Ichiya Survival Ride August 2007

Way back in July I had been training for months. First for the half-marathon to raise money for PEPY, the organisation I'm now volunteering for, and then for my second attempt at the ICHIYA Survival Challenge. Non-stop-over-night-over-mountains-four-hundred-twenty-kilometres. I had ridden about 350km in 2006 but had to ride in the support-vehicle for a two hour section towards the end before the final hills. I was keen to finish the ride this year, my final year. It was a perfect finish to my two years in Japan. It would be the weekend after I finished teaching. It would be the last thing I would do before getting on a plane and saying 'Sayonara' to all that had become familiar to me. I was excited and it had built up in my mind into an important final goal, no coasting yet.



With two weeks to go I set off on a routine training ride, about 100 km, a three and a half hour ride up to the start of the mountains and back. I had just recovered from a sprained ankle and before that an injured leg after my rear-wheel had skidded in the wet. It was the end of the rainy season - in fact it was the first time I had ridden in sunshine in two months. I rode quickly and felt fit and ready. I loved the sun, the speed, and the strength that I had slowly developed over the last two years of cycling in Japan. It was mid-morning by the time I was almost home. Then only two hundred metres from my apartment, on a crossing that I had crossed almost everyday on my way to and from school I was hit by a car.



I remember checking the mirrors on the corner for any coming vehicles even though I had right of way. Seeing nothing, I cruised through. When I was about half way across the junction I noticed a car coming from my left, fast. Too fast. It registered just in time for me to try and kick extra hard on the pedals trying to get clear. Then realising that it was actually going to hit me, the only exclamation my brain could produce was "Oh my God!". I was hit in the side and thrown into the air with my bike. I crashed down on the road landing on my shoulder, my bike landing a few feet beside me. The adrenalin rushing through my body, I leapt to my feet, thinking the driver was trying to make a quick retreat before he pulled over and came to check I was ok. I was not. Neither was my bike.
He called the police, and we waited. It was an hour before the police arrived. I was de-hydrated after my ride and luckily my friend Mina was around to help me with the Japanese and get me a drink. My shoulder was hurting a lot and I had ripped open the old wounds in my elbow from the previous crash.



The police slowly asked me in detail how the crash had happened, then they asked the driver. They walked back and forth in no apparent hurry, drew chalk circles on the road and then again. Finally they turned to me and said that despite the driver admitting total fault, Japanese law did not accept 100% liability and it would be recorded in their report that I could have taken more care. I didn't care. I wanted to go to hospital. I wanted to check out my bike.



After a short wait the hospital took an X-Ray and said I would be fine in a week, then sent me home. No pain-killers, no sling, nothing. Well, I thought, at least I'll be able to ride the Survival Cycle in two weeks time. I still couldn't move my shoulder at all though and needed Mina's help to get out of my cycling vest. The next day I rode the bus to school to teach my final class. I explained to my support teacher that I couldn't raise my right arm and needed help to write on the blackboard. I finished my final class in Japan, then left for the hospital again. I needed a Doctor's note for the police report.
The Doctor took a look at my shoulder, pulled up the X-ray and visibly grimaced. He poked around and then looked me straight in the eyes and explained that, "I'm sorry, but yesterday the specialist was out, they have taken an X-ray of the wrong part of your arm."



By now my shoulder had swelled up and I was unable to raise it further than three inches away from my side. But they wanted to take an X-ray from below so my hand was placed on a prop and my arm forced up until they could angle the X-ray camera from below. With the new X-ray on the screen in front of the Doctor he ummed and ahhed for an extended period with pauses for prodding and pulling before re-confirming that it was not broken but very badly sprained. It might recover in two weeks... or it might take months. The next year of my life was planned around cycling, first in Cambodia for PEPY, and then across North America, let alone the Survival Ride I had been training for. I had not prepared myself for this.
I asked the Doctor if I could ride a 20 hour 420 km ride in less than two weeks. He did not know. They sent me home again, this time with slings, pain-killers and anti-inflammatory medicine. He told me to come back two days before the ride and he could give me an answer.



The next two weeks were filled with final school-days, clearing my desk, clearing my apartment, packing everything I had collected over two years to be carried or sent home, insurance meetings, police meetings, Board of Education meetings. I gave my farewell speeches at both schools, at the board, and at my Shorinji Kempo club. I was taken out for dinner, a lot. I had to say goodbyes to all my friends whether they were leaving or staying. There was a lot to be done, and it had to be done even if I only had one arm to do it. A week after the crash my arm had gained no more flexibility than the day after the crash. I gave up. There was no way my shoulder would recover enough for me to ride 20 hours. My bike-shop had been dealing with my bike and had decided to keep the frame (no other frame could be found that would fit me if I wanted to take part in the Survival Ride) but they had replaced everything else, new wheels, new derailleur, new brakes, hoods, pedals, fork...



With five days to go my shoulder loosened up a lot, now I could lift it twelve inches from my side. Still not enough to ride a bicycle but a huge improvement on the days before. By the time I went back to the hospital I could raise my arm perpendicular to my body. Doctor said ok. You can ride. I didn't think I could ride. He said if it started to hurt I should retire. It hadn't stopped hurting since the accident. I still did not think I would be taking part.
The bike club all wanted me to come even if I rode the whole ride in the support van. It's the event of the year for Ichiya Cycling Club and it was my goodbye-ride to boot. I agreed to go. I would put my bike in the car in case I felt up to riding at all.



The day of the ride I moved out of my home of two years. My supervisor came in the morning to help me with the final cleaning and packing that I hadn't managed to do by myself with only one arm. I paid my final electrics bill, the water was cut, the gas, the internet. I sent the last of my parcels home at the post-office then sat in my empty apartment trying to rest before setting off on the ride. One group, the group I would have joined starts at 6 pm. Another faster group leaves at 9 pm. When they leave, a third group is driven to the route B start point, 130 km into the ride, starting after the first major climb at midnight. I was to join this group. Right up to the start I debated with myself over whether I should ride at all. I thought in all likelihood I'd ride for an hour or two before having to retire. But at least I'd ride until I had to retire. My shoulder was still troubling me but as long as I didn't raise my arm above my shoulder I could manage it without much pain.



At midnight I climbed stiffly out of the back of the bus, applied another anti-inflammatory patch and mounted my bicycle, recently nicknamed 'The Yellow Peril' by my family back home because I couldn't seem to stop crashing it...
It was lightly raining, a typhoon had hit the first mountain of the route earlier that night but seemed to have largely run out of steam. I was glad I had not tried to ride the first climb in the typhoon. Cycling downhill is hard enough at the best of times, but in the dark, in the rain, without the full use of my strong arm, it would have been a bad idea.
After the first 20 minutes of cycling the rain became thicker and heavier and the cool mountain air became damp and cold. But I warmed up, my shoulder loosened and I felt comfortable, cycling through the darkness with ten others. Red blinking lights follow red blinking lights as uplifted spray makes wet feet.








I was fine. My shoulder loosened up, and riding on the drops allowed me to keep my shoulder lowered and not in any pain. Everytime I rode over a loose patch of road or any bumps it jarred my shoulder in its socket and I had to wince until the road levelled out again, but the flats were fine. I didn't have to stop. I could ride.







We rode from midnight until four in the afternoon. We pulled into the hotel courtyard, locked up the bikes and proceeded to the bath. Last year, everyone had developed ridiculous tanlines after riding through twelve hours of direct sunlight. This year they were conspicuously absent after riding through twelve hours of rain.
But spirits were high, despite the typhoon, despite three members having to pull out after slips in the rain, despite the wait for the bath. We had survived.



As it was my last ride I had to 'speech', and in Japanese too. My carefully planned thanks disintegrated under the beer and exhaustion, but was greatly appreciated regardless. Some of my best times in Japan were on a saddle with the Ichiya Cycling Club. And I wanted them to know.





They even presented me with my very own 'maillot jaune'! I miss getting up at stupid O'Clock and riding with those guys. Good guys.



Who knows, maybe one day I'll even get to complete the Ichiya Survival Challenge...