Scott Martin

He's riding toward me. Fancy bike, sleek jersey, smooth cadence, muscular legs. And no helmet.

I give a halfhearted wave, one cyclist to another. But what I'm thinking is: You loser.

Do people like him -- and there are plenty, especially around Tour de France time -- think they're too hip or too rebellious to wear a helmet? All I know is, bareheaded cyclists remind me of smokers: No matter how smart or successful these people might seem to be, I'm convinced they're essentially stupid.

As I used to be.

Almost no one wore helmets when I started riding. When you raced, you had to wear a joke of a helmet accurately called a "leather hairnet." It wouldn't even keep your brains from spilling out if your noggin hit the pavement.

But then hardshell helmets came along. More and more riders began wearing them, but I balked. They were hot and heavy and made it look like you had a VW Beetle on your head.

A friend started using one, and I made fun of her. Then one day she asked me to help with a field trip for some clients where she worked. Sure, I said.

She worked at a rehab center. Many of her clients had brain injuries. Some were in wheelchairs. Others couldn't talk.

I'll never forget one guy who'd hit his head in a motorcycle crash. He was in his early 20s, not much younger than me. When I asked him a question, he fiddled with a little gizmo hanging from a string around his neck and out came the answer on a slip of paper. I wanted to cry.

The next day I bought a hardshell helmet. I've worn one ever since.

une page mise en archives par SVP

vélo ski de fond plongeon
Consultez notre ENCYCLOPÉDIE sportive