I know the sound well. The tinny sound of spokes hitting rock, tires skidding through gravel, the thud of handlebars slamming against the ground. The muted pre-cry grunt of a boy who’s just gone over the handle bars. I knew what had happened before I looked back up the trail to see Henry in the dirt. I reached him at the same time as the nice family who had seen the crash and was already pulling gauze, Bandaids and wipes out of their pockets. Of course, I had nothing.
After surveying the damage and sponging off Henry’s bloody knees, hands and elbows, I called the Fry Lodge EMT (Kristine) to pick us up. Thankfully, we hadn’t ventured far into Arroyo Park, so it wasn’t too long of a hike out of the ravine to the road where Kristine pulled up in the truck. I hadn’t carried Henry in a few years. Thank God he only weighs 65 pounds.
Kristine dropped the bikes and me off at Fry Lodge, where Ruby was anxiously awaiting news about her brother. She then took Henry to the minor emergency clinic for x-rays, where they spent several hours. The verdict is still out on his elbow, but Henry’s wrist and knee appear to only be badly bruised and scraped.
We still had time for a Father’s Day steak dinner when Kristine and Henry returned from the hospital. And, sweet Henry hobbled out of his room with his Father’s Day present for me – a compact tent, water boiler and freeze dried meals so the two of us can go bike camping this summer. Thank you, Henry. I’m so sorry about your wipeout. I can’t wait to go camping with you after you recover.