So here I was, lying on the road, with my head and neck supported by the warm and soft hands of a kind woman. Sun was blazing into my eyes, as if someone had placed a powerful lens between my eyes and the sun. And I was trying to assess the damages.

i could not move my right hand. The left thigh felt raw. Right chest hurt when I tried to take deep breath. One thing was clear: Triple Bypass is out of question.

The kind people around me were trying to do their best to make me comfortable, while making sure that I was safe. I nearly broke down, not from the pain, but from the attention and kindness showered on me. I could not even see their faces, or count them, for they were busy slowing down the vehicles, calling the ambulance, and cleaning my wounds as best as they could.

It happened in less than a second. We (that is Brendan, Rick, Sue and Kirk, whom we had met only a few minutes ago ) were coming down from Brainard Lake. We started the ride, the last tough training ride before the Triple, in Boulder and climbed to Ward — over 4000 feet by a 17 mile long mountain road that is one of the hardest in Boulder county. Brendan and Dave, a new ‘member’ to our group, flew it up compared to the rest of us. For me, I had vowed to myself that I would not take a break until Ward, something I had never managed before.

By the time I reached Ward, Brendan and Dave had had at least 15 minutes of rest! After Rick and Sue joined us about 10 minutes later, and after having a nice short break, B, R and myself left for Brainard lake. It was a surprisingly hard climb. We made it to the lake, which is approximately at 10,200 feet above sea level, in about 40 minutes. Soon after, Sue, who was apparently coaxed into doing it by Kirk, and Kirk himself joined us.

The ride and the climb were worth it. It is an extraordinarily beautiful place. After spending a few minutes going around the lake, we started down.

As the descend started, Brendan, as usual, flew by. I did not try to keep up with him, because it was impossible. About five or six minutes into the ride, I came to sharp corner. Perhaps out of tiredness, I misjudged my speed and the sharpness of the turn. As I tried to navigate it, half way through the bend, I realized that I was running into the shallow diitch on the right hand side. And I made the catastrophic mistake: braked hard. Then I felt the rear wheel sliding under me. It was too late. In a moment the bike and I were sliding over the tarmac. The last thing I saw before it was over was a rock, perhaps a foot or more in size. Then my right chest crashed against it. I remember screaming. Then I came to a stop.

It was all over. Took less than a couple of seconds, perhaps.

Later I was taken to the ER, where X-rays showed a minor fracture on the shoulder bone. There was pretty bad road rash on my left thigh. There were scratches and bruises all over. But nothing was serious. I was fortunate.

Perhaps Mother Nature (or God?) was giving me a warning. Perhaps I have strayed too far from computational electromagnetics, the first love that made all these things possible, and She wanted to remind me of it. I know, it isn’t rational.

So here I am, typing with my semi-functional left hand. Thinking hard, reflecting on the paths that I have followed, hoping that I have learnt something valuable.

While I was being taken down to the hospital, the paramedic in the ambulance made an observation. She said: “There are only two kinds of cyclists; those who have crashed and those who haven’t yet.” That is essentially what Andy, a friend and a colleague, always says about bicycle crashes: “it is not an ‘if;’ it is a ‘when.’”

There is one more thing. No amount of words would convey what I feel for all those kind people, strangers and friends alike, who took care of me during this incident. To all of them, most I may not even recognize if/when I come across them, let me at least say “Thank You.”