Lemonade out of lemons

By Justin Henney
Reader Contributor

I like racing my bike in bad weather. If the conditions are going to be unfavorable, then I want them to be extremely unfavorable — this way it’s more satisfying at the end of the race, when we sit around and talk about the challenges we faced. 

The cyclists who were in the race can remember it for years and enjoy recalling that time they were almost blown off their bikes or rode for 50 miles into sleet and a strong headwind. This is great stuff and bonds us together in our telling of stories as we struggle against the elements. For some reason, beer and other food groups are so much tastier after burning a ton of calories in cold, damp weather.

Last June 15, things were shaping up for exactly such a race in the CHAFE gravel ride, as we reached the top of the Trestle Creek drainage and it started to hail. I decided to wear shorts instead of long cycling pants, a thin windbreaker and summer cycling gloves — all of which were soaked at the top of the 3,700-foot climb from Clark Fork High School. 

Justin Henney on his mountain bike. Photo by Angela Henney.

In addition to the hail that was beginning to accumulate, lightning strikes were close and thunder was concurrent with the flashes. My fingers were beginning to get numb and the bad weather turning worse, which was exceeding my expectations. It was a good day getting better — until it wasn’t. And it was about this time that I remembered a quote I have heard a lot in recent years: “Be careful what you wish for.”

Checking in at an aid station at the top of the climb, I felt a bit off with my thinking and was really cold. I decided to go faster on the descent than common sense recommended, and left the aid station a minute after checking in. My cold mind told me to get to the bottom as quickly as I could because it was warmer down there. It was 33 degrees at the aid station and, since I could not really feel my fingers, I decided to go fast. 

A couple miles into the descent, I was concerned with the lack of feeling in my fingers and was taking turns alternating each set of fingers into my mouth as I rode down the mountain with one hand on the bars. 

I did have both hands on the handlebars when I hit a slab of granite at what I guess was 30-35 miles per hour. I did not land well and have no recollection of the crash. The surgeon I was to meet in the coming weeks to discuss plates, screws and my clavicle said he thought I had suffered some post-crash unconsciousness. 

Despite many crashes on mountain bikes — going over the handlebars coming back from Priest River one time after a dog hit my back tire while road biking, and getting the short end of the stick with a Hummer six years ago — I felt like crashing was what I did best on a bike. There have even been crashes when I was in the air and thought about how I wanted to land. But this one was different. 

It took two weeks for a surgeon to agree to the surgery due to the proximity of the clavicle repair and an aortic artery and three weeks to get it done. Three days after crashing, I began riding a four-wheel, six-seat party bike my wife and I own. It kept me sane and moving. The hardest part of the recovery for me was not being active or able to help around the house as I had before. 

I also loathed the pity my 93-year-old Dad had for me each day; feeling dizzy from dialysis and weak as hell, he was still more useful around his home than I was at mine. But the party bike was amazing and my Ma is the reason why. 

She and my dad live next door and she has dementia. It bothers me when people say “suffers from dementia,” because — in her case, anyway — there is no suffering. She has never been happier. She does not always know her relationship to me but knows I am familial and can be trusted. 

So, on the third day after the crash, I got her on the party bike with me and we rode for a half hour. I tried to get her to pedal but she did not want to and was busy whistling, pointing out flowers, dogs being walked and bird nests up above. I reframed my broken clavicle as an opportunity to spend more time with my Ma in the twilight of her life. Our half-hour rides turned into one-hour rides and I soon realized that her lack of contribution added more of a challenge for me to maintain a certain speed (six mph) and get up short hills. 

The resistance training became an asset I had not seen and something I began to look forward to this past summer. The time we spent made me stronger and gave me purpose. 

During our rides I realized that even though my Ma’s mind has changed, she is still funny, happy and a joy to be around. Even when she had off moments on the bike and lashed out at me for no apparent reason, it reminded me not to take things personally — especially if someone you love is dealing (not suffering) with changes they don’t necessarily understand. 

Writing this reminds me that I need to get off my mountain bikes and back on the party bike with my Ma and slow down and laugh with the woman who has taught me so much about life.