It seemed like a brilliant idea: pay tribute to Steve McQueen by entering in the 100-mile off-road race at Elsinore this November.
Well, I won’t be doing that, or much of anything, for the rest of the year.
There’s a long version of the story and I’ll be telling it soon in a manner that I hope will amuse you all, but in the interest of brevity here’s the TL;DR:
Broke the end of my leg on motorcross bike, at motocross track, right where it fits into the knee. Also messed up said knee. It was my “good” leg, the one that’s longer than the “bad” one. Currently experiencing more authentic pain than I’ve had since 1988. This is really character building.
All I can say is that I finished the ride and got the bike off the track and back to the pits, broken leg and all, under my own steam. Once two people lifted me up and put me on said bike.
It was the oddest of freak accidents and probably didn’t happen at more than 30mph.
If anybody needs me, I’ll be inventing new curse words pretty much every time I have to go to the bathroom or move at all. This will be particularly true during the seven hours I’ll be spending on Southwest Airlines tomorrow.
If I promised to:
- help you move
- run in your 5k
- walk somewhere to meet you for lunch
- speak to you without intermittent screaming
those promises are null and void until 2016.