But what choice did I have? Other riders came whizzing by from the return direction. "Are you okay?" they yelled. "I’m okay," I called after them, but they soared by me. I wondered if I had been lying there mangled, covered in gore and blood, whether they would have shouted the same thing and whizzed by just as quickly. I was still calmly pondering what to do when one of the race directors drove by. He stopped and came back around. I explained the situation. I held the bike steady while he began yanking on the chain. After several tries it finally popped loose and he said, "there you go, be safe." I asked him to tell my husband what happened. I knew he would be worried when he didn't see me coming in with the other racers.
Once the chain was fixed it didn't occur to me to go back. Later, other racers told me that they admired me for not giving up, in spite of the fact I was no longer a contender.
I was on my way. Ten or fifteen minutes had gone by since my bike derailed. All the riders had passed me going the other direction. But I rode solidly and enjoyed the beautiful May day, with the sun shining down on me from the bright blue sky, and the early wildflowers waving to me in the breeze. Biking was sometimes a very zen experience for me, and I was feeling one with the road. The volunteer car drove slowly behind me, like my own little parade. Trying not to run anyone over, I made it back to the transition area while the runners were finishing up. I struggled out of my bike shorts and shoes and into my running shorts and shoes. My bathing suit underneath had mostly dried from the ride, so I was not uncomfortable. This time I remembered my cell phone and waved to my still anxious looking husband. My son was cheering. Many of the racers had finished and were shouting at me, "great job!" I wanted to shout back "are you crazy?" I self-consciously set myself a steady pace. If my cheeks were not already flushed from my exertions, they would have been anyway from sheer embarassment.
