Once Upon a Time on Teton Pass

Disclaimer: The following post describes a high-speed crash in too much detail. Mom, you don't want to read this.

Because it's been too long since I've posted about something that is actually related in any way to cycling, I thought I'd share with you my story about the worst crash ever. Don't be alarmed, this happened almost a year ago and, obviously, I'm fine now. I just figured I haven't done anything interesting on the bike for a while, so why not tell you about this?

Last year I was living in Jackson, WY. The elevation in town is right around 6,000 feet. About five miles outside of Jackson (on the way towards the Jackson Hole ski resort, which is 12 miles away) is the small town of Wilson. Right on the northern edge of Wilson you start going up -- way up. This is Teton Pass. Just shy of six miles straight uphill, summiting at over 8,000 feet, it's an average 7% or 8% grade, max 11%. It's a killer climb, to state the obvious. The first time I did it on a bicycle it must have taken me at least an hour and a half just from the base. Before I set out that first time my goal was to make it just halfway up. You might be able to imagine the sense of accomplishment I felt when I actually summited. It's part of what made it my favorite ride in the area. At one point during the summer I was doing it once a week or so.

One day near the middle of September, 2006, I think, I set out with the Pass in my sights. It was a slightly breezy and very overcast day. In fact, the cloud ceiling was particularly low. About two thirds of the was up the climb I was riding in the clouds, which is rather unpleasant, cold and moist. Anyway, I summited in record time despite the conditions, which was an incredible feeling. I flew up that hill (something I haven't really felt like I've been able to do in Colorado for some reason, but I digress). Then comes the fun part.

In previous rides, I'd made it up in a little more than an hour and down in seven minutes. Because of the fact that visibility was poor and it was rather breezy, I was taking the descent a bit slower this time. That is, until I came through the clouds. As soon as I could see, I let her rip. Now for those of you who are shaking your heads and thinking, "What an idiot!" you're not wrong, but let me just say that I had done this before without incident and felt absolutely confident. This kind of confidence is of course hubristic and not any kind of armor, I know that now. (Although, I must say, I also now know that confidence is absolutely necessary. More on that later.)

I came down the steepest section which goes from a hairpin turn into a fairly long straight-a-way and I hit 55mph. I was moving at the exact same speed as traffic, with a white van about a thousand feet in front of me and a compact following me at a safe distance (for which I'm grateful). Near the end of the straight-a-way, with the mountainside on my left and a row of trees on my right between me and the valley below, I rode past a break in that row of trees, through which blew a stiff and unexpected gust of wind (unexpected because I didn't have the sense to mind my surroundings).

Next thing I know my front wheel is shimmying like crazy and I have to try to slow down. My next and probably most critical error was slamming on the rear brake. Naturally, my rear wheel locked up and I began fish-tailing. Before I could compute what was happening and what I could possibly have done to fix it, I was on the pavement on my left side and sliding down the road. Ultimately I must have slid several hundred feet. Fortunately, the road began curving left, which meant that since I was sliding straight I wasn't going into the on-coming lane. Unfortunately, it also meant that I was headed right for the guardrail. (None of this actually occurred to me until later when I had time to think about it.)

Finally I slammed into the guardrail with my left thigh and I came to an abrupt halt. At first I just sort of looked around and took stock briefly, and then the pain hit. I don't remember seeing the cars pull over, but as I was writhing in the dust I noticed four or five pairs of legs running towards me and then several different people asking me if I was alright. Clearly, a silly question, which actually did occur to me right then and there, but I suppose I'm not sure what else they could have said to me under the circumstances.

It was probably about three or four minutes before I could actually say anything to anyone and answer their questions. I remember actually just trying to ignore them so I could figure out just how bad this was. Some people were discussing calling an ambulance, but eventually I told them that I didn't need one if I could get a ride home with someone. The man driving the compact that had been following me immediately volunteered. I made sure to confirm that he could fit my bike in the car.

Finally I was able to stand up and I remember not being in an unreasonable amount of pain. Probably the adrenaline, but still, it was clear that I hadn't actually broken any bones. Also, I never once hit my head on anything, I remember making a conscious effort as I was sliding to keep my head up. I checked my helmet just to be sure, and there was exactly one small scratch on the exterior paint where I assume a pebble flew up and grazed it. Amazing.

I got in the guy's car (sadly, I don't recall his name) and felt okay, though very stiff. I was able to speak normally at first and we talked for the whole ride (he was in town, from Dallas, on business and had rented a car for the day to do some sightseeing). Soon enough though my cuts started to bleed and the adrenaline wore off and I began shaking. The shaking became progressively worse until the very nice man dropped me off in front of my door. I carried my bike inside (I still hadn't examined it at all, I figured I'd save that for when I was feeling better), poured myself some water, took a bunch of Advil and then got in the tub. I'll spare you the details (I know, I know, too late), but that's when I had to scrub out the gravel from my wounds. This process took a very long time and was, predictably, excruciating.

When I was finished I bandaged myself as best I could and then remembered the leftover Percocets from a skiing injury six months prior. I called in sick (I was supposed to be at my restaurant job in a few hours) and spent the next three days attempting to recuperate.

Anyway, I could go on but this has already become just about the longest post I've done. Sorry. If anyone has read this far, I thank you. The last thing I want to mention is the bike. I busted both wheels, the rim of the rear one cracked in a way I've never seen before which leads me to believe that that wheel is the part of the bike that made contact with the guardrail (I didn't see what hit at the time, too busy watching myself hit). Other than that though, hardly a scratch! Slightly torn handlebar tape and saddle, and scuff marks on the tops of the shifters were the ONLY other indicators of what happened. It looked more like a 10mph crash. Unbelievable.

I guess the guardian angel that kept me alive also hates to see bad things happen to good bicycles.

Oh yeah, before I end this tome, I mentioned something earlier about confidence. Yes, I took that particular hill much too fast and without the proper mental preparedness, and no, I'll probably never go quite that fast again. But here's the rub: after I got back on the bike I was terrified of going even 20mph downhill. I believe that that kind of fear is almost as dangerous as it's counterpart. I've had to work pretty hard and take a lot of hills to get my confidence back to a safe level. Forty five mph is as fast as I'll go now, and I know that might not sound like it's much slower than 55mph, but it really is. And I'll only do that kind of speed when the road and weather conditions are suitable. Thirty five is where I tend to max out in most cases these days.

So anyway, there you have it. That was my Teton Pass adventure from which I'll carry the scars for the rest of my life. Amazingly, it never occurred to me for a second to stop riding. I'm lucky to be alive and I'll never forget that.

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