I've had a few hours to reflect on the events that unfolded Friday. At the instant I went down, my thought was my trip is finished and Shark Week hasn't even started yet. I was fortunate to realize quickly that that is not the case. As I rode to the hotel wherein I'm convalescing, my thoughts ran the gamut from Screw it. I'm done riding and I'll sell Hester to Ya know, she'll fix and I need to have it done before my October Blue Knights chapter camp trip. After attempting to sleep Friday night, I woke up Saturday stiff and sore, but with no new previously undiscovered injuries.
When I got bum rushed by the bison in Yellowstone, I was doing nothing wrong beyond simply looking the other way. Sometimes shit happens and last Sunday was one just of those days. This accident is different. I had been on the road for ten days and have been pushing myself each and every one of them. I've been riding Hester for eleven years and I know her limits. Likewise, I'm 58 years old and I (should) know my limits. The reality is I pushed both Hester and myself too far and as a result, instead of carving up the roads in Yosemite National Park as planed for today, I'm laying here in pain fighting the urge to feel sorry for myself.
This could have been much worse. I could be dealing with the logistics of getting a severely broken bike home from 1,700 miles away. I could be dealing with severe bodily injuries. My family could be dealing with the logistics of getting my corpse home. Hester will be repaired. I will heal. I'd like t think I'm a little wiser today than I was on Friday. Lemon.