Trike Sunday with some BUG friends

A new recumbent trike has joined the group! Robert P. has welcomed his Tri-Sled Gizmo with spinning legs and so much enthusiasm that he has successfully pedalled up Bruxner Park Road once, and cruised down it one and a half times after only six days of ownership. More about the half later.

Robert P. enjoys leading the Saturday Easy Riders from the Yacht Club Car Park at the Marina, Coffs Harbour. This ride starts at 9am and is an easy 10km. Robert usually leads Saturday's ride with his upright Trek bicycle, but the presence of two other recumbent trikes, and two confident upright riders meant he could take his new Gizmo for an easy spin.

The next day saw Robert and some other BUG members at the turn-off to Sealy Lookout on Bruxner Park Rd. The Wedding Bells State Forest tourist drive being closed to vehicular traffic proving too much of a temptation for us. All that bitumen, all that forest grandeur and no cars - ohhh! wow!!

Again two other recumbents joined the throng - Rob's wife, Carolyn on her Greenspeed GT3 Series 1 and Ch. on his carbon fibre two wheeler. Faaast!

Ch. was suitably impressed with Rob's new toy, and his eagle-eyes spotted Carolyn's flat tyre immediately. With Ch's fantastic and speedy tyre changing skills we were away in half the time it would have otherwise taken. We learned from Ch. that a plastic $5 note can be used to line a tyre that has a tear in it. The note stops the tear from pinching the new tube. Thanks, Ch.

After the delay, our patient friends were eager to get going. They generously let Robert seated in his new trike, go screaming along the bitumen and go first down the incline . The cool forest and towering gums dominating the roadside. He could be seen as a small speck way ahead of us, his flag fluttering in the breeze. Pure pleasure. Thanks, guys.

A short time later the group came to a disappointing halt. The wooden bridge which had caused the road to be closed was in a much poorer state than we had thought. Our intention was to carry bikes across. Our friends had said they would give us a hand with the trikes. How generous they are. Although the adventurous Br. easily carried his bike across - balancing on one log is quite tricky - the rest of us were becoming seriously put off by the idea.

To add insult to injury, a mob of trail bikes vroomed down the creek bank, through the cold, leech infested water and out the other side while we stood considering our options. Bless the trail riders' little foot pegs, we wish them well, but just at that moment couldn't one of their bikes have slid out from underneath them? Just a small waiver, just a little wiggle, for us, god, please? No? Darn.

Meanwhile, Br's wife D., still recovering from an injury sustained while skiing, had voted with her feet and was busy cycling up the hill as the rest of us were still trying to figure out how not to be outdone by dirt bikes. Sensibly, we followed D.

What to do next? Where to ride? We'd been cooped up too long - three '1 in 50' year floods in under 6 months has left us with cabin fever and then some. We even considered riding up to Sealy Lookout. Well, it'd be a nice cruisy ride down. Wind in the fur and all that, but where would we get coffee?

Cr. came to the rescue, and suggested that if we didn't mind a short ride along the Pacific Highway we could have coffee at her place. With thoughts of the wonderful downhill run of Bruxner Park Rd - 5 km, curves all the way we set off. Yee ha! Those of us with husbands / partners / spouses present already thinking that we would send our beloveds back to fetch the cars parked at the top to save us the tedious uphill climb at the end of our ride. Who said cyclists don't think ahead?

The team re-assembled at the junction of Bruxner Pk Rd and the Highway. Robert's only complaint about his brand new trike was that his flag kept coming out. His wife of 34 years rolled her eyes to the heavens, said 'I could do a lot with that line' and pedalled away quickly.

Now, for the highway! It has a nice wide shoulder at this point and we were cycling in a group, so 'no worries'. Sadly, what appears to be a slight uphill gradient in a car travelling at 80 km/hr is not perceived as the same slight gradient on a bicycle or recumbent tricycle. The slope seems to be steeper from the latter vantage point - even for those who bring their lounge chairs with them.

Although Carolyn has repeatedly assured her upright companions that people have ridden around Australia on recumbent trikes, at this stage she was getting decidedly puffed and becoming unconvinced by her own words. Her pedals were unexpectedly difficult to turn, the gear necessary much lower than that anticipated when the hill had been first sighted and sized up. As the pedals turned slowly, muscles strained, Carolyn's thoughts turned to stopping to check if there was a problem with her formerly reliable stead. Wasn't a flat tyre enough bad luck for one sunny morning?

But, it was the highway, and perceptions had changed again - what was formerly a wide shoulder for riding became much narrower when stopping was contemplated - and who would help? In her rear view mirror, Robert appeared far behind, battling his new vehicle with old muscle groups newly used. Cycling behind Carolyn was H. Carolyn sensed that H. was having trouble just keeping her balance at such a slow speed. There was no room for Carolyn to let her overtake safely. And putting H. at risk by stopping on this narrow verge was unthinkable. Then Br., D's husband, was sighted in the far distance. He had waited at the point where the group was to turn off the highway. So, ride on, MacDuff! (aka MacCarolyn). Get off the highway, and then check your vehicle.

Unfortunately, while thinking all this, Carolyn sadly missed the allure and safety of the entry to a wide bus bay, designed for the delivery of children to school. You may well be asking "How could she possibly miss that?" Indeed, in reporting this, Carolyn is asking herself the same question. She has no explanation. Her only excuse is she had her eyes on the prize - the turn off the highway and the safety of Br. who has great mechanical aptitude and seems always willing to help even the most foolish, potential road pizza. So, Carolyn sailed down the road shoulder, which had become even narrower, on the wrong side of a 1 metre high concrete road barrier. Aarghh! Grrrrr ...

Finally, the safety of the turn and Br., whose puzzled look meant that Carolyn kept cycling - after all it was now a down hill run - problem solved. Half-way up the next hill Carolyn was pleased to see some of the group stopped, and as her legs were now saying "no way" yet again, Carolyn decided to avail herself of the opportunity and stopped. Cutting this long story short, the rear mud guard had come off its bracket and ensconced itself firmly on the back tyre. Note to self - this arrangement makes an excellent brake. The problem was permanently solved this time with more than a little help from her friends.

Cycling a short distance up hill, down dale and along some good dirt road we arrived at Cr's. Thankyou Cr. for your impromptu hospitality and exquisite views of both the coast and hinterland. After a brief respite, coffee and cake, we were on our way again.

On the way back, the debate became: "To cross or not to cross?" (the highway that is). It was decided that each should choose their own poison. Robert and Carolyn taking up the rear were informed of this by Da. who had kindly waited for us. Carolyn, lured by the siren call of the bus bay, said "let's stay on this side, and cycle against the flow of traffic". Her understanding was that the aforementioned wide shoulder is actually an official cycle way. At least that was the story she was going to spin to any highway patrol officer who happened to pass by. Having made this decision she set off. Along the way she remembered that it was a long weekend with double demerit points, and in NSW, any traffic infringement comes off your driving licence. Hmm... how many points is cycling the wrong way on the highway worth? If, indeed, it was the wrong way .... don't tell me, I do not want to know. It is over, and I got safely back to the beginning of Bruxner Park Road.

What comes down, must go up and after all the 5 km downhill run had been fun. Shortly before Hannaford's Corner, D. was sighted cruising down the hill. A look of pure bliss on her face. Where was her husband Br.? Where was the camera? Yes, Br. was indeed driving the car down, allowing D. a "free" ride all the way down. Wheee ... ! Yahooo ... ! What a good idea! "Robert, would you mind ....... ?"

Unfortunately, in a spirit of true egalitarianism, by the time Robert and Carolyn got to the carpark, Carolyn had decided that a coin toss would be fairer. Why unfortunate? Read on.

Robert won the toss. Carolyn thought briefly of suggesting "Heads I win, tails you lose" but thought this would be unfair. Instead she chose heads and stuck to it. Tails won, and Robert started down the hill, with Carolyn trailing behind.

Carolyn decided to enjoy the drive. A nice, slow 40 km / hr in low gear was 'just the ticket'. This would allow her time to enjoy Paul Kelly (on CD, not in body, if only ... ) and the view out to sea on this beautiful, perfect, sky blue afternoon. Robert was intermittently sited ahead of her as he negotiated the corners. All was right with the world. Blue sky, glimpses of Robert's blue shirt on his new, cobalt blue trike. Magnificient. Five minutes to one, lunch at home.

Come around the bend to Hannaford's Corner. Spy Robert sprawled in the gutter on the wrong side of the road. He's now sitting upright. My first thought is that he is positioned where the driver of a car coming up the hill around the blind corner could not possibly see him. My next thought is "why would anyone choose to sit there?" and "what a silly thing to do". Then, it dawns on me. My heart simultaneously thumps in my chest and leaps into my throat. The trike is on its side, one wheel still spinning. He has had a tumble, taken a fall, stacked his pushie. He looks shaken sitting there in the unmade, dirt gutter apparently unharmed but in harm's way.

I park at Hannaford's Corner - thank god for their wide driveway. I walk up to Robert as calmly as I can. He lies down again from his seated position - he almost falls from sitting to lying if that is possible. He is dizzy. I think heart attack? blood pressure? His pinkie is wounded, bleeding. The fingerless gloves, double layer of long sleeves and helmet have saved him from too much damage but he is still lying in this deadly location.

I ask him if he can stand. He breathes "dizzy" and sort of flops down. I reply with what I hope is a firm, calm voice which does not reveal the terror I feel "You can't stay here. It's too dangerous. You must get off the road." I move his trike the five metres down to the car and open the passenger door. I return for him. Still dizzy, I insist he make the effort to stand and get off the road. Somehow, we get him up. I tell him to lean on me, and surprisingly, he does. He must be feeling really dizzy. Robert is very independent. We get back to the car. He is starting to feel better, and I am beginning to realise that there appears to be no major physical damage done.

I ask him if he wants to go to the hospital. It is Sunday afternoon on a long week-end and we both know the wait in emergency will be long and tedious for what are minor injuries. He says "no, I feel okay" and "I don't think that's necessary". Regardless, I decide to take him to the hospital. I put his trike in the back of the station wagon beside mine. I spend the 15 minute drive convincing him that the wait in emergency will be worth it. "Man of his age should get checked out ... etc etc". He is acquiescent.

In the hospital carpark, we check his helmet again for scratches or signs of damage. There are none. He says he did not hit his head. The triage nurse interviews him, I interject during this with "he's on warfarin". The triage nurse nods, and it dawns on me that of course this is significant. It is used to poison rats. It causes them to haemorrhage internally, they bleed to death from the inside out. In humans, warfarin is used to increase the time it takes the blood to clot.

"Why do you take warfarin?" says the nurse.

Robert was prescribed this after developing a DVT (deep vein thrombosis) in the leg and three PE (pulmonary embolisms) in the lungs about six months ago.

Next, the triage nurse asks "Have you been admitted to this hospital before?". I cannot help a wry smile, and reply "this is where the DVT was diagnosed". His leg had swelled up like a balloon after a BUG Sunday breakfast ride that he had lead. He is triaged as category 5. There are five categories, and, to our relief and just as we thought, he is in the lowest. But, the nurse is keen to get his chest checked by a doctor. I leave and 5 hours later our 23 year old son returns to collect him from casualty. The wait was not as long as expected for such a busy Sunday.

Robert's pinkie has been dressed professionally by the male nurse, and his chest checked by the female doctor. Tetanus shot injected, the patient rests at home nursing his wounded pride.

The next day, Robert summons the courage to examine his trike. Our son, who has been eyeing off his father's Trek bike ever since the order for the trike was placed, accompanies him to the garage. They share a male bonding experience. There is much grunting, spinning of wheels, commiserations over scratches on the mudguard and wheel hub, but, essentially the trike is sound.

Robert donns his helmet and takes the trike for a spin in the cul-de-sac. All is forgiven. Our son checks over his father's bike, adjusts the seat, fixes the rear brake, borrows Robert's helmet and takes the bike for a spin. All is right with the world.

Ironically, Carolyn had thought that Robert would be safer on a trike. What's that catch phrase used on the BUG official ride disclaimer? It goes something like: "Participants are reminded that cycling is an inherently dangerous activity, and do so at their own risk". Three wheels have got to be better than two.

It took Carolyn eight months of trike ownership before finally tipping her trike over in the carpark. She had been doing figure eights on a wet bitumen surface while waiting for others to arrive. The figure eights had gotten tighter and faster until the trike had finally given in. It was a slow motion tip, no damage done. This is not to say she has not scooted down hills way too fast - 55 km/hr on North Bank Road's curves near Bellingen was way too fast.

The good news is: no permanent damage done to Robert or his trike. The fresh grazes on his right elbow are below the scars from his fall three months ago. This last tumble off the Trek lead to his decision to order the trike. The grazes on the back of his shoulder from the trike slide yesterday are below the scars from the bike fall twelve months ago. In the end, it was good fun and we're still alive. Hopefully, Robert learned something about the limits of his trike and won't make that mistake again in a hurry.

And sometimes it's just great to know we can still take a walk on the wild side.