Anatomy of a 30 mph crash

I'm pointing at a scrap of matted hair and skin on the inside of my leggings which I've just peeled off. I've just got home after throwing myself down the road. It's hurting (a lot).
I suppose I should have known better.

With the evenings drawing out, there was time for a 90 minute ride before dark. It was cold and a little misty as I set off, but I was pleased to see that the road was mostly dry. I planned a nice route of about 25 miles along the coast road at the end of my road (the Military Road) with a big nasty hill at either end. Perfect.

I normally would have been football training on a Thursday evening but I have a couple of nagging injuries which need rest, so a good cycling aerobic workout is the perfect non-weight-bearing substitute exercise.
I had done the hard work, final climb finished, and was only 8 miles from home. I was giving it the berries, descending from St Catherines into Chale. The hill is steep, a double S bend, with a roundabout half way along. It's tricky I admit, but I've been down here loads of time at speed on my Fireblade. This is a knee-down corner. I know the perfect line, and I know that the camber is adverse as you hit the roundabout. I was flying. I glanced down at my speedo which read in the mid-30's, and dabbed the brakes a little. I had a conscious zing of excitement at the prospect of a slightly dangerous corner. Time to test the limits of the tyres. I set up for the bend, perfect entry, shift my weight, gently ease from left to right, a touch of opposite lock then BANG. I went down in an instant onto my right side. I hit really hard on my upper thigh and elbow. My momentum carried me across the road for 5 seconds or so and I careened into the kerb. My right leg folded under me and an agonising pain shot through my calf. For a moment I thought I had broken my leg, but it was only cramp. Luckily the roads were deserted and I was able to scrabble off the tarmac quickly and collapse on the verge, before a boy racer totalled me. For some reason, I quickly looked around to see if anyone had seen me fall. Noone, of course.
Naturally, my first thought was for my bike. Any damage? Well, the front brake was jammed on, the brake levers had twisted around, and the rear mech, right pedal and right side of the saddle had scraped along the road. Apart from that, almost nothing else. The carbon is undamaged. The brakes were easily sorted, I tweaked the levers back and I nearly felt lucky to have escaped so relatively unscathed.
By now, I was feeling very nauseous from the pain and shock, but I jumped back on the bike, and scooted home as fast as I could. The rear mech was chattering and obviously had been knocked out of alignment, but I still managed a 27 mile ride at an average speed of 16.9 mph. Adrenaline is a great thing.
In the kitchen my long suffering wife made sympathetic noises, camera at the ready, as I gingerly peeled off my tights. A scabby bit of hairy mangled skin tore off to leave a raw gravel rash. Nice. Amazingly there was no hole in my expensive Assoss leggings. I had 3 layers on my arms so I only had a small graze and big swollen bruise on the right elbow. Gloves had saved my hands. Calf muscle not good, and I needed a pot of tea (and a flapjack).
Now, I can't believe I had been so reckless. What a stupid thing to do. What if I'd cracked the frame? Or my head? I know this is a notoriously tricky corner. The temperature was dropping as dusk approached and the atmosphere was getting wetter. The tyres would have been cold. There is always oil and rubber residue on roundabouts like these, and here I was on ridiculously skinny racing tyres at 120 psi. This is not the first time I've had a bad fall off a bicycle. The last 'stupid boy' episode was a broken clavicle sustained during the warm-up for a downhill mountain bike race. That's right...the warm-up. Ambulance. Hospital. Operation. Pain.
This evening, I'm sore and achey. I've been over the bike and confirmed that the only problem is a bent hanger. I've ordered a new one, and have muscled the original back in line. It'll do for now. My lovely shoes are scuffed and the ratchet buckle on the strap is a bit kerplunked. I'll replace that in due course.
As Simon said, the 40 miler is back on for tomorrow!