The flap of a butterfly’s wings

Sometimes the smallest of things can trigger much larger events resulting in much larger consequences. I broke my neck August 6, 2004 on a bike track in Burlington, North Carolina, but strangely, the event that triggered this occurred on a bike track in Pennsylvania just the few days after September 11, 2001.

2001 was the year that I returned to bike racing. I had taken four years off midway through college and after. I had raced professionally prior to that layoff and was returning to the sport as an amateur - a sport that had become much faster and four years younger than I had remembered. I was now 26 years old, racing in the 19-27-year-old category. It was very competitive, but I managed. What I lacked in strength I had trained for when I was younger, I made up for with a smooth pedal stroke and efficient technique over the jumps and through the turns. By midway through the summer, I was regularly winning local races and my starts out of the starting gate were better than they had ever been.

In my long racing career up to that point, I had won state titles and championships, a national race of champions, and a national top 10 in my age group. The one, relatively minor, title I have yet to attempt to win was a Gold Cup championship. That summer I set my mind to doing so. I rode and trained and managed to stay healthy throughout the summer. I arrived in Pennsylvania to find a track to my liking, wide and downhill with perfect turns and smooth jumps. I won the pre-race on Friday night. I dominated the Saturday national from qualifying though to the main event. Sunday was the Gold Cup event. I was a bit stiff and sluggish, given a 9:30 AM start. I still managed to qualify for the main event with a second place in the first round. The main event was several hours later and I was not the least bit anxious. I was awake and loose and couldn’t wait to take the start.

On the starting gate, I was focused and not the least bit nervous, and when the gate dropped, I cranked out with perfect timing and had everyone beat after the first two pedals. But as I pushed down for a third stroke, my foot slipped off of my pedal and everyone jumped ahead of me two bike lengths by the time I was back on. Despite this, I managed to work my way back to the front only to lose by half a bike length in the end.

It hurt, and I got over it, but I insisted that I would come back the following year and do it again. Midway through the following summer my season ended when I crashed headfirst, extended my arms and dislocated my shoulder. This event, too, would also play a significant role in breaking my neck two years later.

The following year, I was all set to get ready for that event and went down to the track in Charlotte, North Carolina to practice a week before the Gold Cup was to be held there. I ended up crashing, breaking my hand and bruising my ribs.

2004 was to be the year. I had been riding well, and I wasn’t specifically training for the event and not quite taking it as seriously as I had previous years. I was just enjoying racing.  I had taken a month off, but got back on the bike as the event drew closer. August 6th was a beautiful night and I had arrived at my local track following a race that had just finished. I was there with the sole purpose of training to win the title that had eluded me with the slip of a pedal three years earlier. I lost control down a third straight away, over a rhythm section of jumps and began to loop out backwards. At that moment, my instinct was to let go of my handlebars and put my arms out to break my fall. But then, in the time it takes a butterfly to flap its wings, I thought about the crash that dislocated my shoulder. I had extended my arms to break my fall and ended up needing surgery. With that in mind I decided it would be best for me to hold on to my bike, tuck my head down, and just brace for impact.  This resulted in exposing my spine to take the brunt of the impact, which it did.

Following a spinal cord injury, everyone thinks about what could’ve been.  “What if I didn’t drive while drunk?”

“What if I didn’t dive into the shallow end of the pool?”

“What if I didn’t instigate that fight?”

For me, I don’t think about it much anymore, but when I do, I think not only of the accident itself, but of the events leading up to it. I think about how single-mindedly I pursued a relatively minor title. I just needed to prove to myself that I still had it in me. The accidents and the surgery likely would have convinced me to retire if only I had just attained that one elusive thing. If only my foot had just stayed on that pedal.