I’ve had more than my share of bad luck on my bikes over the last few years. Several concussions, 2 different sets of hardware installed on my left clavicle, 2 collapsed lungs, broke all my ribs on the left side, a graft from my right hip to repair my clavicle, scars that have scars that have scars. And I’m not as terrible a bike handler as all this would make you think - a cat being chased by a dog, a dog off leash on the levy, a moron doing a high speed sweep across the peloton ... And yet I keep working my way back into the saddle. Where is the line between love and lunacy? When it comes to riding, the line does not exist for me.