I was coming down a mountain bike trail when I became aware of an odd ache in the middle of my chest. At the time I was working as a specialist anaesthetist, and also had a history of working in intensive care medicine, so I immediately knew the significance of such a sensation. Which is: I was having a heart attack halfway down a mountain, somewhere an ambulance wouldn’t be able to reach me.
I knew that to have any shot of making it out alive I had to get myself down to the car park, so I coasted on my bike to the bottom of the trail, all while gripped by central chest pain. I made it to my car, got my phone and called an ambulance.
Quickly starting to feel worse, I laid down next to my car so that at least the paramedics would be able to spot me when they arrived. Feeling increasingly faint, I could hear wheels skidding past me as people headed out of the car park and off up the trails, up the mountain.
A number of bikes went past without noticing me when I heard a voice ask if I was OK. I answered that I thought I was having a heart attack, but the ambulance was on its way. They told me they’d wait with me until it arrived, for which I’m incredibly grateful.
About 15 minutes later, I heard the sirens in the distance, rapidly getting closer. And then another voice: “Where do you live? We’ll take your bike home for you.”
I gave them my address and was loaded into the back of the ambulance. I was given some sedative medicines when I arrived at the hospital and the next thing I remember is the cardiologist telling me it’s fixed. I’d had what’s called a coronary thrombosis – a real widow-maker. I was lucky to survive.
When I eventually got home, there was my bike, parked against the wall outside the garage. The stranger whose face I never saw spent their Sunday morning ensuring it got safely back to me, for which I am incredibly grateful.
Mountain bikes aren’t cheap – someone could have nicked it, or not bothered to make the effort to return it. But somebody saw me in distress and, out of the goodness of their heart, went out of their way to help me in a very simple and practical way.
I survived the event remarkably unscathed and still lead an active life. I’ve tried multiple times to track down whoever returned my bike through the local mountain biking community, without success. To that mysterious stranger: thank you. I’d love to buy you a beer.
