Gateway

At least once a week, someone is kind enough to let me know of the pen mark on my right cheekbone. Except that it's not ink, it's a strip of Conzelman Road.

Conzelman Road is the famously winding route just above the Golden Gate Bridge in the Marin Headlands. Dozens of car commercials have been shot there, and the view from half way up, facing east and framing San Francisco between the towers of the bridge is so beautiful as to slip into cliche.

I've been cycling that road for at least 15 years and I'd say the most memorable ride was back in 1999, except that I don't remember any of it. Apparently, I went out on a Friday after work in June to catch the late sunset and get some riding in before flying to visit a friend in Iceland. Instead of catching that flight, I woke up in a hospital bed the next day with no idea what had happened but feeling seriously banged up.

I had been found on the side of road tangled in my bike, my head against a large rock, my helmet split neatly in two, and missing a fair amount of skin. Some nice motorist used my cell phone to call 911 and stayed with me until the ambulance arrived. In the ER, a plastic surgeon sewed up my face and reattached my pinky finger. The doctor in charge told later the concussion had put me on a 20 minute loop -- my short-term memory wouldn't stick and I would keep looking up at him and introduce myself, then ask why I was in a hospital. I did this, "Momento" style, a couple dozen times that evening.

The next morning, thankfully, things started to stay recorded. But I lost 24 hours of memory. Not just the hospital or crash, but the whole day preceding. I had been at work, talked on the phone to my parents, had lunch with friend. I couldn't recall any of it. A few days later, I clicked through that Friday's emails in my sent folder and I couldn't remember writing any of them.

So that's why I have two dark parallel lines under my right eye. And a new helmet.