Granite

Long summer evenings mean the possibility of after work spins, and a few of us have been heading up the hills midweek, usually Wednesday (it's always dry on a Wednesday for some reason). I missed last week (Olympia). Thursday (30th) was a cracker, so I left work at 6 and within the hour was on top of Three Rock. Hazy views out over Dublin Bay, Howth, Lambay island in the distance. Always time to take in the views. Especially after that climb (450m.) 

In my mind I'd worked out a route down while climbing, a track I hadn't done in a year or more, off the beaten track. So down I went, fairly tricky, which I knew, so careful. Rocky, then winding into the trees, and rocky again. A small spill, just landed on my side on boggy ground. Dusted off, then back up. Not really concentrating, so didn't "get going" properly (it was fairly steep), and I hadn't clipped in the left foot properly. A small bump brought me to a stop, and with the body-weight all wrong, I slowly went up on the front wheel. Slow motion, and (too relaxed) landed over the handlebars. Didn't really feel anything, so dusted myself off, and picked up the bike. 

Only then noticed some blood. Lots of blood actually. Pouring from my forehead, on which I had inadvertently and unknowingly landed (the helmet took no impact due to the angle of the fall). No other symptoms or pain - I was clear-headed and didn't panic, but knew I had to act quickly and carefully. No-one was going to find me here in a hurry, even if I could explain where I was. I took my top off to stem the flow of blood (compression, right?). Somehow worried about blood on my shoes and on my bag. And the icebreaker soon to be soaked in blood.

So, now topless, holding the t-shirt to the wound, I walked the 10 minutes or so back up to the masts. It would be faster home this way. I phoned Richenda to fill her in (impossible to talk, kids all at full pelt - bedtime pending). A couple of Polish lads on top saw me coming towards them, I showed them the gash (they gasped of course - helpful). I was probably like something out of a zombie flick. Another lad came on the scene, army man - full first aid kit, put on his latex gloves, cleaned me up, bandage, tape - the works (I took his number, and rang him later to say all OK). Discussed if stitches needed (he thought yes) and if it would scar (ditto).

We worked out that the bike was in good nick. With barriers blocking car access to the mountain, I decided to find my own way down. Another phone call home to arrange a hospital trip. And down I went - gingerly. Cleaned myself up in the shower, changed, ate (I pretty much knew the wound was superficial - although somewhat woozier now). My Kiwi neighbour Adrian drove me to Tallaght emergency department. You really do see all sorts here. I was seen by the triage nurse fairly quickly - he took off the bandage, and knew I'd need stitches. Another 15 minutes to see a doctor. Clean-up job (he got stuck in), then the dreaded needle. Not too bad to be honest. A tetanus shot (you know where) just in case. God knows when I had the last one. A nurse cleaned up my knee and shoulder, and bandaged them - hadn't really noticed before. Back home within two hours. God bless the HSE (at least it wasn't post-midnight Saturday night).

I took Friday off work - I was very foggy for the next 24 hours, like being drunk and hungover at the same time. Pain kicked in some more that night, but nothing serious. Over a week later, it has healed quite well. And the sorest part of me now is the ribs (not bruised - possibly cracked?). Some hard lessons learned. I always ride with helmet, and within myself, but sometimes alone obviously (never at night though). Some of this will have to change. And I've bought a new helmet too.

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