Regarding that big wreck I was in.....

2012 was to be my spring of dominance. I am someone who has always set big goals, and talked about them openly because once you say it out loud, you’re fully committed, and if your friends are any good they’ll give you a hard time if you don’t do what you said you were going to do. I didn’t hedge my bets this spring when I announced my intention to “absolutely dominate the spring series at Cat 4 in order to move up to Cat 3” at our team meeting. The domination didn’t happen as planned.

In the first race at Donaldson, I found myself too far back in the largest field I had ever been a part of, coming into the finish boxed in, unable to sprint, finishing 6^th which is respectable, but hardly dominant. In the second race at Donaldson, Cat 3 & 4 fields were combined in a miserable slog of howling crosswinds, sideways rain, relentless attacks and bitter cold. I finished lucky number 13 and worked hard for it. At Fork Shoals I raced smart all day then made some mistakes in the final mile and found myself chasing from too far back again, finishing 7^th.

The night after the Fork Shoals race, I was frustrated. I knew that I had adequate form to win, but I had played my cards wrong. Last year, I had struggled with being too far forward and sprinting too soon. This year, I was waiting too long, playing it too safe. I found myself lying in bed, unable to sleep, replaying the races in my head and trying to visualize myself racing smarter at the BMW race the next day.

I woke up feeling good that Sunday. I do this thing before a race where I look at my reflection in the mirror eye to eye. Some days I have it, some days I have to talk myself into it. This was a day where I had it. There was no reservation, no hesitation, I felt like winning a bike race, and had the confidence to do it. My game plan was simple: Stay in the top ten. Stay off the front. Kill the sprint. Ninety-three competitors showed up at the start line. There was no doubt in my mind that I would dominate them all.

I raced a very smart race that day, right up until the end. Brandon and I stayed near the front for the entire race. There were a few attacks, a few failed attempts at breakaways, but no one seemed interested in really shaking things up. The average speed of the race was slow and the peloton stayed together in one giant cluster of marginally skilled bike racers. In the final lap, I was riding right where I needed to be. Brandon was on my wheel. The pace lifted on the backstretch and there were two lines of riders working at the front of the peloton. I picked the outside group so that I could go wide right and carry more speed out of the final turn. As we rounded the final sweeping turn, I was moving towards the front, looking to launch my sprint at around 250 meters to go. The guys on the front attacked at 300 meters, the rider in front of me and to the right hesitated and then dove to the inside, forcing me to let him pass before I started my sprint. I finally got clear and jumped just after the 200 meter sign, surging out wide right with nothing but daylight between me and the finish line. I stomped on my pedals, overtaking riders quickly. With 100 meters to go, I knew that it was going to be close, but I had a shot at the win. I was accelerating, I could see the finish, I was overtaking everyone, then I saw movement to my left, a rider cutting across my line, his back wheel clipping my front, my weight was on the wrong side of the bike…..then time stopped.

I had this moment of stillness when I knew that I was going to crash hard. It was a little like Ricky Bobby in the movie Talladega Nights just before his crash where he says “Yep, flying the air. This is not good.” My bike was out from under me; I was airborne at thirty-six miles per hour, my head pointed at the tarmac, ninety riders behind me. Clearly not good. I tried to roll so that I would land on my back….then….lights out.

I woke up confused, on my back, in absolute agony with people hovering over me. I knew immediately that the left side of my body was busted up badly. I heard Bird over me telling me to be still. The blood in my eyes blurred my vision so I just closed them and listened to the voices around me. There was Blair from the POA team seeming to take charge of the situation; there were BMW staff, then the paramedics. I heard bits and pieces about lacerations to the face, broken collarbone, limited breathing in the left lung, something about my eye looking bad, some confusion about which Hospital I should be taken to. I had never been hurt like this before. I was scared. As they loaded me in the ambulance, I heard Anne Limbird talking into my ear, very close, telling me that I she knew that I was going to be OK. She sounded so sure of herself. I couldn’t help but agree with her.

I was conscious for the entire ride to the hospital and my time in the ER, but the memories are somewhat foggy. I remember feeling very calm, almost serene at that point….was that morphine they gave me in the ambulance? I knew that I was seriously injured, but I also knew that I was going to get through it. The doctors in the ER did a great job of explaining what was wrong, and what needed to be done to fix me. I had a concussion, multiple lacerations to my face, three broken ribs, and a broken collarbone. My collarbone and/or ribs had punctured my left lung. The doctors asked me to sign an authorization to put a tube in my chest to help the lung expand and recover. I thought it was strange that they asked me to do this; I cracked a joke about my mangled left side and the fact that I’m a southpaw. Paperwork at a time like this! Are you kidding me? I did my best to sign the two-page document with my right hand. They poked me, prodded me, twisted me, took x-rays, ran a cat scan, stuck various tubes in me, stitched me up, and soon I was being wheeled through the halls to the ICU.

Hopefully I haven’t already lost you, because this is the turning point, the place where the story stops being painful to read. I spent five days and four long nights in the hospital, which included surgery to repair my collarbone. I didn’t spend one waking hour without someone there with me. It seemed like every time I opened my eyes, there would be a different pair of people before me. After I returned home, it seemed like every time I started to get completely stir crazy from laying around all day, a visitor would pop in to check on me with food or a story to tell. The support of this team throughout the past three weeks has been simply amazing.

To the crisis management CEO, the German chocolate smuggler, the winning sprint dedicator, the ICU wisecrackers, the busted bike caretaker, the delicious food creators, the concerned callers, the uplifting e-mailers, the mini chauffeur, the great story tellers, the USAC protestors, and the consummate coach who offered constructive criticism of my ill-fated sprint, THANK YOU ALL FOR EVERYTHING YOU HAVE DONE FOR ME. This team helped to make this difficult time relatively pleasant.

I have learned, through video footage of the accident, that the rider, who had delayed my sprint by cutting me off to the inside, was the same rider who took me out by suddenly veering back to the outside. I honestly believe if that rider had held his line on either of his two moves within 200 meters of the finish, I would have ended up on the podium or maybe even winning instead of in intensive care….but that’s bicycle racing. This sport that we love is a dangerous one. We know the risks. We see the wrecks. It’s very easy to get mad and point fingers when accidents happen, but the best thing we can do is learn from our mistakes and move on.

As for me….I’m doing fine. I rode my trainer for the first time last night. I would like to say that it felt good to be back on the bike, but that would be a shameless lie. It hurt pretty bad, but I know that it will hurt a little less tomorrow, and a little less the day after that, and soon I’ll be back out there with all of you.

Until then, HOLD YOUR LINE!

-Ray