A Solo Ride with Some Creepy Results

On Saturday, I went out on the road with my bike for the first time EVER.

I thought Randy was going to have a heart attack. For three hours before I left, he kept giving me little tidbits and reminders and watch out for this and don't forget about that and make sure you bring this and do you know what to do in the event of that and on and on.

By the time I rolled my trusty steed out of the driveway, I felt like a little kid on the first day of school. Excited for a new adventure, but scared to be going out on my own. Randy gets worried about me and insists that I am "clumsy" (well, I never!), so he had me all amped up and basically terrified.

Before I left, we did a little refitting on my bike. I was pretty certain that the stem it came with is too short for me, so we changed it out for a longer one. Of course, the only one we had lying around was way longer...like a full inch and a half. But I was tired of spinning the wheels like crazy and feeling like I was too crunched up to get any power, so on it went and away I rode.

Right away, my body position felt a ton better. I did notice that there seemed to be a lot more pressure on my hands, but I shrugged it off and got my ride on.

And it was a beautiful day! The sun was shining and there were cyclists all over. Randy had designed a route for me that basically circled around Dairyland Rd., so I could enjoy all the beautiful country scenery, but avoid the countless drivers out for some ice cream at the dairy up that road.

I'm proud to say that I didn't have a single mishap. I'm sure Randy was waiting by the phone for me to call with horrible news of some incident, but there was none. I was definitely super-tense the whole time, but I loosened up a lot as I got used to the experience of being out there on my own. And I loved going solo. It was nice to just go my own pace and enjoy the solitude of the wind past my ears and the company of my own thoughts.

I ended up riding for 1:15 and Google maps tells me that I rode 17 miles in that time, which puts me at just about 13.5 mph. Not great, but not bad for my first time out.

Triumphant, I came rolling into the driveway to celebrate my successful solo adventure. We had a bunch of stuff we wanted to do for the afternoon, so I hopped into the shower.

And the strangest thing happened. When I started shampooing my hair, I noticed that the ring finger on my left hand wasn't operating properly. It was stuck in a bent position and try as I might to send "MOVE" signals from my brain to that finger, it wouldn't go straight.

I showed it to Randy and we laughed about it. But when 20 minutes later it still wouldn't straighten, I got freaked out. So, of course, I hopped online to research it. And found that while the ring finger was the most affected, my entire left hand felt weak. I tested my grip strength with a very scientific test I like to call, "Let's see if I can pick up this magazine here" and found that my hand was seriously f'ed up.

A little research on Google (awkwardly typed in with lots of time for correcting the typos made by my not-so-functional ring finger) found that I was suffering from "handlebar palsy" which is a nice, friendly name for something called, "ulnar neuropathy" which means that the hand pressure I was feeling and brushed off at the beginning of my ride had succeeded in irritating the nerve that runs down my arm and into my hand. And that it could take a couple of weeks to recover.

Fortunately, my hand was feeling much better by Sunday and this morning, symptoms have pretty much cleared up. But I've never felt anything scarier than the experience of sending a signal to a part of my body and having nothing happen. And all day Saturday, my left hand's functioning was severly limited and it was a pain to do anything. Even buttoning my jeans was hard. It gave me a lot more appreciation for my body and some healthy fear of the damage I can do when I treat it so cavalierly.

And first thing this morning I contacted Inside Out Sports for an appointment to get my bike professionally fitted. Because I'm not taking any more chances -- with my bike or my body.