Cinco De Mayo Dos Teeth - Breaking Teeth On Bikes

Rest assured you will not lose your front teeth in a bike wreck.  Things happen in threes, almost to the point of being freaky for me.  Tuesday, Adam was the third of my friends to lose teeth in a bike wreck. 

#1 HEATHER

The first of my friends to eat it was Heather, a college friend from UW Platteville.  She cut her teeth (always wanted to say that line from Lassie) popping a small mid-campus wheelie to get over a curb.  Sorry no photo.  We didn't have digital cameras back then kiddies.  The front wheel fell out of the drops.  Yeah.  Yikers.  I can only imagine the moment when she saw her fork in the air and the wheel wobbling its way to the ground.  Think Reservoir Dogs.  Looking back, it was the early 90’s.  Maybe that incident was responsible for the lawyer tabs on quick release forks.  It was horrible, the kind of horrible that can only happen to a pretty young girl in her early 20’s.  The word disfigurement ran through the rumor mill.  A visit to the cosmetic surgeon to fix her chin and yada yada yada she was back with a spectacular set of new choppers.  On the bright Beverly Hills side, I actually think she looked better!

#2 JIMMY

Just weeks ago, THIS GUY, my buddy Jimmy lost half of his front toofers when the wooden slats of a covered bridge deck grabbed his front tire.  While Heather had lost some chin skin, the complete force of Jimmy’s blow came to his teeth.  The more I hear about teeth only injuries, they don’t seem to hurt, at least if you break them off before the nerve.  Ewww.  I just got a heebie jeebie shake down my left leg.  Jimmy peeled himself off the bridge deck, put the two while chips in his jersey pocket and rode the 20 miles home like a champ, taking long pulls and posing for pictures.  The complete story is here.

#3 ADAM

The last of my friends ever to loose their teeth in a bike wreck is Adam.  I think I like him because he sorta looks insane, is a titch quirky, but is really quite down to earth.  Here’s the edited first person account of how Adam ate it and left his teef in a ditch along the mountain bike trails at East Fork State Park in Ohio.

So there I was, in the middle of a perfectly enjoyable mid-week ride with Charlie, Sherry, and Billy.  Dry trail, sun shining, riding was a blast.  It was hard to get much better.  (Only if animated blue Disney birdies were singing and flying around his head) 

Chit-chatting at cruising speed, we had just finished a lap of Phase1 (East Fork has yet to come up with clever names for trails) and started our second lap (Phase 2 I assume, leave a comment if not.)  I brought up the rear of the strung out trail pace-line as we approached a wooden plank bridge corner that I've ridden thousands of times.  As I roll around the corner, so rolls my front tire.  My front end comes to a dead stop with my face forcefully kissing my headset (pretty sure he means stem.)  I endo and, to literally add insult to injury, I fall sideways into the ditch crossed by the bridge. 

(At this point I imagine him struggling on the ground like a snake that was just stepped on by a pro wrestler.)  I propped myself up onto my elbows and unclipped my left foot from my pedal.  I held out my hand and spit the contents of my mouth into my palm.  Like a prospector sluicing for gold, I thumb over a dozen tiny white splinters that used to be my two front teeth. 

Of course I wasn't carrying any air. (For that flat rolled tubeless tire which humorously is his biggest concern at this moment.)  So I shouldered my rig and hiked back to the parking lot. There was no way I was just going to leave and not show Charlie or Bill my ridiculous face (and hair, photo above).   Keep in mind that it was Cinco de Mayo.  So I change my clothes, grabbed a pre-packed Corona, sat on the roof of my Xterra, and played synthesizer until they roll back. 

Footnote:  I had no idea Adam is one of THOSE GUYS who carry around a synthesizer in their cars in case of a lonely moment.  I apologize and at this moment disown him.  Then again, looking at the photo of his pencil troll doll hair and missing teeth, I’m so glad a park ranger didn’t come through the lot and mistake him for a creepy local weirdo.

Hungry Covered Bridge Snaps At Jimmy, Jimmy Bites Back

It was dinner time.  Just coming out of hibernation of a relatively cyclist free winter, the bridge was hungry that day my friend.  Like the foul breath of a sleeping monster, you could feel the warm wet wind rush through.  Lying in wait for the perfect prey, the bridge let four pass its jaws before it set its starved eyes on Jimmy, the young meaty looking one.  Right away, the bridge could tell that Jimmy was different.  Obvious from the hundred yard approach, Jimmy’s shorts were black with no logos.  Jimmy's jersey was grey and baggy, making him appear plumper and juicier.  Oblivious to the hunger pangs of the bridge, Jimmy was marked before his rubber met the wood.  Doomed.

Jimmy wasn’t a newbie by definition.  Jimmy raced cyclocross last season.  Jimmy’s been mountain biking, but Jimmy still had to master a few odd ball trappings of the road, one being The Hungry Covered Bridge.  The four that passed knew the carnage that the covered bridge was capable of delivering.  At one time or another all had dabbed upon crossing, and although it’s never been confessed, I hear one had lost a wheel to the bridge.  The first four respected the bridge and its foot-wide deck boards separated by a wheel grabbing inch and a half gap from each other.  In turn, the bridge respected their skills.  Each rider no doubt could ride on top of a roadside curb for 75 feet without turning into the grass or dropping onto the street.  A foot wide deck plank was no trouble anymore.  Not for Jimmy.

The bridge could see that Jimmy’s handlebars weren’t quite as steady as the others on the approach.  Jimmy had a new bike, a beautiful Trek Madone.  Having ridden it for only a few weeks, Jimmy was still getting used to the racy feel, the Madone being more twitchy than a steady cyclocross our mountain bike.  Jimmy saw the first four enter the bridge on the right.  Probably guessing he should give the others some room, he stuck left.  Jimmy knew the bridge had gaps between the planks, but Jimmy didn’t know what the others took for common knowledge.  Probably being hand-built, the plank widths weren’t uniform.  The widest deck planks were about three feet right of center.  The bridge drew another foul breath and opened its jaws.

Jimmy entered the uphill appoach which placed him on a 10 inch wide plank.  Like a skilled rider, Jimmy knew the bike will follow the eyes.  Concentrating, Jimmy looked ahead down the bridge.  However, since he was entering on a hill, he had not seen the first few feet of the bridge's deck.  Jimmy’s mountain biking logic betrayed him.  Jimmy didn’t see that the plank he had entered on was thinner than the others, broken and narrowed to only 6 inches at the other end.  With an unsteady twitch of the new Madone’s front end, he veered toward the abyss, a five to six inch gap in the bridge deck.  Jimmy’s wheel dipped.  Jimmy’s bike flipped.  Jimmy nearly s*&%, but Jimmy bit back.  Literally.  With a big bone shattering chomp that echoed through the gaping mouth of the covered bridge, Jimmy bit that bridge with enough force to break his front tooth.  (Look closely at photo.  That's Jimmy's blurry tongue poking between his front teef)

Jimmy quickly got up and dusted himself off.  We inspected Jimmy’s bike.  Jimmy’s bike was still rideable.  Jimmy was shaken, but aside from the tooth, unbroken.  Jimmy picked up his tooth (seen in photo), stuffed it in his jersey pocket, mounted up and rode remarkably strong and in good spirits with the group the twenty or so miles home.

 Before he made a call to the dentist this morning Jimmy sent me an email to thank us for making sure he was okay the whole way home.  Jimmy added kiddingly, and I quote, “next time I cross that bridge I am bringing matches.”

For more history on the Hungry Covered Bridge read this previous entry titled "When It's Okay To Bail Mid-Ride"