Fracture on Fromme

I have been flying like the Wallendas since I got my Hoots pads. I can't say that my added confidence can be wholly attributed to being armoured by Jay Krantz but that is certainly part of it. Because of this confidence I wasn't falling and as a result I didn't feel I could write about my Hootsmail. How can you evaluate protection before you taste a lumberjack's helping of soil and rock?

On Saturday we geared up for a double shot. We shuttled up to Corkscrew, sessioned the new gapper then tore down Boogie to the Empress, our shit eating grins speckled with the fall's first good mud. Still feeling fresh we said goodbye to Mike (a new dad can't pull a double) loaded up and headed for Mountain highway and the motherload of trails on Fromme. We looped the wicked jump trail on the way up (Blondie doesn't want me to name it but think early 80's cheese music) before climbing the rest of the way to the Brew.

"Happier times" by Noel Hendrickson

Now earlier that day I had said "you know I have never even broken a bone riding". Dumb. Stupid. Bloody well asinine. Then as Blondie dropped in he said "I remember when this move was really intimidating". Now in the dry I pretty much have this move (a right hander over a log onto a rock ramp, slight bend and then a plank for the remainder) dialed, but as previously mentioned it was slick as a tub full of herring after a long, glorious interval of dry. Blondie, the bastard, rolled in like nothing and was gone. Brent was next. My view was blocked but I could hear him biting it. It wasn't one of those quick and dirty piles but one that went on for a while and had the potential to be filthy. Brent was still getting his chit togeddah when I stepped up to the plate. My recent invincibility left me unprepared for what happened next. I rolled off the ramp, but not onto the plank, into thin air instead. There I was, quite surprised to be rolling along at this obsene angle on my front wheel, but for a moment I thought there was a chance my rear wheel would drop. The next thing I knew I was supermanning toward an unwelcoming arrangement of rocks, logs and pungi sticks. As I prepared for landing I planted my outstretched right hand precisely on a flat, granite baby head that was angled steeply toward me. The rest of me dutifully followed and I paused there in my humble heap to reflect on just how fleeting 2 weeks of confidence can be. I can't say what I felt at that moment was exactly pain - it was more of a sickening focus of nerve activity that made me think weekends on the couch instead of the bike. I extricated myself with Brent's help and he described the way I had followed his path exactly. My arm wasn't feeling too bad at this point but I was sure that there were no more trails in my near future. I coasted sadly down the fireroad and drowned my sorrows in a machiato at Starbucks while I waited for the boys.

I don't recommend VGH emerg on a Saturday night. They pretty much told me to come back the next day which was okay with me - it was Saturday night after all. I returned the next morning, a little cloudy headed but pleased to have enjoyed the evening instead of reading old New Yorker magazines with a crowd of ill and injured folks. The radiologist was drawing circles on my x-rays so the doctor's news was no surprise: fractured radius, 6 weeks of plaster and no riding for awhile.

"Mounted" by Peter O'Donnell

The good news is that now I can write an honest account of my new armour - and I'll have plenty of time to plant it at the keyboard or behind the lens.

Cam McRae