I had my first “oh shit” moment on the road bike today. After a wonderful 40-minute ride that overly inflated my confidence in my ability to handle clip-ins, I found myself wrecked and pinned under my bike—in my own driveway. I yelled for the neighbors, but was kind of glad when I got no response. Embarrassment and pain were of fairly equal measure before the blood even started flowing.

The fall came from stupidity, but it scared the hell out of me and taught me a lesson I won’t forget. My house is on a steep hill, and I wanted one last, quick rush of powering up a hill before I left the great outdoors for the overrated indoors. I challenged the driveway hill with more effort than I intended, and quickly found myself facing the chain link fence at the top. Great, I thought, as I slowed the bike. Just turn your heel to the outside, and your shoe will pop right out of the pedal, and… it didn’t.

I had nowhere to go but sideways and down. I felt like a redwood crashing to the ground, and with both of my feet still locked into the pedals, I twisted awkwardly in a panic reminiscent of those dreams where you try to run but your feet won’t go. The first impact was my right hip on the concrete, quickly followed by my right hand, elbow, shoulder, and knee.

When I saw the bike pinned down on my body and realized I was still locked into the pedals, I yelled for the neighbors. It was a half-hearted yell, and by its wimpy volume, I consciously realized what I subconsciously already knew: I’d gotten myself into this mess, and I needed to get myself out.

The first order of business was assessing my hip. It hurt terribly much, and I instantly thought of the broken hips I’ve been studying in school. Once I decided the hip was intact, I took off my helmet, pulled my water bottle from its cage, and tried to calm my dogs, who were going nuts on the other side of the fence. I took a sip of water, stared at the bike, and wondered how to get my feet loose.

As with all traumatic events, big and small, there’s a time period where you don’t know what happened. I don’t know how I got my feet free, but I did, and then I somehow pushed the bike away, heaved myself up, and took off those damned cycling shoes. The bike and I looked equally trashed—not too bad, but both would’ve rather the crash not happened.

I’m quite sure that a throbbing, hit-by-a-truck feeling will set in tomorrow morning, but for now, I say this to all you rookie cyclists out there—what those veterans told us, that crashing is inevitable—is true. And yes, when you’re falling, it feels like the scariest moment of your life. But once you’re picking up the pieces, it’s not so bad.

I was lucky, and I hope you are, too. Keep riding, friends. Tipping over in our driveways is what keeps us honest. If we aren’t occasionally reminded of our mortality, we might not remember how good it feels to be alive and able to pedal.

Ready to ride

I thought I might chicken out as I clomped down the steep driveway in new cycling shoes. My loyal friend, who agreed to play human training wheels for the day, guided my bike down the hill so as to not complicate my descent. I remembered watching another friend fall awkwardly on the soccer field in high school and hearing her collarbone snap. By the time I got to the street, I was most certain my collarbone would be broken in at least three places from spilling off the bike.

The ride started out well, although the human training wheels routine—friend holding seat and top tube while I clipped in—was absolutely necessary. Once my feet were in, I felt a surprising oneness with the bike, and charged happily up the hill toward my first intersection. I don’t live in a high-traffic area, so I was pretty sure I’d be able to pull through a left turn without a full stop.

Not so. “The Cat Lady,” as she is affectionately known by many neighbors, had chosen that exact moment to come roaring up the hill in her ancient, spray-painted Mercury Marquis. I felt a moment of panic, remembered my intact collarbone, and concentrated on swinging a right turn instead of my intended left. I glided happily onto the open road, and could already tell the improved efficiency and comfort brought by switching to cycling shoes. I actually felt more stable on the bike, and buzzed around the block to return home to show off my skills.

The coolest part of the ride—it was only about a ten-minute jaunt, but I’ve learned to build up new things slowly and quit while I’m ahead—was being passed by a sleek, black Mercedes. The driver gave me a wide birth, and I could tell he had to press harder on the gas pedal than he originally intended to get around me, because I was almost doing the speed limit, and most people don’t expect that of a biker.

Getting off the bike might have been a bit of a problem without my dear training wheels, but the whole thing seemed dangerously effortless. I got off the bike feeling exhilarated and confident, and I can’t wait to clip in and ride again. I may fall next time, but the initial sting of fear is gone, and I’m sure glad to not have to attach to this post the picture I had in mind—a view of the emergency room ceiling.

Bike shoes

Today is the day, both dreaded and anticipated, that I take my road bike around the neighborhood for the first time with my feet clipped into the pedals. For those unfamiliar with such technology, as I was, for roughly $100 you can buy the strangest pair of shoes you’ll ever own, then fork out more dough for strange pedals, then hop on your bike and hope you don’t die. The goal is bigger bang for your buck—better pedaling efficiency, and less likelihood that any turn of the legs will be a wasted effort. Sold.

Underside of bike shoes

I have pretty good balance, but the idea of my feet locking into a pair of shoes that require a perfect pivot to release from pedals is terrifying. Every cyclist I’ve talked to has given me the same bottom line: I’ll fall a few times, but then I’ll get used to the clipped-in method and love it. They act like falling is no big deal. One friend even laughed when she described tipping over at a stop sign. While I’m glad they’re all okay, I’m not made of rubber like they seem to be. When I fall—even slip in a puddle in my own driveway—something snaps or pops or just plain hurts. I don’t bounce and keep going.

I’ve practiced with my funny shoes and funny cleats on an indoor bicycle trainer for a while, but the monotony of staring at the wall has forced my adventurous spirit to take to the road. It’s a “road bike,” after all.

I’ll not undertake this challenge without help. I perused the aisles of Wal-Mart and seriously considered affixing training wheels to my bike, but came up with a less embarrassing solution. I’ll have a good friend—the kind of friend who’s rare and wonderful enough to indulge my odd requests—act as human training wheels. She’ll hold my seat and the top tube of my bike until I get the shoes to lock into the pedals, sort of like my dad did when I first zoomed down the street on two wheels. I’ll loop around the block, then come to a gentle stop and have her grab my bike again while I try to click out of the pedals. Foolproof? Hopefully. I’ll wear a helmet, mouthpiece, and maybe some kneepads just in case.

It’s hot and humid, the first of August, and high time to find out if I can even begin to imagine what it feels like to be Lance Armstrong. Plus, I mailed in my health insurance premium yesterday, which always gives me a tingling desire to try something stupid. I look forward to the follow-up to this post, because if I write it, it means I’ve survived. Outta my way, neighbors!

Shoe details: Shimano SPD-SL RD86. Two velcro straps across the forefoot, plus a ratchet-style strap that adjusts smoothly, even in a hurry. Nice cushioning inside, with a removable insole.