The severity of a crash exists on two planes, the physical and psychological. The physical is the most obvious and one we busy ourselves with in the immediate vicinity of coming down. Our bodies need time to heal, our kits may need replacing or mending, and our bicycles may need repair work. For weeks and sometimes months, we may carry with us the scars that result when our bodies, bicycles, and tarmac momentarily occupy the same space.
We endeavor to reach a point where the mechanics of bike handling has moved into the subconscious. An experienced Cyclist no longer thinks in terms of steering or pedaling; instead, we exist in a stream of subconscious consciousness where our senses are heightened, yet none of our actions exist on a plane of explicit thought as we make subtle adjustments to our stroke, steering, and balance. As our experience grows, the bicycle becomes an extension of our physical selves; it is through finding this harmony that we are able to live on the razor’s edge between grace and disaster.
When disaster does strike, we are faced with scars beyond the physical that take much longer to recover than do our equipment and flesh. In the space of a single moment, the trust we felt in our machine and our ability to control it evaporates, leaving a hollow sense of betrayal that burrows away deeply into our minds. It stays there, far from view, only to surface during moments when we most rely on our confidence to avoid crashes; the sliding of a tire in a corner or the sudden interference of an object with our path – these situations require complete confidence in our machine and skills, yet during the time that our confidence is being rebuilt we doubt our instincts.
This is particularly true of cornering, where we are most prominently faced with the realities of our confidence, trust, and skills. Normally, we sense a crash approaching some time before it arrives. A problem with our trajectory or a slipping tire will give our minds a moment to react, even if our bodies are unable to. As we reflect on the crash afterwards, we’ll understand what happened, and what might have been done to avoid it; we use this knowledge to tell ourselves it was avoidable and tuck that nagging sense of doubt a bit farther out of reach. But a crash with no warning and no remedy sits naked in our minds and permeates every action and sensation as we struggle to regain our confidence.
This past December, I slipped on some black ice on a cold morning commute to the office. There were no signs of anything going amiss; there was only the crash. In the blink of an eye, I went from happily entering a corner to laying on the tarmac. The impact was so sudden, in fact, that the force of the fall was taken up by my hip and elbow – my hands never left the bars – and the impact so swift that my cleat tore apart as the impossibility of my occupying the same space as my bicycle and the road was resolved by my being separated abruptly from both.
My rides since then have suffered from nagging questions that flood my mind as I enter a corner, particularly in the wet; I no longer trust that I can judge the corner adequately or that my equipment will loyally carry me through. Logically, I know that while statistics suggest that one’s chances of crashing remain constant so long as environmental conditions don’t significantly change, I know shaken confidence ensures that crashes come in clusters as self-doubt overrides intuition cultivated over years of experience.
I must force myself to regain my confidence; the only path to doing so lies through ignoring my doubt and wrapping myself in the craft. Vive la Vie Velominatus.
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The photo hurts. Frank, your optimism is always inspiring.
I was cycling to a music show a few years back when I had my own black ice encounter. I was riding along, not corner, but suddenly realized I was on a huge patch of black ice I had not seen. I knew I was fucked and simply tried to take off as much speed as possible before my rear wheel eventually slid out. As opposed to not having time, I had enough time to get my hip and shoulder out, kind of laying it down as gently as possible and protecting the steed. All in all, not so bad but the feeling of being on black ice & traveling far too fast ain't fun.
I've been hit twice by cars & both of those resulted in analyzing what I had done wrong & some shaken confidence. I've adopted my own mantra that I utter when riding in heavy traffic, along the lines of some advice given to Rick Kane in the esteemed "North Shore": when the bus (wave) turns (breaks) here, don't be there. Or, you're gonna get drilled.
@roger interesting. I am the opposite. Where I have caused myself to crash, I have found my confidence well damaged - but when I have been brought down through the actions of others (ie. other riders) I have emerged relatively mentally unscathed.
That being said I have never been dusted by a car (knock on wood) so that might be a different kettle...
My most recent off was an unintentional dismount of the rollers whilst I was on the extensions of a TT bike. I have since discontinued this training method ...
Man, I haven't thought about this subject for a long time. I love the articles on this site. A few years back I was hit from behind without warning by a pick up truck and sent spinning in the dark. The headlights were simply the next vehicle that was approaching from the rear. At least he stopped and the groans helped pinpoint me in the blackness. Anyway it took me many many months to get confident riding in traffic again and my owl like ability to see front and back almost at the same time was apparently impressive. Eventually I got there and will be fine I suppose until the inevitable bike car contact happens again. A helmet camera on the commute worked like a comfort blanket, for me and the VMH. Now I seem to have a well developed spidey sense for potential conflict. It's funny but black ice and cornering grit spills haven't had anything like the same effect. Maybe it's because I attribute those to my own lack of attention or general ineptitude and must do better next time. Bike damage pisses me off way more than scraped skin, so does ruining decent kit but that'll just be the tight Jock genes coming to the fore.
I've had a couple whilst commuting this winter-one black ice, one snow and "oh, it's not so bad after*thonk*" overconfidence. One either side of a nasty blind corner/tunnel complex on a narrowish track where people have difficulty with the concept of "keep left"*, so at least I was going slow. But both times landed before hands could leave handlebars.
The snow one was galling. It's a bit where there's an underpass under a road, but it's off the line of the cycleway. Sort of like a "bus stop" type racetrack chicane. I'd got round the first sharp right/left, through the short tunnel, out into the gentler left and was on the even gentler right, running a little wide onto virgin snow. Decided I was OK to accelerate. I wasn't.
I should perhaps point out that I was being truly foolish, and should have headed for the (cleared) roads instead of the uncleared cycle routes, what with still being on 25mm Gatorskins. The words "asking for trouble" come to mind.
@roger
Yeah, I hear you.
I have been hit 4 times by cars/trucks in the past: Once while riding along Rt 10 in NH as an 18 wheeler passed me he slowly kept moving over towards me until he finally hit my shoulder and sent me into the ditch-that one was in 1989. Another time a cement truck in Germany clipped me from behind and sent me flying up onto the sidewalk. Multiple cars stopped and came running b/c they thought I was a deadman-that one was in 1995. that same year a bus side swipped me in Munich. Last time was less than a year ago in TX when a huge SUV driven by a clueless person ran over my rear wheel while taking a left turn at a stop light and I was going straight through. Just missed running me over completely.
I really do not think that I am that bad or aggressive of a rider. But I guess it is the law of averages that if you ride 300 hours a year for 10 to 20 years on busy roads, you will most likely be hit.
@roger
I think I would feel the way you feel now just trying to venture out in Boston area traffic, much less with your experience.
The central thesis of the article is gospel truth. Never had serious injuries on the bike, but I took a bad fall while climbing in '07. No lasting physical damage to speak of, but it really trashed my confidence for a couple of years. In a word, I was afraid. I still dislike exposure of any kind more than I used to.
Gradual (re-)desensitization is all there is for it, I guess.
I've been lucky too. Hit twice but no damage to the bike and just knocked me over. I got more bruises from falling off my rollers a few weeks ago! It did take me a few weeks to get back on the bike after being hit, though.
its a huge testament to the mindset of a pro who crashes in a sprint and gets trampled by half the peloton, and is back out there the next day, full gas as if it never really happened. Its amazing the amount of information they can block out