The distance from my bike is about 150 feet. My speed at the time of the crash was minimal at best, oh, around 5 MPH. It’s the slow ones right? It all happened during a training mission at Leverich Canyon. I leaned the wrong way when stopping and I didn’t find the ground as soon as expected, yea, downhill side. I looked for a landing zone to plant my foot to run out the mishap. I saw nothing but ice and rock. So I did a step to acquire a new landing spot, this time closer to actual impact to the ground. Nothing but ouchy objects so I hit the ground and started to roll. My speed quickly gained momentum. Wouldn’t you know it the slope was extreme, almost a drop off. I went 140 or so feet until I put out my self arrest tactic. I went spread eagle smashing a stump into my chest and sharp scree rocks slashed my shorts and shirt. I slid another 10 feet until I came to rest. I felt it necessary to belt out some bad words and express my displeasure that I had to hike uphill with a possible broken rib to my bike and get my self outta there. It is the slow ones, right?