what it feels like to be struck by lightning
Information technology was a cloudy 24-hour interval in Boulder, Colorado, and afterwards two long hot weeks on the road, my motivation to ride was waning. I was doing my best to procrastinate, but every bit the day progressed the realization that I might not get to ride my bike set in and I shuffled out the door around 2 and headed to the low hills for what I thought would exist a chill spin.
There was a light mist in the air, but it felt nice after the days of xc-plus temps we had been experiencing. The damp trails were calling my proper name, the usual decomposing granite, or kitty litter equally we call it in these parts, was getting tacky. Equally I climbed through the mist, I could encounter the clouds darkening and in the altitude the flicker of light billowy off the Flatirons.
It reminded me of a flickering one-time neon sign casting its light downward an former brick wall. My brain should take started to add two and two together, but every bit I crested the mesa into the woods I was consumed by the sweet tunes on my iPhone and the intoxicating smell and sense of taste of humidity. My senses were working on their ain equation, tacky clay equals sick riding. Black powder, the kind of stuff the folks in the Pacific Northwest get all the fourth dimension, but not here on the Front end Range, nosotros only get small unexpected tastes of it. But hither I was. I was at the right place at the right time…or was I?
"I came to lying in the grass. My ears were ringing, my helmet was downwardly around my chin."
I had fabricated my way through the twists and turns atop the mesa, the dirt was just right, non too dingy and not too dry. It was merely soft enough to lock your tires in and track the hell out of the turns. The trees were my natural slalom poles. I could film information technology in my heed. The dull motion shot of the tires gripping the earth as the dirt radiates off like globs of brown powder.
It had gotten quite dark out and the flashing lights were no longer off in the altitude. They had engulfed me and were dancing through out the forest. The crackles of thunder were louder than the music now. I was enkindling from my tunnel of blissful ridding. Random thoughts were seeping into my consciousness. I remember thinking of how pleased I was with myself for wearing clear spectacles that day.
As I reached the end of the woods I decided that it would probably be a good thought to wait for a few minutes before I busted out into the barrage of lightning that was going on. I sat and waited. It seemed like an eternity, but information technology was probably merely a few minutes. My mojo levels were dipping fast and I knew there was sweeter downhill on the other side of the field, simply 45 seconds away. I hadn't seen whatsoever lightning for a while and my adrenalin tank needed filling; the singletrack was calling. So similar a kid running out into a dodgeball game, I crouched low on my bike and rode out into the field.
I re-entered consciousness a moment later on, lying in the grass.
My ears were ringing, my helmet was downward around my chin. What were once colorful headphones were at present only bare, raw wires. I wasn't sure of what I was doing; my legs were wobbly similar a newborn dogie's. Similar a scene out of a state of war movie, I ducked as if there were grenades going off everywhere. I scrambled quickly over to my bike 20 feet off to the left in the tall grass and drug it back to the trail. I took a quick glance down. The wheels were still on, it was time to go the hell out of at that place.
I mounted my bike, but the handles were twisted to one side and the chain was off every bit well. My mind was however far from coherent but one thought was articulate: get out of here, get around the corner to the woods. I used i foot to pace my bike forward, weaving like a drunkard, somehow coasteing off the mesa to the safety of the trees.
I sat for probably around one-half an hour while the lightning continued to shower down effectually me. I felt as though I had just had a gigantic waterfall dropped on my head. The harm included one cutting ear, one slash to the face, a pounding headache, an aching dorsum, a pigsty in my arm, a bruised shoulder, stomach, hip, leg and foot. Crap, I lost my glasses, yeah the ones I was and so pumped to have. My water bottle had also managed to wander off.
Nature had won this round; I had thoroughly been worked over. I reached into my jersey pocket to grab my phone. The lighting had sucked the life correct out of information technology as well. It looked like I was going to take to haul my ass out of here. I attempted to reassemble my helmet, fumbling with the straps, and plastic bits when the smell of burnt plastic caught my attention. I straightened up my bars and hiked through the cover of copse having lost all the bravado I had just a brusque bit ago. One time I felt I was safely in the clear, I slung my black and blue body over the top-tube and began the slow limp habitation. The adrenalin had long ago taken over and the pain was not too bad. My senses were coming back to me. I chuckled to myself and thought, wow, even though this is going to require a trip to the hospital, it's going to make a pretty cool story.
Mike West was a U.S. Super D national champion. He rides for Yeti. Top photo: Mike Lewinski
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Source: https://www.adventure-journal.com/2021/06/what-it-feels-like-to-be-hit-by-lightng-on-your-bike/