Spring here in Michigan, and a not-so-young man’s thoughts turn to…his bike.

I run year-round and in just about any weather (although I draw the line at thunder hail), but I’m definitely a fair-weather cyclist. So when May rolls around I’m itching to get out there for some good long rides.

So there I was on a beautiful day, finishing up a long ride along the Border-to-Border Trail. Not far from my house I approached an intersection about the same time as an oncoming car. This intersection has a bit of limited visibility and I wasn’t sure the driver saw me, so I slowed down and unclipped in preparation to stop. Except my right foot did not come out of the clip.

Once again I experienced that awful feeling that comes in such situations: I’m going down, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. And down I went, in full undignified style.

Naturally it was witnessed, as at least three people stopped and asked if I was all right. And save for a scraped knee and wounded pride. I was fine. It didn’t even detract from the enjoyment of the ride.

My scrape required a fairly large bandage to cover, so I figured people would ask about it. The truth being embarrassing, I prepared an alternative version of the facts:

Oh, that? I fell off a mountain. Yeah, there I was climbing the south face of Kilimanjaro, as one does, and the summit was in sight when a polar bear came out of nowhere and charged me. Well, I rassled that thar bar until he cried uncle, but he lied. The minute I let him go he picked me up and threw me off the mountain, and 15,000 feet later, there I was on the ground with a scraped knee. Bummer.

Unfortunately the only one who asked was my wife, who not only knows me too well, but is also aware there is no such thing as an African polar bear. So I guess I’ll save it for another time.

But the incident got me thinking (as I do sometimes) about my training. Recent life events – you know, the stuff that happens when you’re making other plans – have forced me to cut back. The last few weeks have drained me emotionally as well as physically, and with events to work this weekend I felt it was best to forego a couple of assignments and get more rest.

No problem, right? My wife supports this, as does my coach. Basically, everyone who cares, understands. Except me. The same pride that was wounded along with my knee doesn’t like it when I skip scheduled training. Logic need not apply when my ego is running rampant.

Now we’re making some adjustments as a family that will hopefully ease the stress we’re feeling, and I can get back into my routine. I have a challenging ultra in Colorado this fall, and want to get at least one other before then, so gotta be in shape. And the best way to do that is not to overdo it now. A scraped knee is a little thing; a broken body is not. Pride will need to take a back seat for the moment.

Oh, and just in case I didn’t get the message, I fell off again last weekend. On the same knee. Lessons learned: 1) never trust a polar bear, and 2) grease the clips.