Down!

(Who else? Bill Watterson)

Wish I could say I don't remember when I last fell of my bike. Unfortunately, I remember it vividly. It was May 19, 1991, less than four months before my scheduled September wedding. The place: the Chicago lakefront, just north of Oak Street Beach, long before the surface was smoothed, repaved and beautified with palm trees.
I accepted an idiotic dare to hop a block of concrete from my husband-to-be, and chickened out at the last minute, executing instead a classic face plant. This resulted in a vertical line of swollen black scabs that adorned my forehead, nose, upper lip and chin for several weeks. I was so bummed out, that when I caught a kid staring at me in the checkout line at Jewel, I stuck my tongue out at him.
Anyway, that was sheer stupidity. I've never fallen in the ordinary act of riding my bike down the street. Until this week.
There we were, many years after that fateful dare, riding peacefully down Lawrence Ave., approaching a red light at Western. I gently slowed down, shifting into a lower gear in my accustomed way, when I sensed that something was wrong. Very briefly. For presently, I was airborne, and conscious of landing heavily on my left side.
Luckily, the cars were not moving, stopped at the red light.
What happened? demanded Chris.
I didn't know! It seemed like everything I did was perfectly ordinary, and yet, I knew I had made a mistake an instant before I fell.
As we dragged our bikes toward Cafe Salmarie in Lincoln Square,  I stared down at my handlebars dejectedly. And it slowly dawned on me what went wrong.

(Bracing my fingers on the handlebar, as I shift with my thumb)

My twenty-year-old bike sports Shimano Deore thumbshifters, the kind that are not really made anymore.  As I shift into lower gears, I'm actually fighting several forces working against me: I'm pushing the chain onto the largest cog in the rear, I'm stretching the gear cable to its maximum tautness, and I'm fighting against the spring of the rear derailleur. All with my right thumb. So, to give that thumb more leverage, I take the fingers of my right hand off the rear brake lever, and brace them against the handlebar.

(Braking with my left hand only. Bad idea.)

Because I'm approaching the red light, and am conscious of the need to slow down, my left hand continues to squeeze the front break. The phenomenally effective Mathauser brake pads engage the front rim, the front wheels stays planted, while the rear one bucks up, and sends Justyna sailing onto the asphalt!....
The weirdest thing is, that this is what I habitually do. As we continued riding that day (I wasn't badly hurt), I realized I did the same thing each and every time I approached an intersection.
Chris' immediate solution was to switch the shifters on my bike. But, I pointed out, with these same shifters on my bike for the last twenty years, this was the only time I fell because of the shifting problem. I'm not sure this calls for a whole drivetrain makeover.
I think the lesson learned is this. Well... two lessons. One, don't stop the bike using only the front brake. Two, it's very hard to stay really focused. When we are comfortably used to something, we relax, and let our attention drift. Maybe I should get those shifters changed just to shake things up a bit, and start paying attention.

Comments

[Dottie]

Yikes, glad you're okay! That's a big intersection. I'll have to pay attention and see if I do the same thing when shifting/braking, although I don't have thumb shifters.

[2whls3spds]

One of the reasons I subscribe to the rear brake on the left, front brake on the right. I started it when I was doing bike polo 30 years ago, then just set most of my bikes up that way.

Aaron

[Justyna]

Mostly I'm OK. I have a stiff neck that will need some attention after the holiday weekend.
Many different types of shifters may cause you to let go of the rear brake. Certainly grip shifters. The suggestion for switching the brakes is interesting. I've heard of others doing it. It would certainly take some getting used to, and keep me on my toes.