Cruisin' For a Bruisin'

...And, I return to civilization!

I believe I was in heaven for a week at the end of June! Then, with my decision to go back to school in the fall and work on a grant proposal, my mind has been elsewhere...

So, let me get you all back up to speed:

I spent a week biking through Northern California. It was a beautiful way to experience the countryside, and a surprisingly, easy trip with my family. One of my sisters, my brother(engaged as of today!!), my parents, and myself biked from Sonoma, to Bodega Bay, through the Redwood Forest, and out to Healdsburg.

We ate. We drank. We Biked.

...and, I fell...

The 3rd day was a 44 mile ride from Bodega Bay, along Highway 1, onto Highway 116 into the Redwoods, and then back out of the forest to Madrona Manor, where we spent the night. That morning somewhere along Highway 1, after my fear of 18-wheelers and lumber trucks was realized, I hopped in the van.

I started biking again at the water stop, only to find out later I missed the hardest part of the week...and, what my dad later referred to as a mirage: appearing to be one thing: flat, and instead finding a series of rather steep hills. When I got on my bike I was ready to transcend the forest! Feeling the courage of the Lion in Oz and humming Harry Potter theme music as we entered the 100 foot trees.

We were less than a mile from lunch, in the midst of the forest, when my fear of fast cars and semis came to a raging stop! Literally. A car came within a foot of my bike, I swirved to the right(away from traffic), hit a bump, in the shade, and my bike came out from under me. I let out a cry for my mom, who was about 20 feet ahead of me.

Mostly shaken up, mulch down my pants, gravel and dirt everywhere, and starting to sob, a few of the other bikers in our group came to my aid. My right hip/ but cheek was swelling, stinging, and turning a bright red, along with a cut on my right arm that began oozing almost immediately. I told everyone to keep riding, including my mother, who by this point was insisting I just get back on my bike! If you haven't met my mom, she is kind of a hard ass...and a 5'1'' 100 lb. tank.

I waited for the van, got in for the 2nd time that day, and was icing my hip by lunch. If it wasn't for the amazing leader, Johnathan, I may not have gotten back on my bike again. He helped me conquer my fear and rode with me (side by side) the rest of the afternoon. Without his great conversation, guidance, and confidence, I may not have made it through the next few days.

The bruise quickly turned from red, to a kaleidoscope of blues, greens, and blacks, which have all since disappeared. The cut scabbed, but is now merely a scar, a tattooed reminder of my trip out west and a fun family adventure!