5 of us started. 4 came back.
Its taken me 6 months to write this. Initially because I was affected quite badly when it happened and it was just too hard to write about, then I wasn’t sure I could do it justice, and more recently I just haven’t wanted to think about it too much. I’ve never been quite as badly hit by the death of a friend before. Friends come and go, accidents happen, natural causes happen. Normally you hear about them afterward and you think to yourself how terrible it is that lives get cut short for any reason at all. I can tell you now, when it happens right in front of you its very, VERY different and hits you in a completely different and unexpected way.
Obviously this happened a while ago, so I apologise to anyone who was there who remembers it differently. If I could have written it before I’m sure it would have been more accurate, but I’ll do the best I can.
Meeting up outside Steve’s for an 8AM ride, strangely enough, Derek pulled in right behind my car and we complimented each other on our time keeping as between the two of us, we were probably late more than anyone else and took the brunt of most of the (good natured) whinges from the others. On this particular Sunday morning we were on time and actually had a chance to chat for a bit. I handed over a windproof top to Derek that was too small for me (he was only a little chap) , and we had a laugh and a joke, and set off soon after.
Me, Derek, Steve, Phil and Mike. Steve had his new Yeti 575 and between him and Derek they were setting most of th epace, with me following close behind on my brand new singlespeed OnOne 29er. It was actually the 29er’s first ride out with the lads and I was loving keeping up with them even without gears. Keeping up with everyone except Derek I should say, as he was on fire! Not being the best navigator, Steve had to keep shouting directions at Derek’s back and we were having a giggle as we watched him suddenly slam the anchors on to make a corner that he’d just missed. He never was much good at directions and regularly managed to make wrong turns even on routes that we’d ridden hundreds of times before. ‘GPS’ was one of his nicknames for this reason, and ‘Bailout’ being the other one for his habit of leaving the bike unexpectedly.
It was one of those mornings where everything just seemed right. No major mechanicals, the sun was shining, the ground was damp but not overly muddy for a February. We’d probably ridden about 10 miles when we stopped at the top of a hill for a few moments breather. Taking the opportunity to adjust Derek’s gears which had started giving him a bit of hassle. We chatted for a few minutes, Derek telling me he was looking forward to seeing his kids in the afternoon, and we set off down the hill. I like this descent. Its broad enough to not worry about hitting anything, and fast enough to really have some fun. We scooted down, Mike, Phil, me, Steve, and Derek at the back. At the bottom, it flattens out a bit where the path hits a rutted farm track for 100 yards before it meets the main road.
We stopped, just across the main road and waited to regroup. Phil, Mike and I were chatting. I started to adjust my brake lever which was angled downward a bit much, and Steve pulled up a few seconds later. Derek wasn’t there. Normally we’d have chatted for 5 minutes or so before even thinking about going back, but Steve, chuffed with his new bike and keen to ride anything, went back to investigate where Derek was.
A few moments later we heard a shout and there was something in it that made us all go cold. Mike and Phil headed straight back. I frantically tightened up my brake lever again and shot off after them.
Steve had found Derek lying on his side, still pretty much on the bike. It was pretty clear pretty quickly that he wasn’t in a good way, so Steve had yelled for us, and immediately checked for breathing and a pulse, and started CPR when there wasn’t anything. By the time I got back there Mike was helping Steve, Phil was running back towards the road to find the closest house and call an ambulance in case we couldn’t get a mobile phone signal. I called the ambulance, having to go through two phones to do it as there was no signal on the first, and I did what I could to help Steve, who was first on the scene and was performing most of the CPR.
At some point, Derek had been sick, which made CPR about the worst possible job ever, even though we were desperately trying to save Dereks life. It seemed to go on for ages, but I think it was less than 10 minutes before the ambulance arrived. The ambulance managed to get stuck on the rutted farm road and the paramedic ran the rest of the way carrying all of their gear.
They used a portable defibrillator to try and restart Derek’s heart (it was clear by now that he’d had a massive heart attack), but nothing helped. They continued CPR until a second ambulance arrived at the scene, and between us we carried Derek on a stretcher with a paramedic still performing CPR as we carried him to the ambulance.
We all hoped for the best, and decided between us to cycle the few miles back to Steve’s. There wasn’t a lot of conversation. On the way home, Steve texted to tell me what I already knew – Derek had died.
What had started out as a glorious late winter ride had ended in an absolute tragedy.
Derek Rudge 02/12/1953 – 24/02/2008 RIP You were a riding buddy and a friend, and I’ll always remembder you enjoying riding in the Chiltern Hills on a sunny day.
That must have been incredibly difficult. Thank you for having the courage to write about it.
I tell my wife every time I leave for a ride that if I die, know that I died doing something I loved to do.
After reading your story, however, my statement seems a bit flip, even if it is true.
I am sorry for your loss.
Thanks AR.
All of us said the same thing. If you had to choose, there aren’t many better ways. Doesn’t make it a huge amount easier though. At that age, there’s NO good way to go.
Thanks for your thoughts.