I’ve often heard that to be awake is to be alive, but last summer this phrase became all too real to me. Mountain biking in Virginia’s jagged peaks has been one of my favorite pastimes since my first visit to the seventeen-mile Creeper Trail in the summer of 2010. I often thought about this adventurous trail and the fond memories it had provided me of zipping down the mountain on the rented bikes, obtained from the charming little shops located in the town of Damascus, which was situated at the base of the mountain. Although I had cycled down this trail a number of times, each trip offered a slightly different experience, but none can compare to my last, and most painful trip down that mountain. It was a brisk summer morning in the small town
…show more content…
The particular bike rental shop we chose was cramped with a variety of mountain bikes differing in color and size, but being an experienced rider, neither of those things were important to me. The …show more content…
Consequently, I lost focus for a brief second, which I now realize can be a deadly mistake when mountain biking. We were almost to the half way point in the seventeen-mile trail when my front tire hit the egg-sized rock that could have cost me my life. In a flash, I was thrown over the handlebars and hurdled towards the edge of the path, nearing the drop off. Thankfully, I somehow managed to stay on the trail and quickly hopped up, assuming I was alright. That assumption was unfortunately wrong. My head was pounding like a drum and then everything went black; I collapsed just in time to land in my sister’s arms. She and my friend frantically tried to help me regain consciousness, or so I was told, for what must have seemed like forever to them. Two young male cyclist who were with another group stopped to help, splashing water on my face and asking if I could see them. Horrified at the embarrassing situation, I told them I was okay and that I just needed my water. They generously bandaged me up with their medical supplies and straightened the mangle handlebars and frame on my bike and went on their way. I remained unable to see for around ten minutes, but by that time my father had made his way back to our group to see what had happened and asked if he should call an emergency team to take me back
The particular bike rental shop we chose was cramped with a variety of mountain bikes differing in color and size, but being an experienced rider, neither of those things were important to me. The …show more content…
Consequently, I lost focus for a brief second, which I now realize can be a deadly mistake when mountain biking. We were almost to the half way point in the seventeen-mile trail when my front tire hit the egg-sized rock that could have cost me my life. In a flash, I was thrown over the handlebars and hurdled towards the edge of the path, nearing the drop off. Thankfully, I somehow managed to stay on the trail and quickly hopped up, assuming I was alright. That assumption was unfortunately wrong. My head was pounding like a drum and then everything went black; I collapsed just in time to land in my sister’s arms. She and my friend frantically tried to help me regain consciousness, or so I was told, for what must have seemed like forever to them. Two young male cyclist who were with another group stopped to help, splashing water on my face and asking if I could see them. Horrified at the embarrassing situation, I told them I was okay and that I just needed my water. They generously bandaged me up with their medical supplies and straightened the mangle handlebars and frame on my bike and went on their way. I remained unable to see for around ten minutes, but by that time my father had made his way back to our group to see what had happened and asked if he should call an emergency team to take me back