still operating) as we head south westwards. Alongside me is Glenn Morris. About ¾ of a mile along the lane, so I'm told, I hit a pothole, some tree-root distorted tarmac and land very badly. Glenn was unable to avoid my flight from right to left, and fell. Sharon Calton, Ron Fisher and Stephen Linden also fell (I apologise for not being more accurate here - but bear in mind that I had no idea what had happened to me, either). Bikes were damaged, I was later told. Mark Harris, Mark Saunders and Rob Webb managed to avoid falling. To those still conscious (that’s everyone except me) I looked to be in serious trouble. A good deal of blood and no movement at all. I was unconscious, so I'm told, for about five minutes. Sharon and Rob came to my aid and did all the recovery position stuff while covering me with spare clothing, trying to engage me in conversation. I came round just before the Air Ambulance arrived, but I was making no sense at all. Sharon later told me that I asked to be helped up – a spot of the Tom Simpson "put me back on my bike"? The Air Ambulance Doctor asked me questions (apparently) but I couldn't answer. My first memory was of two people working carefully on my left forehead with what I assumed (what would I know?) to be a needle and thread. They were discussing the sewing strategy. I think they'd been at it for quite a while, but I imagine that thirty stitches take some time.

This account, written in January 2013, has been delayed whilst I try to decide what form the blog should take. I began straightforwardly enough - 'pretty major prang' is the default, laconic, approach. But then there's a rather more to say, really. Cyclists, and probably all who do sports with an accident risk, tend to have a fairly casual approach to the inevitable damage of scars, bumps, bruises and grazes. Most injuries do heal pretty quickly. It's when one breaks bones or get's a bump on the head that matters become more complex. And for me that complexity has had a rather long term impact. Our Club Orthopaedic Surgeon, Soren Sjolin had warned me, as he chatted from my bedside at West Suffolk, that it might take me three months to recover. As any seasoned cyclist would, I thought to myself "I'll keep quite, but that can't be right".

Now, in the middle of January and with plenty of time to think, I feel that "Maybe Soren was right after all" was probably the more accurate choice. Then the know-all, argumentative Bikie in me revised his opinion of Soren's judgement – aha! He thought. Soren was wrong after all. Three months? Optimistic nonsense. Closer to five is likely (Sorry Soren). The effects of the impact include a slight (but diminishing) problem with balance. So until yesterday (and there's more of that later) I only rode my road bike on the turbo (and even then I ran out of commitment after 30 minutes, and then several days to regain that commitment). The main advantage of sticking to the turbo was that I was less likely to fall over (not, I hasten to add, that I actually have fallen). I had tried the odd test in our garden, and the tendency to waver in the direction of the leg being swung over the bike was rather too pronounced for comfort. Before Christmas I began an heroic session of 10 min turbo warm-up on ATB (v effective, if anyone's interested) followed by my 5k off road run (at extremely gentle pace). Then it froze, then I got the seasonally obligatory cold followed by chest infection followed by Christmas - and now I'm back on (though not in) the running. An advantage of off-road running is that falling over is less likely - though in the early stages I was unnervingly wobbly. Another post traumatic effect (getting cod medico-technical now) is fatigue. Many attempts at physical or mental effort have been sabotaged over the last four months by the need for slumber. There's been a general slowing up (I rely on my wife Susan for opinions about what proportion of these shortcomings is due solely to being 69, or to a whack on the head) reading is slow, spelling a lot worse, memory has, er, um . . . . oh you know!. Now that I've moved into a more general discussion of all this, I might as well mention the mood swings and emotional incontinence. Or perhaps not.

This last section is one of the dangers of writing the blog - being boring about my health. I'm sure there will be readers who will criticise me for giving too much detail or a flippant lack of, erm, seriousness.

SJH