This post is brought to you by Codeine.

Unconsciousness is my favourite state of being this week.

A picture says a thousand words, but here’s what’s left out: I was more fucked up than I realized. The power of adrenaline gave me the boost needed to make the final 20km back into town.

Yann and I had met up with Thomas and Gladys in Sooke to “Touch the Leechtown red gate for good luck as we do once a year.” as Yann noted on his Strava upload. Before my luck changed, we’d ridden 100km. I was already sore from the hard 50km I’d done with Ben the previous day.

As soon as we got off Happy Valley Road, we turned onto the gravel path of the Galloping Goose. Whoever designed this junction laid down the slipperiest, sharpest bits of gravel and made it so that one has to lean into the turn to get onto the path. Within seconds my soreness turned into intense pain: The rock back and forth for a few minutes kinda pain. Gravel ripped through my arm warmer and splayed inside my arm.

The fact that I managed to complete the last 20km ruled out the need for a trip to the ER. Or so I thought. I barely got any sleep that night as the pain overrode my utter exhaustion.

In the morning, the roomie who’d just updated his first aid training on this homemade dummy offered to help replace the dressing on my arm. When confronted with the gaping wound underneath, he said, “Oh, it’s bad. You need to go to the ER.” I couldn’t disagree when I eyeballed the tattooed flap of skin resting on the gauze in his hand.

The ER staff supplied me with a Tetanus shot, painkillers, a doctor’s note granting me a week off work, replacement bandages, and steri-stripped my arm wound shut (it was too late for stitches).

The twisted upside to all this is that the kindness I’ve received has helped close the emotional wounds that opened up the week preceding the crash. I feel loved and cared for: thank you, friends.

And… I look forward to getting back on the Horse.