I was distracted

So, this whole "let's write stories down for posterity/amusement of others/fake online community I like to pretend exists" has kind of failed. In my defense though, I was updating blogs regularly this entire time. I was in Germany from Feb. to Aug. 2009. During that time I kept lovely blog of my adventures. Then when I returned to school one of my assignments for class was to write a daily blog about what I was reading. That one no longer exists since it was set up through the school otherwise I would give you the link to prove that I was doing something. Not that anyone actually cares, not that anyone actually read this. I know you are thinking by now, "I thought this was going to be a blog of stories. Where is the story?" Here it comes.

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When I graduated high-school I requested that everyone get me money as a gift. I wanted cold-hard cash. No new towels, dorm room organizers, or other cutsie things. I wasn't trying to be greedy, I had a plan for all that dough. I wanted to buy a bike. When I got to campus the first thing that my parents and I did was hit up a local bike shop.

After some thinking I decided that a mountain bike would best suit my purposes. You sit up straighter on them, they go off curbs way better, and if I crashed they tend to be a little bit sturdier. I walked away with a men's large, black, Specialized Hardrock. I named him Stealth.

I rode Stealth every single day. He was my only form of transportation, but I didn't let that slow me down. I used him to get to class, the grocery store, downtown. Stealth and I went everywhere together.

Fast forward to the end of the semester. My friend, Kate, wanted to go to the Central West End for an art gallery opening. We decided that we were going to ride our bikes to the metro station, take the metro to the Central West End and then ride to the gallery. After going to the opening we were going to meet some of our other friends at the ice skating rink in Forest Park.

When we got to the metro station we were greeted by signs informing us that the metro was unable to run because the tracks had iced over in the recent storm. Kate and I were pretty bummed out when we heard this. But then we thought to ourselves, "We have mountain bikes, snowy terrain is no match for our supper studded tires. And besides, the roads were clear so we wouldn't have to deal with that much snow."

We took off down the sidewalk of Forest Park Parkway heading for Forest Park. Riding on the sidewalk through the snow and ice it took us 15 minutes to go a grand distance of half a mile. That should have been our second big clue to turn around and go back to the comfort of our nice heated dorm. But, as my mother tends to remind me, freshmen's brains are still underdeveloped and immature and this leads to poor decision making. So we kept trekking.

We finally reached the entrance to the park and were able to ride on the road without having to worry about the very heavy traffic on some of the other roads. Inside the park, the snowplows had done a fantastic job clearing the snow and ice and putting down salt. We buzzed along to the other side of the park. We reached a bike path that we knew would take us closer to our destination than the road we were following would. We hesitated for a moment knowing that we would lose the smooth sailing that the plowed, salted road had provided for us. Upon quick visual inspection the bike path didn't look too treacherous though. There was hardly any snow on it at all. We took off into the darkness.

We were flying along the path and weren't more than 30 yard in when suddenly my bike flew out from underneath me. I had hit a patch of black ice and my bike went wildly out of control. I crashed to the ground so hard and fast that I didn't have time to put my hands down.

I opened my eyes, dazed, confused and really cold. It took me a moment to realize that I when I had crashed I had broken through the ice into a puddle of water several inches deep. I got out as quickly as I could and started shaking mostly from the frigid temperatures but also probably from the immense amount of adrenaline coursing through my veins.

Kate is an EMT and knew that we needed to get me someplace to warm up and dry off, and we needed to get there fast. We dismounted from our bikes and made a beeline for the nearest exit and and the St. Louis Bread Co. that we knew was in the area.

I headed straight for the dryers in the bathroom while Kate attempted to contact the people we were supposed to be meeting for ice skating. Kate entered into the bathroom with a concerned look on her face a couple of minutes later. She had just been on the phone with our friends and they had divulged that they were on foot, at night, in Forest Park and that there was a truck of men who had been drinking following them.

I told Kate that we had to get to them fast because they had absolutely no common sense, I know I obviously don't either since I went biking in these conditions, but I have more than they do. We grabbed our bikes and headed into the park and to try and locate our friends. The search was a long one. Our targets didn't know the name of the street they were on and we were coming at them from an opposite direction, but after many descriptions of trees and cracks in the road we finally found them. Kate and I stayed on our bikes and assumed the position behind the girls walking and followed them to the ice skating rink.

When we arrived there was a police car waiting. The girls had called 911 while being followed. A few seconds later the red truck pulled in and the men were arrested for drinking and driving and possession of a weapon.

After seeing my friends safely at the rink I headed for home. It was a long slow ride with me being bruised and cold but I made it. When I finally entered my dorm, my clothes and hair were frozen solid, I didn't have feeling in my fingers and toes, and my teeth were chattering. I don't believe that a warm shower has ever been quite that wonderful and painful at the same time.