A scream and a tumble: Blame it on the gazpacho
It was a scream like you’d hear in a horror movie, and it was mine.
On a July evening, I was riding my bicycle along with a group of fellow Gig Harbor cyclists called the “Crankers.” As I rode down a long hill, going faster than I should, I hit some gravel and lost control. I barely averted hitting a Jersey barrier, then crashed and rolled.
The next thing I knew, I was lying on the road surrounded by my friends and my husband, Ken. They spoke to me calmly and tended to my needs as they called 911.
The Crankers, so named by friend Ed Josberger, a founding member, have been around Gig Harbor since the 1990’s. Years ago Rob Beezer took on the leadership and organized it for each Tuesday night throughout the spring and summer. The rides last a bit over an hour and afterwards we meet at a restaurant or gather at someone’s home for a big potluck.
That July night the post-ride was being held at a lovely home, and I’d spent hours preparing a big batch of cold gazpacho. I believe part of why I fell was because I was anxious to finish and set the gazpacho out in time. So silly!
The ambulance took me and Ken to St. Anthony’s, while the Crankers kicked into gear. While some waited with our bikes, one rode back to the start where we’d all parked, got his car and returned to pick up our bikes. Then, those who had waited cycled back to the start with our car keys. Our bikes were put back on our car, then they drove it to the hospital and delivered the keys to Ken.
At the hospital emergency room, everyone treated me gently. They scanned my head and neck to make sure I had no serious injuries and gave me pain medication. Then they cleaned and stitched up the lacerations on my face and cleaned my road rash, all the while speaking words of encouragement and comfort. I was released home in the wee hours of Wednesday morning.
Later that day I went to the dentist and learned I would need five crowns and the replacement of a tooth with an implant. Still, I felt lucky that I wasn’t worse off, and it’s a sentiment that many have expressed since the accident.
By Thursday I was ready for visitors. John Samms, a recently retired doctor, friend and Cranker, came and changed the dressings on my arms, demonstrating for Ken how to do it. Family and friends brought flowers, apples, muffins, casseroles and desserts, as well as ointment to put on my bruises. My gazpacho came back untouched, but I was able to share it with visitors, glad to be offering something to them in return for their support. Ken spoiled me with his wonderful cooking, and neighbors had us to dinner and invited others who wished me well.
People who heard about it called or sent me cards and emails empathizing with my pain. Many shared stories of their cycling falls, like one man who had to have nine of his lower teeth replaced! Another said he’d fallen in that same spot I had and broken his clavicle. I was not alone.
I attended church with my banged-up face and was uplifted. I joined the remaining post-ride potlucks. Each week folks told me how much better I looked. Now more than ever, I realize that when a person is traumatized, kind comments and actions do make a huge difference in that person’s healing. I only wish that everyone in the world who is wounded physically or emotionally could be given the same care.
Reach Mary Magee at marymagee@harbornet.com
This story was originally published September 24, 2019 at 10:13 AM.