My Fatal Bicycling Crash That Wasn’t

I don’t know why. Should I?

My bike might have been all that was left of me. Photo by Christopher Lancette.

I’m knocking out one of my 50-plus-mile bike rides last Sunday on a glorious day alongside the east bank trail of Anacostia River in Washington D.C. The sun is leaping out of a brilliant sky to cast a golden hue on the water and everything it touches — great blue herons, egrets, dogs bounding around from parent to child, and winding, tree-covered bike trails. I don’t notice the strong wind or the chill.

It’s one of those rides that take me to desperately needed nirvana, my brain actually unplugging from the world and recharging with every churn of the pedals.

I scarf down a protein bar for lunch just before my Sunday bike ride nearly goes horribly wrong. Photo by Christopher Lancette.

Conscious thoughts are far from my mind; I am at one with my Trek bike. It’s taking care of all the decisions about where I’m going. My lungs, legs, and heart are pumping along in rhythm to take me wherever my bike wants to roam. Muscle memory and subconscious guidance will direct me home eventually so it’s easy to get lost in the splendor of the moment, to exist only in “the now.”

Until …

My bike decides to make a 90-degree left turn in order to head over to another trail on the other side of the river. I…