After riding bikes long enough, you develop specialties. My personal specialty is the FDGB, better known as “fall down, go boom.” This is somewhat of an art form and can range from the Artie Johnson, zero velocity, fall over sideways, to the more spectacular high speed maneuvers, which may involve “catching big air” among other things. It’s from the latter that I’ve gained my nickname “The Flying Donohue.”
It’s hard to say when I performed my first FDGB, probably on my paper route as a kid. The first incident that I remember was when I was in college. I’d gotten a fine three speed bike to get me around campus. By some twist of fate, someone in my family also happened to give me a stopwatch. In the common pitfall of trying to do two things at the same time, a la walking and chewing gum, I attempted to be both timer and timee with my new stopwatch when riding to class. My personal best was never established, since with my gaze firmly fixed on the moving stopwatch hands, I winded up running into a pedestrian. The ped survived unscathed, but I suffered a seminal FDGB, and an untimely end to an early time trialing career.
Another spectacular performance was on the famous Smuggler’s Notch Century which used to be the main event at Velo Vermont. I had been having shifter problems, and had dropped back from the main pack. As I was madly trying to catch up I found myself at the steepest point in Smuggler’s Notch. I looked ahead and one of our number appeared to have fallen down. “Isn’t that silly,” I thought, shortly before I proceeded to fall down myself. This was definitely an Artie Johnson FDGB, the pedals just wouldn’t turn any more, and I just plopped down on the ground. The coupe de gras was that after getting up, dusting myself off, I got back on the bike and proceeded to fall all over again. It was going to be a long ride.
A similar incident occurred to me on a later century ride. The pack I was involved with had dropped me. I managed to catch up to them at the first water stop, just as they were leaving, so I just had time to snag a banana as I latched onto them again. So I’m riding along snarfing banana (this was my first on bike feeding), and after finishing it, was wondering what to do with the peel. Rather than just throw it on the ground, I deemed it would be environmentally conscientious to throw it in the woods. So as I was charging ahead at 20+mph, I winged said banana into the woods. Students of physics will of course draw force vector diagrams and the like, but suffice it to say that with the sideways motion of flinging the banana, I managed to knock myself over. Needless to say, this did not improve my chances of catching the pack.
As I rode more, the production of spontaneous FDGB’s was becoming more difficult. In fact, I found I needed the help of technology to achieve what heretofore had been second nature. The advent of clipless pedals caused more spontaneous FDGB’s than any other accessory I can think of. This is by no means unique to me, in fact the term “clipless moment” has been coined to refer to such experiences. Since I never even used to fasten my toe straps, I was no match for these. After executing the basic maneuver of falling over after not being able to get your foot out in time, I discovered yet another variation. I had stopped somewhere to pee, unclipped my right foot masterfully, then realized that my center of gravity was on the left side of the bike, and proceeded to fall down that way. At least I managed to achieve somewhat symmetrical bruises.
Mountain biking has taken the FDGB to an art form. In fact there is a separate vocabulary for such feats (faceplant, endo, etc). I’ve been judiciously trying to avoid this sport ever since it was invented because of its high FDGB potential, but have found myself sucked in now and again. One moment that will live in infamy occurred many years ago when CRW (Jamie and Lindy King) hosted the Mount Snow Mountain Bike Weekend. Doug Jensen had kindly agreed to take the feeble out to show them how it was done, and I was among that group. Doug showed us how it was indeed possible to traverse logs with grace and ease. So, emboldened by this, I decided to fearlessly attack a log on the trail that I would ordinarily come to a dead stop in front of and walked over. To paraphrase a famous song, “I fought the log and the log won.” But I did get an appreciation for the term “faceplant” and I now have a permanent impression of a chainring on my right leg. I’ve since come to treat logs and other similar impediments with the respect they deserve.
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