Yesterday, I took my first big spill of the season on mountain bike. No, it didn't happen on a wild single-track trail, but on some civilized asphalt.
That's right, the only paved section that leads to my house is being milled before it receives a brand new black-top layer.
As I was cruising back home, I chose to roll on the rough, milled side of the road, and then, when I foolishly thought I could bring my bike back on the smooth surface, my front fat-tire didn't like the 2 inch step and threww me down to the ground where I fell and rolled on both knees, elbow and hands. Everything was scrapped and bloody.
What made me behave so insanely? Curiosity for one thing; I figured that feeling the rough texture would be kind of fun. Then my over-sized confidence told me this was no big deal and that I could do it easily. Finally, the killer was my stubborn optimism telegraphing my brain that going over the 2 inch step would be no problem either. Well, my three trusted advisers were wrong.
Today, I hurt and I will remember for tomorrow!
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