I was very curious to see exactly where I had fallen. I had broken my derailleur on a rock drop near the end of the day. Most of the intense, spooky moves were behind us as we finished on "relatively easy" terrain. I thought I could coast down to the road with my broken bike. When I got to the crash site, all I could think was, "I rode down 35km of the scariest shit I've ever done and this is where I ate the dust?" In fact I had never been even near the hospital in 35 years of mountain biking, ice climbing or back country skiing. But as I figured out exactly how I crashed, I realized how close I was the whole time. I hit a relatively small, relatively innocuous rock edge. Since I had no drive train, I couldn’t peddle over the edge and stopped dead. The handle bar jammed under my rib cage as I flipped over the bars onto my back, perforating my bowel.