THIRD STRIKE ON BIKE - SURVIVING ON ROADS FILLED WITH MOTORISTS

  • Published
  • By 2nd Lt. Neil B. Samson
  • 366th Fighter Wing Public Affairs Mountain Home AFB, Idaho
VANDENBERG AIR FORCE BASE, Calif. --  It's Saturday evening, Oct. 11, and I am a mile away from finishing my second Ironman World Championships in Kona, Hawaii. It consists of a 2.4-mile swim, 112-mile bike ride, and a 26.2-mile marathon for the last leg. It is 140.6 miles -- the equivalent of traveling from New York City to Washington D.C. in 17 hours or less. As my arms, legs and feet burn with pain and I'm driven on by the cheers of the crowd, I can't help but think how this moment almost never happened.

Somehow I survived the "three strikes and you're out" theory.
First, in September 2006, I was 120 miles in to a 130-mile bicycle ride. The training ride ended 10 miles short when I collided with a car that was making a right turn. Apparently, the driver did not see me in his car's blind-spot and hit me with the right side of his vehicle. I flew over the right side of his hood and hit head-first into the ground, did a cartwheel, and finally ended-up on my back. Luck was with me, as I only sustained a bruised hip, which healed in about four days, allowing me to participate in my first ironman a month later.

Then in January 2007, I was riding in the middle of a bicycle squad, or "peloton," on a training ride. Someone in front of me hit his brakes abruptly, subsequently causing a domino effect. I hit his front wheel, and my bike was thrown sideways. I crashed violently. The riders in trail smashed into me and fell on top of me.

I lay unconscious under the dog-pile.

Again fortune was with me: I suffered a concussion, but otherwise only had abrasions or "road rash" on my arm and leg.

Turn the pages to April 2007, and I am lying in a hospital again. This time, the accident occurred at night. A car hit me while making a left turn at a three-way intersection. The driver was going forward, and I was pedaling opposite his direction. He clipped my left ankle with the front bumper of his car.

I suffered a sprained ankle initially, which later worsened and became a strained Achilles tendon. The injury took nearly seven months to heal. I dealt with a bit of disappointment because I'd been training for a qualifying race to my second ironman, and I had to squash that dream for the entire year.

Yes, I survived three strikes, but I also came away smarter after each incident (see "What I Learned in the Face of Death" below). Because at the end of the day, we all want to have fun, but we also want to live to tell about it.