I have never been to Bittercold Showdown. “Well, then, just GO!” you might say. Trust me, I was geared up financially, packing a few sets of dice, and ready to embark on a 10-day roadtrip with my homies Will Kennedy, Greg King, Matt Rankin, and Eddie Bravo. I was to be in Greg’s Nissan Sentra today en route to Houston from Corpus Christi to meet up with Will so we couuld jump in his fully-loaded Tahoe that was pointed north towards Detroit. Only two days ago I left work on my State Bicycle fixed gear, headed home on my usual four mile sprint. Somewhere along the way I came to a skidding stop on my head and right shoulder and never quite made it home. Instead, I made it to a hospital room. Apparently, according to the UPS delivery dude I flagged down, I had some sort of wire jammed in the spokes of my front tire that caused me to flop over my handlebars onto the unforgiving asphalt, straight into a concussion that has left me blank since then. I’m told I spent three or four hours in a local hospital dealing with two catscans, five x-rays, two grams of Morphine that didn’t silence my babbling questions, and visiting friends and family, none of I can remember for the life of me. The only thing I know for sure is that I woke up in my mom’s spare bedroom in a cold sweat, wondering why I was in my mom’s house.

The doctors showed me a clipboard with the answers to the questions I kept relentlessly asking. “Your bike is at the fire station and it’s fine.” “Wire got caught in your tire and you flipped over.” “Yes, your boss knows all of this.” Andrea, my lovely girlfriend, told me later that I was looking around confused and said, “I feel like I have something important to do!” They were apparently dreading this, knowing that I was planning on heading towards Detroit on Friday evening. I guess I finally figured out that that’s what I had going on and started to somewhat freak out. “Fuck, I need to start packing!” etc. My Mom and Andrea both looked at me like I was nuts and said, “There’s no way you’re going on the road for that long after just having had a major concussion!” Ofcourse, me and my rebellious spirit immediately kicked in with, “Shit, I’m a grown ass man, I’ve never been to Bittercold and I’m going regardless of what either of you say!” Then the pain of my shoulder and temple fought back in their defense and had me second-guessing myself. I finally calmed down and we came to the agreement that I would see the doctor at my next checkup and let him decide if it was okay for me to go, considering my recent head trauma.

Well, I never made that appointment, but instead thought a lot about what had happened and decided on my own that it really wasn’t a good idea to venture off into the Midwest in the shape I’m in. I’m not religious in any way, but I do believe that things do happen for a reason. Omens, if you will. Karma, energy, gut feelings, etc. Matt Rankin, just last week, after having agreed to come along on the Bittercold trip, broke his ankle while out shredding hard in Houston. Then me and my dumb ass getting a concussion and shoulder injury. Something or someone seems to be screaming at me not to go for whatever reason it may be. I sit here writing this out of sheer boredom and the fact that it’s actually quite interesting in how shit happens to people. I’m still wondering how in the hell I ended up on my head and in a hospital. I mean, I know HOW it happened, according to the UPS guy, but WHY? Why me? Why do things happen to anyone? From people winning the lottery, to people getting killed by stingrays. Life is strange. Yet, we still survive and exist. Rollerblading, for whatever reason, seems to be pretty good at just that.

Hope everyone makes it safely to and from Detroit. Matt and I both wish we could have made it, but you guys hold it down for those who couldn’t! Cheers dudes. Have a blast. We’ll see you next year. Support the ONE booth, too! Ha.