A Cyclist's Series of Unfortunate Events

How I fought a stinging insect, was thrown from my bike, lost some memory, and ended up in the emergency room covered with poison ivy.

The accident, as I remember it. Illustration: Brandon Withrow

The TL;DR

• You never know when a bike accident will happen. Something as small as an insect can be the only distraction needed.

• The kindness of strangers is not to be underestimated on the trail.

• Phone data can mean a lot when you lose a few minutes of memory.

• Helmets save lives.

• I have a new piece in The Hill: “Lack of green spaces in under-represented communities is a health crisis that can't wait.”

• I have a new piece in The Daily Beast: “Indiana Is a Land of Exotic Dunes and Perfect Blue Water.”

I ride my bike a lot. Cycling is partly what I cover as a travel writer and mostly what I just do every day to center myself. Just me, the sun, a nice trail, and sometimes, a face full of pavement.

That’s what happened on Tuesday of last week.

I cycle about 20 miles a day on my old trusty Trek. Cycling is my lifeline. If I’m feeling down, I ride. If I can’t figure out an article, I ride. If I ate too much the night before, I ride (extra).

But Tuesday, right after I submitted my eBird checklist, I rounded a corner of my beloved Wabash-Cannonball Trail, soaked in the fresh air and sun, and then, within a minute I had an insect stinging me from within my cycling jersey. I went to get it out and then, well, my memory has some gaps in it.

My Garmin recorded the crash, can you figure out where it happened below?

A real Garmin record of my crash. Blue = bad.

I vaguely remember grabbing the brakes — the wrong brakes!

My left hand was all I had free and like an amateur I squeezed my front brakes. They locked up at somewhere around 12-15 mph, throwing me face — or more accurately chin — first into the pavement. I remember the dense feeling of impact and a few spinning flashes. I remember someone eventually telling me to lay down, and then later telling me to hold onto the bike until we walked to the end of the trail.

I don’t remember that walk.

I’ve never lost memories (around 7 minutes worth) due to head trauma. It’s kind of a freaky thing to know that your personal safety and ability to not lose things like your wallet or keys or bike are based around people you not only do not know, but can’t even see at the time. I hate the feeling of helplessness. It’s why I often over-plan for things like trips.

I’ve spent time looking over the data on my apps, hoping to piece together that moment, and to regain some of that lost control that I keep feeling. My Garmin also recorded my fall in other forms of data, like my speed and heart rate. I showed that data to my doctor and he said, “yup, that’s where your adrenaline shot up.”

It’s a strange thing to have a record of something you can’t remember.

My heart rate. The first black gap is me stopped to upload an e-Bird checklist. The second large gap is the accident. The heart rate jumps at that point.

And to my amusement, my Garmin also recorded the elevation loss (below), which is unsurprisingly inversely proportional to my heart rate. That record seems way off, though, like, did I go to hell for a moment or something?

I do remember calling my spouse, who knew immediately that something was wrong.

“Are you ok?” I remember her asking.

“I don’t think so,” I remember saying.

My memories become fresher at the trailhead, where I remember several cyclists helping me. A woman handed me her handkerchief and told me not to worry about giving it back. I had blood to wipe off everywhere.

I got a text from my spouse saying she was almost there. Somehow either I, or someone else, dropped a pin for my location.

I remember a guy — that same guy who helped me get to the end of the trail (I think) — calling a park ranger to show up with a kit. I tried to take a couple pictures of myself to see what the damage was. I wasn’t sure I had all my teeth (one is chipped).

I spent the rest of the afternoon in the emergency room getting tests, cleaning wounds, getting stitches in my chin, and enjoying some morphine. Fortunately, I was less than a mile from the hospital. I’m still figuring out what the damage is physically.

The icing on the cake?

I apparently fell into poison ivy, so I’m covered not only in cuts and bruises, I’m also covered in rashes. Oh, and I need a new bike, new helmet, new gloves…you see where this is going.

It was a series of unfortunate events for me, but here’s the thing: I survived.

But based on how I was hit — in the head, the nose, the eyes, the forehead — if I had not been wearing a helmet, then I might not have walked away and that data would be meaningless to me. I see people riding without helmets all the time. When the pandemic hit, I saw a bunch of newbies who had discovered a love for bikes, which is fantastic, but they did not all go out and immediately buy a helmet. I still see people without helmets on bikes.

As my doctor told me about another patient: “When you hit something head first without a helmet at 25 mph, you are now an organ donor. Always have the helmet.” And it doesn’t take more than a second for your entire life to change even at slower speeds.

So always wear the damn helmet.

Also, I really hate that insect.

Ever have a bad cycling accident? Tell me about it in the comments.

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Hi, I’m Brandon Withrow. I'm a freelance travel journalist—stranded by the pandemic. You’ll find me in places like The Daily Beast, Business Insider, Sierra Magazine, and The Hill. Follow me on Twitter or Instagram or visit brandonwithrow.com.

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