I bet that subject alone is enough to make a few readers cringe and shiver. (Steve, Chris, Jim, Jason, Apollo, Levi, Daniel, Mike...)

When my stress level gets high enough, nothing seems to shake it like a bike ride. As in, "Hi, my name is Seth, and I'm addicted to endorphins." (To which all the other cyclists reading this reply, "Hi Seth!") So today, with the temps in the low 40's, I "bundled up." Starting at my feet, I was wearing: shoes, two pairs of socks, leg-warmers, bike shorts, two t-shirts, cycling jersey, arm warmers, full-fingered gloves, shades, my jersey, and my helmet. Haven't yet figured out how to keep my lungs warm, but other than that I was feelin' "Mmmmmmm mmm mmmm mmm mmm... toasty!"

Eight miles into the ride, I started rounding the corner where I creamed the jogger this summer. My back wheel locked up tight. I had not quite finished the corner when I lost control. The curve was to the right, my momentum threw me to the left and off the bike. (There was no traffic anywhere to be seen.)

Some people say their lives flash before their eyes. In all seriousness, I saw Joseba Beloki's crash in the 2003 Tour de France, the video they played over and over like it was the towers falling in 2001.

My left elbow made first contact. Second was my left brake/shifter. I popped off the bike and flew, finally landing squarely on my lower back before rolling (sideways) to a halt on the other side of the road.

Yes, I yelled. Quite well, if I do say so myself. No, the lady in the house at the corner didn't do anything to help, she just sat there in her window chatting away on the phone. That's ok, I wasn't yelling to her, I was just hurt and frustrated.

After reassembling myself, and feeling confident that nothing was broken or missing, I eased back across the road toward my bike. A man came walking around the corner, and squinted at me, eventually asking if I was alright. "I've been better." He kept squinting, and explained that he didn't have his glasses, and didn't believe at first that he was seeing me laying in the middle of the road.

He picked up my shades, and I eventually stood up. Nothing fell off, which was a huge relief.

I leaned over to pick up the bike. B A N G ! The back tire exploded. I'd only lifted the bike a few inches, but immediately dropped it again, and the walker ducked and looked around. People are so jumpy! (Yeah, it was really loud, just like a gun shot.)

Eventually I decided I'd live, and thanked the gentleman for hanging with me for a couple minutes. My rear wheel was completely locked up, and both of my brake levers/shifters were pointed inward. Couldn't walk the bike, so I threw it over my shoulder and walked the mile and a half to Mystic Cycle. Forty-five minutes later it was all fixed up and I rode straight home.

The only evidence of the accident is a nasty scrape on the left shifter, a new rear tire, a very colorful and puffy left elbow, and a sore back.

Before anyone asks: no, I don't know exactly what caused the lockup. I must have hit something in the road hard enough to pop the tire off the rim. It wedged between the rim and the fork. This is a great way to stop very quickly (as long as stopping quickly is more important than anything else in life).

I don't know what my stats are yet. When I rode two days ago, I did 21 miles at 20.3 mph, and this felt like it was going to be about the same. The end result was probably closer to sixteen miles at 19 mph. I'll update this message after I've retrieved the numbers from the bike computer.