I remember that beginning sentence of one of my surgeon’s report, “We are dealing with a very nice 58 year old male”. I had always been healthy, not perfectly healthy. I had had my share of bumps and bruises, the mumps on both sides, chicken pox, the measles, my tonsils needed to be removed, I had the flu a number of times, I’d caught pneumonia at Camp Lejeune, I’d gotten a stress fracture marching at Parris Island, and later in my life when we decided to up our insurance I’d found out I had Hep C ! I never had any symptoms of it or ill effects, my doctor said I barely made it on the scale? I endured 16 or 18 months of Pegylated Interferon shots in my stomach with little to no side effects other than some irregular fatigue. I loved to walk, ride my bicycle, and I was in better than average shape for my age. I thought nothing of walking back to the house from the farthest deer blind, I could squeeze through the tightest barbed wire fence without a hitch or climb over it if needed, and I could squat on my haunches “like a Chinaman” until that damn truck broadsided me in the center turn lane on College Avenue.
I had survived riding and racing motorcycles for the better part of 45 years. They were my bread and butter, my passion, and my primary means of transportation for most all of that time. I had skinned a knee or palm on occasion, bruised my ass falling down, but my head had never hit the pavement! Other than the stress fracture I’d never broken a bone. I’d seen my family bone doctor, Dr. Blum, a coupe of times in the ER when I bumped into him while delivering friends to his capable hands. I think all my other family members were his patients at one time or another. So it was without hesitation that I left work late one Thursday night 11/10/2010, birthday of the USMC.
I had a customer I had been working with for weeks. The kind that wants to buy so badly but he just can’t pick up the pen and sign on the dotted line. He had asked and I had answered every question about that motorcycle he could think of twice, maybe three times. He had beaten me up about the price (this was the least expensive model we sold) so much the only way he would have gotten a better deal was if I’d bought it for him. Thursday was our late night and tonight we’d stayed later to finally put him in the street so when it came time to leave I WAS ready. Two co-workers had volunteered to stay late so I could finish the deal and one of them Mark stepped outside with me as I began to put on my riding gear for the almost 40 mile ride home. Although it was November it was not yet cold here in Texas. I’d worn a light mesh spring riding jacket with armor in the elbows and a back protector. It had begun to rain and Mark worried I might get drenched in the mesh jacket and offered to let me wear his all weather jacket. I agreed with him and when he asked if he wanted me to remove the body armor in his jacket I declined the offer to hasten my departure. I took off my mesh jacket and tucked it into the trunk on my Buell Ulysses and then I donned my winter riding pants with various body armor pads while Mark returned with his jacket. I started my Buell and let it warm up before zipping up and heading to the curb before saying good night to my co-workers.
I was later than usual, it was starting to rain, and to further lessen my arrival time at home I had NOT called my wife. College Avenue in front of the shop is seven lanes wide, three eastbound, three westbound, and a center turn lane. My usual exit strategy was to pull to the curb, wait for a break in traffic in both directions, and then cross through the center turn lane in one fluid arc while heading west towards the Interstate and home.
If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it and always stick to the plan!! I wish I had a dollar for every customer I shared those two pearls of wisdom with, tonight I didn’t!! It was late, it was starting to rain, traffic seemed a little heavier than usual probably due to the rain, and since I hadn’t called and of course I didn’t want her to worry I was pushing myself.
Instead of exhibiting patience and fluid arcs I crossed the three eastbound lanes into the center turn lane where I slowed to a stop facing westbound while looking eastbound for a break in the traffic flow before heading to the house. A man has to know his limitations, especially when he rides a motorcycle! I guess in those over four decades of riding I either had the confidence, or the skills, or the luck to not present myself as a stationary target. That night on College Avenue I was on the wrong vehicle in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’m awfully glad if anyone is reading this that you are able to!!
That’s about all I remember of that night. Mark and Greg said they had just locked the front doors and turned to head out when they heard the crash. I have the slightest memory of the bluish light inside the back of the ambulance as I was being rolled toward or lifted into it. I have another vague memory I liken to the intro to The Simpsons TV show with the blue skies and the puffy white clouds. In my memory there are a couple of faces peering through the clouds asking me questions. I don’t know who or whether that memory if from the ambulance or the ER. The next conscious memory I have is three days later waking up in my hospital room extremely parched and asking my wife who was sitting at my bedside for a drink of water.
It’s going to be the seventh anniversary next month and I’m praying that everything that is heal-able will be healed. Trashed my Arai full face helmet. It’s probably why I’m able to tell this story. I trashed my riding pants and jeans, my right boot, and various cosmetic pieces to my Buell. The only external injury I suffered was when I tore the toebox on my boot. I either pulled off or ground off the tip of my little toe. It took several years for the toenail to figure out which direction it should go. For a long time it grew upwards and looked like a rhino horn. It made putting shoes and socks on exciting.
I still have one spot smaller than the tip of a pencil eraser to heal and about 30 days to do it in. I have a metallurgically enhanced leg and foot. I think I had eight surgeries, I went through four wound treatment centers, and I can’t begin to tell you all the doctors and nurses I’ve seen.
I still have my Buell and all the parts I need to fix it. I still dream about riding and doing wheelies. I’m older, I can’t squat like a “Chinaman” anymore, I get hung up on more barbed wire than ever before, and falling down is a lot easier than getting up now. My wife and I drove a Jeep down two of my bucket list motorcycle roads in August and she said WE need to do them again on a motorcycle! I promised the family I wouldn’t get back on the Buell until I healed well that time is around the corner as is the cool weather to get out in the garage and fix it. I still have other roads on my bucket list and that Buell is so damn fun to wheelie!! We’ll see?
The Burnt Crust 