Pinkies is pieces

6:00 a.m. I arrive at the Lunch Loops parking lot. It's not crowded, but it's certainly not empty; several other folks, like me, are squeezing in a pre-work ride or trail run while the temperature is still somewhat cool. Riding after work is beastly most days in July. Today it's completely overcast, a very rare condition, and the clouds blocking the sunrise make it seem earlier than it is.

While I'm unloading my bike, a red car pulls up and parks next to the truck. The woman who steps out is someone I know from campus, and we chat a bit while I mount my front wheel and release Utah from his crate. She sets off on her run and Utah and I follow, though we soon have to pause so he can take care of his business and I can scoop the poop. I tuck the poop bag into my CamelBak, hoping that it maintains integrity.

Up the Pet-E-Kes trail, a gradual climb of nearly 2 miles. I get stopped by the same four rock obstacles as usual, but I'm feeling a little stronger and don't have to stop for breath today. I enjoy the climb, winding around through rocky slopes dotted with sage and juniper. The wildflowers and prickly pear blooms have faded by now. At the top of the climb I stop to look at the cliffs of the Colorado monument, lit golden pink by a few sunbeams breaking through a hole in the clouds.

I pass another woman who works at the college; she's been hiking with her cattle dog every time I've ridden here early in the morning.

It's such a sweet relief, the shift from uphill to downhill, the sudden sensation of speed, motion that doesn't have to be fought for. The first of the downhill goes well, and I ride through 2 rocky spots that I've walked on previous rides.

Then I hit the stretch of trail that has a series of big drop-offs, from one rocky ledge to another. I bungle the first one, which is also the biggest. My weight is too far forward and when the front wheel hits ground again it sticks instead of rolling and I fly over the handlebars. There is the awful moment while I'm in the air, and then I'm laying on the ground, tangled up with my bike, trying to assess the damage and figure out how to get upright again.

Utah settles into the border collie crouch, watching me and waiting for a signal that it's time to move again. Eventually I decide that I'm mostly unscathed and manage to crawl out from underneath the bike. I see the empty computer mount on my handlebars - the computer must have been knocked off in the crash, so I scrabble around in the rocks until I find it and put it back in place. The bike itself appears unharmed. I manage to get it up on two wheels and me on two feet and we're moving again, slowly and with a bit of dread for the 2 big drop-offs that I know are ahead, but I ride them without incident.

There are a few specific sources of pain: a scrape on my shin, another over my iliac crest, a tenderness in my shoulder, but as I ride the one I'm most aware of is my left pinky finger which is refusing to wrap around the handlebar. I have full-fingered gloves on and I decide not to take them off just yet. After the last drop-off I miss the sharp left turn to get on the trail back to the parking lot, but I get turned around and head in the right direction. This section of trail usually goes pretty fast, but now I'm feeling extra cautious so it seems to take forever. I pass a couple hikers and a man walking two beautiful dogs and then I'm at the final descent, the switchbacks from the mesa top down to the trailhead. Before I start down, I see the red car backing out of the parking lot and know my friend has finished her run.

Soon I'm at the truck, going through the familiar routine of loading up the bike, giving Utah some water, taking off helmet and gloves and bike shoes. My left pinky looks... not right somehow. A bit swollen, not too discolored (yet), but just not right. Later in the morning, a visit with a doctor and an X-ray machine confirm that there is a small fracture at the middle knuckle.


Crested Butte, here we come!