How to work the word “endoed” into a conversation

Location: Fruita, Colorado.

Activity: Mountain Biking the Rustler Loop Trail.

The author with the infamous Specialized Rock Hopper. Photo by Dani Weigand.

The author with the Specialized Rock Hopper, pre-crash. Photo by Dani Weigand.

Once again I’m sitting on my husbands’ beat up Specialized Rock Hopper mountain bike. Why? Seriously. Why? I guess it’s the camaraderie found on two-wheels. We’re heading out on the trail near Fruita, Colorado, and once again I’m the second to last rider amongst a bike posse of 14. Rolling over the bits of slick rock and sand, I’m finding my balance after weeks of not biking. I can tell we’re close to the end of the trail and figure the good riders are probably onto the next trail. As for us beginners, well, we’re making sure nothing is left behind. That’s when I come upon a group of 10-year-old boys waiting at the top of this sandy hill. They motion me to ride on. One moment I’m thinking I’ve got my groove on, the next I’m flying through the air, over my handlebars.

I think it’s the first somersault I’ve done in 2 decades. The pain. My arm goes numb, stabbing pain, throbbing shoulder… is anything broke? I can’t tell. I’m crying like a big ol’ baby. But I’m fairly certain babies (and 10-year-old boys) don’t know those words I just screamed in mid-air. My friend is yelling at me, telling me she’s coming. “Is everything okay? Can you breathe? Does anything feel broken? Oooh, yeah, that looks like it hurt. Thanks a lot Callista, I was just beginning to feel confident on this ride.” Yes, I threw myself over the handle bars on purpose, flipped the bike over me, made sure it bounced off my hips and hit a rock just to freak her out. Guilty.

After I dust off the sand and sniffle my way over to the bike, I realize the seat is bent a bit more than usual. I get on the bike. Hmmm, the derailleur is jacked, and the front brake keeps rubbing. We round the corner and there’s my husband. I ride past him and yell at him (because it’s all his fault I’m hurt) that I broke the bike and it’s a piece of crap. The poor man, he never wins. He tries. But he never REALLY wins. He looks at the bike then someone else looks at the bike. Conclusion: the bike is not fixable while we’re out camping. At least with our skills it’s not.

I limp the bike up the final hill, put it on my friends’ hitch rack, and head to the nearest bike rental shop in Fruita.  I gimp my way in, maybe playing it up a bit. I tell them, “I need to rent a bike. I just totally endoed my husband’s bike and wrecked it.”  If I were a business, I’m not sure I would rent to me, but then again I probably looked like a lot of dollar signs. I pay the guys at Over the Edge Sports, then take off with a friend.  To make it all feel better we head to the nearest wine tasting room in the Grand Valley. The bumps and bruises start to disappear after tasting some fantastic samples on an empty stomach. Thank you Colorado Wine Room!

Lesson Learned: Put my weight further behind the seat, don’t hit the front brakes so hard, and work the word “endoed” into conversation as much as possible when explaining a crash. And most importantly, be sure to have a bottle of wine handy to fix any painful situation.


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