In two years of riding, with a year-and-a-half of at least once-weekly fast group rides, and a year of weekly track racing, and a handful of road races, I have never gone down too hard. A few minor falls, but nothing more than some scrapes -- the stuff you got when you were a kid. In fact, I've never even had more than one situation that scared me much that I might be about to go down hard.

Then Tuesday nine days ago, a guy in front of me dives down the track and gives me a three-inch-overlap front-wheel swipe. I watch my life flash before my eyes, but somehow stay up (probably because our speeds were moderate). Just four days later the guy two in front of me on a group ride has a flat and brakes, so the woman behind him (and in front of me) hits him, and she goes down, bike and body sliding sideway. And I lean into my buddy to my right, who leans back and holds me up as I skirt past her bike with an inch to spare, and about ten guys behind me go right over her and onto the ground.

And here's where I screwed up: at the coffee shop at the end of the ride, I told my never-go-down-hard story, and described my two recent near misses, and surmised that I must be blessed (while knocking on wood). And THAT's when the cycling gods decided to show me that NOBODY -- least me -- is blessed.

'Cause then Tuesday two days ago, another guys dives down the track, except this time the overlap is a half wheel, and the speed fast, and I go a** over teakettle, and end up with a destroyed helmet, two cracked ribs, no skin on the left side of my body, and a bottle of painkillers that still, two days later, can't help get me out of a chair in under thirty seconds.

Next time I'm keeping my mouth shut.