The crash of November 2011

I am approaching the one year anniversary of my most heinous crash.  I'm fairly confident it wouldn't have been impressive to see, but it impacted me, in more than just a physical way.

On the day before Thanksgiving, I planned with my wife that I would go on a short mountain bike ride in the morning prior to our driving up with the kids to visit my folks in the Santa Barbara area.  I went out at 7-ish, planning to be home by 8:10.  I left, quite thankful for my loving wife who lets me play on my bike.

Off I went, up Black Mountain, down a fairly technical rocky section, across a connector trail, and began doing the bottom half of Miner’s Ridge Loop.

Some of you know I commute on the dirt to get to work sometimes.  Well, this is part of my route, so I knew it fairly well.  I knew when rocks were moved, water bars were changed, even small rock piles were disturbed.  I was comfortable.  At one point, there is this super-fun stretch of smooth single track, after which you bear right, and go straight down a lightly rutted trail, which is followed by a 8” drop and some twists that need to be navigated.  I probably had more speed than I am usually comfortable with when I got to the top.  No big deal.  Coming down the hill.  Approaching the 8” drop.  Shift right, get nervous, catch front wheel on small tree, handlebars turn, and WHAM!

Now I am on the ground, in front of my bike, making loud whiny moany noises.  I have fallen on my bike before, and the mental checklist starts firing: what hurts?  Nothing right now.  Stay conscious?  Think so.  Short term memory?  I need to be home by 8:10.  Okay, let’s roll over and OWWWW, maybe not.  Lay back down,  Catch breath.  Try again, maybe I just need to go this WAAAHHHHH.  Okay, maybe not.

I repeated this admittedly poor strategy for quite some time.  I finally looked at my phone (not broken!  Yay!) and checked the time.  8:02.  Hmph.  I suppose it’s time call my wife.  I’m about to call, and happy dog comes up to me, his owner right behind him.

“Are you okay?”

“no.”

“Do you need some help?”

“Yes.”

He turned out to be Steve my Rescue Guy with his trusty but kinda goofy dog Juno.  Steve turned out to be Dr. Steve, an ER doctor at Grossmont.  (More to be thankful for!)  Did I mention he's a veteran who was in Iraq?  What a coincidence! (note: that was sarcasm)  He helped me slowly to my feet.  I got up, leaned on him, and would take three steps sideways, then pause to rest.  I did call my wife.  She called me back.  I stayed chipper on the phone.  Then I called my friend Steve W who has helped me out before.  

So, we’re moving slowly, Juno is getting into trouble and trying to collect ticks, and it’s just slow.  Dr. Steve tells me my options:

·         Hobble down

·         Call the paramedics

·         Get a fireman carry

In my head, they all sound quite painful.  Dr. Steve eventually leaves to put his trusty happy dog Juno in his car so he doesn’t become a tick banquet.

So I stand there.  Ow.

He got back, and broke a couple branches into homemade crutches.  He wheeled my bike, while I hobbled along like Edward Woodenhands.  Moments later, a man with headphones comes up behind us walking his dog.

Man: “Are you gonna move?!”

Dr Steve: “Actually, he’s kinda hurt.”

Man: “Oh.  I’ll make my way around then.”

Dr. Steve: “We could use some help.”

Man: “Looks like you got everything under control.”  Wanders off

Dr. Steve: grumble grumble

So, we continue another seven or eight yards, me flailing my trunk-arms, Dr. Steve being unbelievable patient, asking standard doctor questions: “You have kids?  Plans for Thanskgiving?”

Two mountain bikers show up from behind. 

MTBR#1: “Can we pass?”

Dr. Steve: “He’s hurt.”

MTBR#2: “That’s why I always walk those sections.”

Dr. Steve: “We could use some help.”

MTBR#1 rides off.  MTBR#2 is about to ride off, saying “Good luck!”

Dr Steve: “DON’T YOU THINK YOU GUYS COULD HELP?!”

MTBR#2:”Oh.  Yeah, sure.  What can we do?”

We then begin trying a number of contortions, but finally settle on one guy under each armpit, and one guy carrying my legs under his arms while he faces forward.

This helped.  A lot.  We made fairly good progress.  Steve W my buddy showed up, gave me a Pepsi and a granola bar.    So the four of them got me to the Y of Miner’s Ridge, and then they lifted me onto the bike.  Really.  They pushed me up hills, and helped guide me while I braked downhills, and we got back.

Needless to say, I am fantastically grateful to all four of them.  As they carried me, I was a little embarrassed they had to carry me, but so thankful that it wasn’t painful, and we were making progress. 

We parted ways, I got their numbers so I could buy them beers, bring them cookies, change their oil, scrape their calluses, whatever.

Steve my buddy drove me home to get some clothes, then off to urgent care.  I was in fairly quickly.  Sit down.  In the gown, off to X-Rays.  My hip felt awful, and, hey my elbow feels a little hinky too.

That horizontal line halfway up?  The fact it sticks out on the bottom?  Yeah/

Get the X-Rays, and back to my room.  Turns out I cracked my left iliac wing on my pelvis.  This means no surgery.  Lots of pain, yes, surgery no.  Yay!  Also, the elbow was broken after all.  Really?  And I need a cast.  Ah well.  Better to heal now then face ugly stuff down the road.

So, my wife picked me up, and I called my GP.  He could get me in for a cast right away.  I went there, and they wheeled me right in.  He looked at the x-rays, prescribed some meds, and said “You don’t need a cast.”  Yay!  He then texted a picture to his buddy who is an orthopedist to verify.  The orthopedist texted right back that, no, I don’t need a cast.  Again, very thankful!

I got home, hobbled up to my room.

My kids were very sad that we couldn’t go to the grandparents.  They had their stuff packed and they were ready, but then we couldn’t go because of daddy.

My son then proceeded to invent a board game which we played, and my daughter enjoyed being my nurse and taking care of me. 

Thanksgiving night I spent at home, but I sent my family to my buddy Steve’s place for dinner.  I thought about all the people, the medical care, the passersby, my family, and oh so much I have to be thankful for.  I am truly blessed. 

The first time I tried to go to the bathroom from the bed, it was a 20 minute round trip.

I did manage to record the ride on Strava:



Now, you may ask, what lesson did I learn?  My wife will tell you that she learned not to let me ride just before we go on vacation.  I learned way more than that.  I learned the practical: If I see someone on the ground, I stop.  No question.  Beyond that, I stop whenever I see someone in trouble.  The whole ride-past-yelling-"You okay?"-with-no-intention-to-stop is long gone.

However, much more than that, I learned that sometimes, I need to let others help me.  There are things I can't do on my own.  As it says in Romans 12, we are all members of a body in Christ, and we belong to all the others.  I can't do it all myself.  Eyeballs are amazing, but they aren't very good at hearing.  In this case, I was a (non)walking lesson of needing others to be my feet.   It is often easier to help someone else, but there are things and tasks which I was not designed to do.

Here's the part that some folks would raise an eyebrow at: I think God may have wanted this to happen.  Not just allowed it, but wanted it.  He used it to train and teach me, and to train and teach my family.  It may have already prevented me from doing something else.   God is in control.  Good thing, because if I really were in control, things would go waaaaay worse.