Riding with a dislocated collar bone - why cyclists are stupid

Dislocated or broken collarbone?

Actually I properly broke it, early December 2015. For a time I couldn't really do much, yet nature took over and by end January it had healed to a red lump. It wasn't right though; occasionally it would hurt and make crunching sounds when moved. I could see the end popping out of the socket. So wife got me an appointment with a physiotherapist.

Now that was interesting. Firstly he sees lots of broken collarbones among local mountain bikers, mainly night riders ploughing into trees. He was very precise with me. He found muscles that were obviously stressed that I'd not even noticed. Seems I'd been compensating for a bad shoulder by using chest muscle. I'd also torn the tendon and surrounding muscles, and it was this now that was the problem.

Basically each time I moved my arm, the muscles were pulling the joint apart.

Once again off the bike for me. I'd been doing the odd ride here and there. I was told in no uncertain terms that it was the riding that was doing the damage. That and sleeping on it. Given some exercises to do; shrugging basically. My arm still hurts. Possibly always will? Lots of people I've spoken to say that you get twinges now and then.

So now I've not really been riding for getting on for three months. I've put a stone on and my bikes look shagged. The bottom bracket on one has seized. Yesterday I decided enough was enough, so out I went on one of my older bikes for a pootle.

Graffiti under the M25 at Reigate

Quite enjoyed it, even though as you can see there was a rather industrial element to it all. Just moved from cafe to cafe in a slow but big circle along the North Downs. Quite nice to get out. And boy wasn't it muddy?

This view is within the M25


Once a mountain biker, always a mountain biker. Little known trail in Reigate, steep as. Very high failure rate, although I've managed to do it every time so far. Last time I took some people down there, all of them fell off and one bent his front wheel over.

My success lasted until today. Today I went at it with a bit more attitude, little more speed, little less brake. Naturally I fell off right at the start, where it turns right at the top of a steep bank. Did two cartwheels down this bank, the second one I distinctly remember making the conscious decision to kick out at my bike, which was about to land on me. Again.

Got home covered in mud and my shins dripping blood. Four hours later had trouble walking. My flat pedals had ripped hell out of my shins.

That however was not the worst. The worst was when I finally got to the bottom I had a quick snifter of my home made sloe gin that I carry in a hop flask. My mate Keith only came cycling around the corner to catch me, the embryonic alcoholic having a sneaky drink. The shame.