Ice cream, not life in a wheelchair and on crutches, is what Rosemarie Rossetti wanted on a lovely day last June.

"Life changes in an instant, and that's what happened to me," Rossetti said. "My life changed with a catastrophic event."

On June 13 -- three days after their third wedding anniversary -- a rotted tree fell on her while she and her husband, Mark Leder, rode along a wooded bicycle trail near Granville, Ohio.

Far from bitterness and self-pity, her attitude during recovery from devastating spinal injuries is pointing her toward a new career as an inspirational speaker.

The Granville-to-Johnstown portion of an asphalt-paved former railroad line was a favorite of the couple's. They were on their way to get ice cream on their first bike ride of the year.

"We were having a good time. We were both laughing and carrying on and singing a bit," Leder said.

Suddenly their world of bicycle rides, vacation hikes and New Year's Eve dances ended.

"I heard a loud bang. It sounded to me like a gunshot. When I heard that, I slowed," Leder said. "I thought someone was shooting at us."

Rossetti, who doesn't remember hearing anything, got several bike lengths ahead.

"All of a sudden I saw a tree at a 45-degree angle," her husband said. "It was coming down."

"I screamed, `Rosemarie, stop! Rosemarie, stop!' "

But "She just disappeared."

The 80-foot tree fell through an electric line, knocking the wire into a swamp. A ball of white light began arcing near the tree.

Rossetti was pinned beneath a branch that was a foot in diameter. Her helmet was damaged; the bike's front wheel was crumpled the way showoffs crush beer cans.

The 6-feet-4-inch Leder couldn't move the branch.

"I began screaming at the top of my lungs," he said. Another biking couple arrived from Granville as the arcing stopped.

The woman was Dr. Jill McGowan of Georgetown, Texas, who was completing residency at Ohio State University's Dodd Hall physical-rehabilitation center. Her husband, Christopher Hudnall, helped Leder lift the branch while she moved Rossetti away from it. The pair rode to Granville to get help.

As Rossetti came to, she was seeing double and told Leder, "I'm really, really scared. I can't move."

She had no feeling in her legs.

"It's just temporary," he assured her.

Rescue efforts were complicated first by the tangle of branches that slowed the team in moving her onto a board.

Then the arcing started again, scaring everyone.

The ambulance was too wide for the trail, so a squad member used her Chevy Suburban to take Rossetti to the ambulance.

Meanwhile, a medical-transport helicopter stationed in nearby Kirkersville for auto races was called to take Rossetti to Grant Medical Center Downtown.

Awaiting her was a 4 1/2-hour operation, five days in intensive care and five weeks at OSU's Dodd Hall.

Awaiting Leder was a lonely journey into an uncertain future where he would become caregiver, supporter and housekeeper.

Long bicycle rides (photo of bicycle) and plants had brought them together. Leder, who works in computer software, was employed by a client of the interior plant-care company where Rossetti worked.

She invited him for a ride with some friends in 1986. Soon after, Rossetti joined the OSU faculty and they didn't see each other again.

A 1992 Dispatch story about the plant-care book she wrote with another OSU faculty member prompted Leder to call her. Friendship turned to romance.

Rossetti left the OSU faculty in 1997 to launch businesses in public speaking, training and consulting.

One client, a Canadian computer software company, allowed her to conduct training sessions on her own schedule. When she wanted to ski, they arranged work in Denver.

Her bachelor's degree is in horticulture, and she has a master's degree and a doctorate in agriculture education. At OSU she taught students to become teachers.

At the hospital, she began to learn about a new world. With a few snips of scissors Rossetti's bike jersey and shorts were gone -- just like her previous way of life.

Another snip and her bra was cut and removed.

"At least it's not one of my good Victoria Secret's," she thought.

Her sense of humor wasn't broken like her back and neck, or fractured like the sternum and three ribs. It wasn't twisted like the spinal chord. It didn't vanish along with several body functions, such as temperature control.

Doctors used bone from her pelvis to repair her spine. Two 9 1/2-inch stainless-steel rods help hold her reconstructed back in place.

"She really had a complete dislocation of her inner spinal column," said Dr. Brian Davison, assistant director of orthopedic trauma at Grant Medical Center. "It doesn't get any more unstable than that."

No internal organs were damaged.

Yet "A spinal cord injury is perhaps the most catastrophic. It essentially separates the mind from the rest of your body," said Dr. Sam Colachis, director of spinal cord-injury rehabilitation at OSU. "You have lost a lot of the means to do what you want to do in life."

With her body pieced together and mending, Rossetti started learning take-it-for-granted activities all over again -- showering and getting into bed. And eventually new skills -- operating a wheelchair and walking with crutches, a difficult task with legs paralyzed below her knees.

Months after the accident, her new physical-therapy goals are the humdrum of everyday life:

Stand at sink and wash vegetables; get pushed off balance and regain balance; stand and reach items on upper cupboard shelves.

"Whatever you did before you will do again, but you will do it differently," said Youlandia Peake, her health-care aide.

Peake learned some of her skills 10 years ago when her son, then 23, broke his neck in a car accident and was paralyzed. He has since learned to drive and live independently.

Rossetti wants as much independence as possible, too.

"She's a very determined lady and has really done very well in rehabilitation," Davison said. "She's stayed upbeat on this better than most. She has concentrated on the positives."

Her attitude and determination are hardly typical of all spinal-injury patients. Anger and depression are common. The group has a higher suicide rate than the general population, Colachis said.

"I think Rosemarie has been very motivated toward self-improvement, making herself do the most that she can," Colachis said.

"They have good and bad days like everyone else," said Laura Miller, her physical therapist. "She never has complained." (photo of therapy)

"There's been a lot of slump days, where I stare out the window at the birds," Rossetti said. She had long, lonely nights in the hospital thinking, `My life is over. What am I going to do?' "

She heeds a warning given by actor Christopher Reeves, immobile from the neck down since a horseback-riding accident: Self-pity is a trap.

To escape, Rossetti tries something new every day.

"You start trying to find the things that you can still do," she said. One day she got into bed by herself. Another day she showered on her own. That took two hours.

And then you try more new things. Recently she ran the vacuum through the couple's large Gahanna-area house while sitting in her wheelchair.

"She has come a long way. She's a very gutsy lady," Peake said. "People have a lot of depression. Even if she's down, she continues to go on."

She has an almost full-time job handling the paperwork of disability insurance and hospital bills. She also has free-lance writing assignments and speaking engagements.

Her disability insurance and her husband's medical policy cover most of the expenses.

Helping fill the gap are friends in the Ohio Speakers Forum, who have rallied around her. About $15,000 was raised at an auction of their donated services and goods.

Most important, they encourage her to continue her professional career -- now as an inspirational speaker.

"I still have my ability to relate to an audience. I didn't lose my essence," she said.

She proved that St. Patrick's Day with an hourlong speech during a professional-development program at the Hyatt Regency. The stunned silence was punctuated with laughs as the "gutsy lady" shared lessons learned in overcoming difficulties.

Rossetti received a standing ovation at the end.

Peake knew Rossetti still had that essence after hearing her give a short talk in the fall.

"Girl, you haven't lost it," she told Rossetti. "You've still got it. It's just like riding a bike."