The Crash
Part 3
With over 300 miles of tight mountain roads ahead of us, the procession left our hotel in Redding a little earlier than the day before. I had misgivings about changing my mind that morning leaving Jake to ride alone to Lassen Volcano; I also was happy to ride once again with my VFRD friends.
We fell in line and made our way out of Redding onto the roads northwest of Redding, eventually taking highway 3 past Trinity. We all stopped at a junction of Highway 3 and Forest Service Road 42N17, Trinity River ran more or less north to south, just east of the junction, while the Tangle Blue Creek was to our west, more or less paralleling the serpentine road we were riding on. The leaders pulled us all over at the wide expansive junction as Derek was going to ride ahead to a spot he had planned to set his drone aloft and video us as we rode by. He took off and later called his wife Tammy to say he was ready, we filed back onto the road and I found myself somewhere near the front of the pack but not at the front. The turns became tighter and tighter, some were increasing radius, and even seemed to be off camber. Tricky riding and I noticed with alarm a rider or two blowing the corners, drifting well across the center line and reigning it back just in time to set up for the next corner. Had a car or logging truck come around the steep curve ahead it wouldn’t have been good.
I’m not sure how far we travelled on our way to the hovering drone, but on one short piece of tangent with a sharp left hander, I was closing in on Craig Sample and his Tuono, he was filming our ride with fore and aft GoPros, these cameras are not unusual on such tours so nothing unremarkable about that. As I’ve had more than enough spare time to replay that day and to try to determine why I blew that particular corner after carving around 10,000 other corners without incident, I’ve come to this: When you ride at the front of a group, or solo, you read the road ahead of you, there’s a lot to process and some riders use the “vanishing point” method to set up their line around a curve. I guess I do that myself. You have to adjust to the radius and the best, safest way to do that is by following the old axiom pertaining to corners, “slow in fast out.” You also have to read the surface for any traction problems, tar snakes, gravel, water, tree branches, animals, etc. A public road is not a closed track so it’s imperative to leave some speed on the table, knowing you cannot possibly calculate for any contingency ahead. However, when you’re following a group, you can get a clue as to the sharpness of a curve by seeing the bikes ahead of you and seeing their torso, or helmets going through their arc and this helps you see a bit farther around the curve than just by reading the road surface at it appears in front of you.
In this case I might have been following Craig’s Tuono not realizing he was pulling to the side to wave us ahead in order to get different video. I might have allowed myself to follow him to the edge and when he waved me by I finally realized what was going on. I vividly remember glancing at his waving hand as I past him and when I looked up I was very near the edge of the road as its increasing radius was arcing tighter than I was. This is not to suggest in any way that Craig’s actions caused me to crash, the responsibility for my crash is solely mine and mine alone. I only mention these details because I had to figure out for myself why this corner caught me out when I’ve never had any problems before. I got distracted on an unforgiving corner, a corner, like many on that road which requires 100 percent concentration.
That one tiny lapse of concentration resulted in a violent explosion of pain and confusion. When I turned back to the road I was already on the edge of the pavement, leaning over, Jim, who filmed me also, said my front tire hit a pot hole or something and started bouncing or shaking very hard and fast. I couldn’t believe I was losing control and then I slammed down hard, violently, dirty brown gravel and rocks exploded all around me. My first thought was for my ole’ girl, it was going to be ruined, I hit hard on my left side and slid along the gravel, expecting in that split second to grind to a stop only I didn’t stop, I just kept on going and going, and going. I slid off the edge of the road over a boulder lined creek bank and tumbled down the coffee-table sized, sharp edge boulders, crashing, bouncing, crashing, cartwheeling, crashing, tumbling, wondering when this nightmare was going to end. My bike was being tortured more or less the same way, I could hear it being destroyed by the unforgiving, unyielding granite blocks. I think it was loyal to the end, I don’t recall it crushing me, I like to think it did its best to stay clear of me. We both landed face down in the boulders. Me at the toe of the 30-foot high rock cliff, my bike another 15 or so feet out in the boulder-strewn creek.
The way I kept falling, crashing and bouncing only to repeat over and over was beyond frightening and confusing, it made me think of death. I finally came to a stop, head down, only inches from the water, stuck between boulders, legs and feet up in the air. Before even trying to move I had one thought to process, one question to ask. Why am I still alive? It didn’t seem possible.
I was alive and so wrestled myself upright and stood on my feet leaning back against the boulder, my head was still spinning. I glanced over at my bike, utterly destroyed, the Remus pipes that jutted out back seemed to have dodged the carnage somehow. I could hear the creek now. I knew I had done it good. Whatever I did wrong on that corner I don’t think the punishment fit the crime, yet here I was, battered, busted and alone, for now. My friends were coming. I tried to move my legs, they moved, I wiggled my back, it wiggled, I turned my head from side to side, so far so good. I moved my arms-check. I reevaluated my condition and was relieved to discover I was not dead, not even a vegetable. My broken ankle from before was fine, my back was fine, my neck was fine, hell, I might come out of this after all. I looked at my bike again and grimaced for the loss of an old friend.
Jim Landon was the first person to reach me. This was no small feat as he put himself at considerable risk to get to me, he saw me upside down and feared I may be drowning. By the time he reach me I was upright and had already done my self-diagnostic. I was hurt bad and hadn’t realized the extent of my injuries. Jim started talking to me and his exact words I can’t recall but he helped me focus and tried to reassure me. This is about the time the really weird stuff started to happen. As I looked at Jim blackness started to envelope my view. It started from the margins and I tried to fight back the blackness by concentrating on Jim’s face and his voice. It was as if the Grim Reaper was trying to envelope me with his ink black cape that was rippling with static electricity, try as I might I couldn’t stop the blackness from obliterating everything, even the silhouette of Jim’s head and shoulders were gone. I have to admit, these few moments were frightening, I didn’t know what to expect but could not accept not seeing, thankfully the blackness did not drown out Jim’s voice. I concentrated on staying focused in the direction I last saw his silhouette fade away and honed in on his voice, it’s all I had to grab onto. It was enough as a few minutes passed by in total darkness and the blackness finally, slowly started to recede. Jim was still talking and he appeared once again right where he should have been. Fuck off Grim Reaper, not yet.
Relieved about getting my sight back, something told me to get out of the creek bottom and I tried make my way along the toe of the boulder cliff where it meets the edge of the boulder strewn creek. Jim tried to convince me to stay put, by then Tammy and made her way down the slope and also tried to get me to stay still. I figured I was going to stiffen up if I didn’t keep moving and I knew I was going to need plenty of help getting back up to the top and wanted to help them help me as much as possible. The boulders were so large, the steepness so great everybody except me knew I was on a fool’s errand. Nevertheless, I managed to spot a strip of gravel that might allow an easier ascent to the top than the boulder steps and forced my way along the toe of the cliff toward it. Tammy did her best to convince me otherwise, Jim too. People up top were urging me to stay put, but I had that fight or flight adrenaline coursing through my veins and wanted to escape my predicament. Finally I could sense everyone’s frustration with my stubbornness and allowed myself a short respite, also I could feel my pelvis crunching with each step. I didn’t know the extent of my damages, but I knew then my pelvis was broken in several places. I also had a broken clavicle, two broken ribs and deep bone bruises, but only the pelvis was painful and debilitating. I stopped once again to Tammy’s relief and took a breather. Derek joined her in stabilizing me, and informed me the first responders were only minutes out. I was grateful and dismayed all at once, I didn’t want to screw up the ride for everybody, but that just exactly what I had done.
As long as I stayed still I was in no pain, I had taken my helmet and gloves off at the boulders where I first crashed but left my pack and jacket on. I insisted I wanted to keep them on now, I felt comfortable and the pack gave me a cushion to lean back against. Where Jim had been my first angel responder, now Tammy and Derek had joined him to comfort me. Tammy held me, steadied me, talked to me and let me lean against her. It reminded me of the time in Germansen Landing, BC when our friend and neighbor Ray Reierson shattered his leg while horse logging. We happened to be in the area and were able to help out the best we could. We helped him roll to a sitting position and my wife Pauline sat behind him and made herself into a chair for him to lean back against. He did great until the medic stabilized his leg from one side and rolled him over a bit and we all saw his tibia and fibula jutting out from his skin, covered in dirt and pine needles. It was then when Ray needed oxygen to keep from falling deeper into shock. Soon a chopper descended and flew him off to Prince George. He said later he’ll never forget how comforting leaning against Pauline had been. I feel the same way about Tammy, I wasn’t going through this alone—my pain was being shared by my friends.
I realized I was getting stiff and wouldn’t be attempting another ascent of VFR Mountain, knowing getting me out of there was going to be a challenge. About then the Grim Reaper decided to try again, everything faded to black, with that static electricity the only thing breaking up the ink black. Again I tried to focus on where I last saw Derek and Jim, and I could feel Tammy’s body against mine, her embrace helped me focus. Finally, the black dissipated. Then the craziest thing happened. I suddenly felt nauseous, with barely any time to warn Derek, who was attending to me, I think I tried to warn him I was going to throw up and I did. Except I barely remember throwing up because that’s when I crossed over to the other side, perhaps the other side of the Grim Reaper’s cape.
I know this sounds strange, but I passed out and at the time, after I had woke up with puke on my arm, I thought I had just had a dream, but upon reflection this was no dream like any I had ever had. My dreams are always bizarre, don’t make sense, disjointed, annoying usually, stressful most often, panic inducing on occasion. But this was the most pleasant dream I had ever had. I was somewhere in a storybook village, maybe a cottage on the margins of a village and a natural landscape, the details are getting fuzzy as I’m more than a month out now from the crash, but it seemed like it could be my vision of an ideal existence, a small, community, very friendly people, not necessarily family, not necessarily not family, just nice people, who knows, but the one thing that remains clear is that I had this comforting feeling of belonging, of knowing this is how it’s supposed to be. It was also bright, glowing and radiating with good feelings. It was just a dream I thought and when I woke up with puke on my arms, I’m pretty sure I announced to Tammy and Derek and Jim and whomever else was nearby that I just had a dream, a most pleasant dream.
Reality tore me from that paradise to the realization once again that I had just experienced a life-threatening crash on my motorcycle. The sound of the creek penetrated my consciousness and chased my dream/near death experience away once and for all. I was forced me to remember where I parked my bike. It lay crushed and motionless, dead in the rocky creek bed. The odometer would certainly not be tallying any more miles. I wouldn’t be needing that plastic nut after all. Curry had pointed out to me at the last stop that my taillight was out. Yet another minor problem I wouldn’t have to deal with.
My friends stood close, inspecting me, I could feel my battered body wracked in shock and trauma and just wanted for a moment to duck back into that dream that maybe wasn’t a dream.
I apologized to Derek in case I got any puke on him, we washed it off the right sleeve of my Joe Rocket perforated summer jacket. The material over the left shoulder armor was shredded, below that armor was a broken clavicle and two broken ribs, the very least of my pain and problems at the time. I was informed that the paramedics were close, that a helicopter was inbound and felt both relieved and guilty for having cause so many people so much trouble. Our group was not able to finish their ride, the drone had nothing to video. It was all about me, not the kind of attention anyone wants.
The first paramedic appeared before me, he was an older guy, my age or even older and had done well to scamper down the steep bank. He was puffing and set right in to determine my condition. My eyes were instructed to follow his finger, check, I had to give my name and birth date, check, where was I, somewhere northwest of Redding, somewhere not too far from some place called Trinity, check. Although my helmet was off and my head and neck were okay, paramedics take no chances and the gentleman proceeded to secure my head in a cardboard medieval torture device, but I didn’t mind too much. Soon a stretcher was brought and by this time I was starting to succumb to my injuries and was retreating into myself, seeing and hearing the earnest activity around me through a haze. I felt myself being winched up, I remember the paramedic calling for some strong men from above to help guide the stretcher over the boulders. I felt my pelvis wrench apart every time the stretcher clattered over a boulder.
It was slow going as my friends had to keep adjusting their own footing in order to give one dedicated heave, reposition themselves among the boulders and then another, over and over. I was reminded of how we sometimes used to have to get our snowmobiles unstuck after plunging down a too steep hillside. Several people would have to fight their way to the sled, work their feet down through three for four feet of snow on a 45 degree slope, give a heave, have somebody hold the brake or rope, everybody had to shuffle and re-punch new holes for their feet, give another coordinated heave only to gain another two or three feet of elevation.
At one point one side of my stretcher fell away and I heard the paramedic shouting to hold on. I thought I might face plant on those obstinate boulders. I was leveled and eventually broke over the bank and was on flat ground. I remember a police man asking me how fast I was going, what happened and I told him not very fast 25 or so and that I remembered glancing over at the bike as Jamie waved me by. They were talking about my gear, the paramedics told the officer I had full protective gear on. This was mentioned several times, there, in the helicopter and in the emergency room. Each time the information was met with approval.
Since I was strapped down, I could no longer see anyone unless they were standing directly over me. I was loaded into an ambulance and immediately felt I was in good hands. They put needles in my arms, cut my pants legs and I didn’t object, they talked about cutting my boots off and I said, NO, my feet are fine, and wiggled my feet and moved my legs, just take them off please, and they removed my Sidi Riding boots without harm.
The ambulance took me to an “LZ” where I was loaded into a chopper. I so much appreciate the speed of the chopper as opposed to an ambulance ride back to Redding, but I have to say this was by far the worst chopper ride I’ve ever had. I wasn’t in dire pain, but just extremely uncomfortable. As I was being loaded into the chopper I heard someone say “keep your head down.” I thought he was talking to me and I thought, are you kidding me. My foot snagged on something in the helicopter causing me to grimace a little but then I was pivoted in, a first aid women sat behind my head, she was sardined in there as I was, her radio dug into my scalp a little. My sciatic area was extremely uncomfortable, I needed to stretch but couldn’t, I was dehydrated but they refused to give me any water because everyone thought I was going immediately into surgery. I so appreciated the ambulance people and the helicopter rescue crew, but I really wasn’t enjoying this chopper ride.
When I recalled this experience later someone asked me if I had been in a chopper before, many times, I responded. We lived in a remote area of north central British Columbia called Germansen Landing for 20 years. I met my wife there and we raised our kids there. Several of my neighbors and I were timber fallers so when forest fires blew up in our area we were called upon to help set up advanced landing zones. Three of us loaded our saws, gas, ropes, axes, spikes and some water and food into the side bay of the Hughes 500, a very powerful chopper with four smaller diameter blades that allow it to get into tighter spots than the usual Bell 206. We were flown up above the fire line on a steep mountain ridge, the pilot found a spot that would have to do and hovered just above the steep slope, the front of his skids just touching the ground. We slithered out gently just as he had warned us we must do, retrieved our gear, gently, and he took off. In an hour or so we had opened up the tree line and built a sturdy platform for the chopper to actually land on and start ferrying pumps, hoses and people up the mountain.
When I was a freelance writer I was invited to join a wolverine tagging project and we flew all around the Omineca Mountains checking live traps, collecting hair samples until finally we got a female wolverine in a live trap, unhurt. The guttural, primal growl that came from that 30-pound demon weasel made you want to turn and run for your life. The biologists knocked it out with a hypodermic needle on the end of a pole and when docile, pulled a tooth, clipped some hair, drew some blood and fixed a radio collar. When finished they gave me the honor of naming her, so I named her Jessica, after my daughter.
Another time a French made A-Star helicopter carefully dropped into our property to take me to do a write up on helicopter logging far away across Williston Lake, my opening would have been ample for a 206, easily large enough for a Hughes 500, but an A-Star is much bigger. The pilot let me know that he didn’t exactly enjoy flying into that tight of a space. Got it. That trip was long and watching the helicopter logging was interesting. The wolverine helicopter ride was fun, the firefighting helicopter ride was exciting, even the time a 206 flew me up to a ridge top not far from my house to cover an airplane crash was somber but thrilling. The ride to Redding did not rank high on my numerous helicopter rides, of no fault to the expert crew, I was solely responsible for my level of discomfort. After 25 minutes of so, I heard the pitch of the rotors change and knew we were descending.
I was wheeled into the hospital and almost immediately into the CAT scan machine, when I was out I met my surgeon, Dr. Osborne and he told me what we were dealing with, pelvis broke in four places, two broken ribs, broken scapula, deep bruises, minor road rash, etc. I had a minute of time to myself in the CAT scan room and found my phone in my riding pants, they were still on me just cut up. I called my wife and heard her always cheery voice: “Hey, hi, how are you doing?” I gently informed her of my situation and knew it would be difficult to get her to calm down. Finally I told her my plan. Get our air mattress and throw it in the back of the truck, we have a Chevy pickup with a canopy. Throw in a bunch of blankets and pillows and please come get me.
I was wheeled into ICU and came under the care of Adriana, day shift and Jason night shift. I begged her for water, she was not allowed to give me water because we didn’t know when surgery was scheduled. I pleaded once again for water and mercifully she gave me some ice to suck on. It wasn’t too long we learned that Doctor Osborne had scheduled the operation for the next morning so I was allowed drink and have some light food. Redding’s Mercy Hospital is a trauma-level hospital and I immediately felt I was in expert hands. The next day Doctor Osborne, a heavily praised orthopedic trauma surgeon placed two long screws through my pelvis and that started me on my road to recovery.
Part 4 recovery and reflection to follow