The day started out with picture perfect conditions. Sunny day, low temps and dry roads. We all started out from Grass Valley. Old Michael's brother Sean took the lead since he was most familiar with the roads in the area. We meandered up a variety of roads with a variety of conditions. After the first break, we changed positions a bit but Old Michael, being the most cautious of the four of us played sweeper all morning.
We left the little town of La Porte about 10:45 headed for a lunch in Quincy. The two in the lead eventually pulled out of sight from Old Michael and myself so we silently decided to cool our heels and enjoy the ride for the ride's sake. Road conditions were perfect. Little if any tar snakes. Mostly sun drenched roads. Temps in the mid 80's. This section of the road was mostly filled with wide sweepers with good visibility around most of the turns. I was starting to really enjoy the road as I settled into a nice rhythm when I came upon a beautiful right hand sweeper. Michael was probably 100 yards behind me at this time.
Halfway into this turn the radius closed down very suddenly, making it a near hairpin. While I don't recall all the things I did, let's just say I had one heck of a time staying where I should. Having finished the turn I quickly glanced in my mirror to see how Michael was doing. I only saw him for an instant. I heard the bike hit the gravel and heard total silence for a fraction of a second. It all happend in an instant, but I knew this was going to be bad. I stopped and peered over the edge and saw nothing.
Now this was one steep and deep ravine and not seeing a dang thing was not helping matters. I took of my helmet to get a better look and walked back and forth the 25 feet or so between myself and where I assumed he went off.
At first I wasn't sure what I was seeing. I knew it was yellow but it was so far down the embankment that I could only assume his helmet must have come off. Surely Michael wasn't that far down. If he was, I thought, then this was worse than I could have imagined.
I kept staring, trying to make out more than just the helmet. But I couldn't. I couldn't even see the bike from this vantage point I called out to him hoping he would respond, but doubting he would. I could swear I heard moaning but wasn't sure. In the meantime I'm desperately digging in my pants for my cell phone, all the while hoping I actually had more bars in more places. No such luck.
So here I am, standing at the edge of a veritable cliff, unsure if my buddy is even alive and unsure of where he is even if he is alive. I don't want to leave the side of the road just yet because I need to flag down a motorist to summon help. I pace, I call, I look, I wait.
Finally, I can't stand it anymore. This road might not see another car on it for 10 or 15 minutes. I can't wait that long. Finally, after what was probably the grand total of 3 minutes I decide to put my 4 way flashers on and hope someone, seeing a bike parked on the wrong side of the road, with no one around, with flashers on and no apparent men's restroom available, would assume that something was wrong. I scrambled about 20 feet down the side of the hill when, of course I hear an approaching car. I hear it come to a stop and begin the scramble back up, hoping they don't just look and go on.
They actually got out of their car and called out to see if anyone was down there. I was just about at the top when they got to the edge.
Now I can obviously, if you made it this far, go into great detail about this but let me try wrapping it up a bit. These Good Samaritans tried getting a signal on their phones. Unable to, they hit the OnStar button in their car. While one of them stayed up top to converse with OnStar, the other party and myself proceededback down. We came upon the bike resting against a tree about 75 to 100 feet down the embankment. It was hidden from view from the road by manzanita bushes. We found Michael another 75 to 100 feet down the embankment. He was leaning on one elbow, dirt covering his face, in severe pain but conscious and reasonably alert.
I stayed with him while his Good Samaritan returned to the highway to offer directions to emergency personel when they arrived.
Within about a half hour we had most of the county's search and rescue personnel on scene as well as a Life Flight helicopter. They worked on Michael as best they could, put him on a backboard, then on a gurney, and winched him up the hillside.
He was in agonizing pain, but able to wiggle his fingers and toes the whole time.
I take away from this a few thoughts at this time. I'll probably develop more but here aree just a few.
1. That damn yellow helmet that we always make fun of was the only thing I could see from the roadside.
2. If I or another rider had not seen him go over the edge, he could have been down there for hours and hours if not days. There was almost no physical evidence left where he went off. Assuming that he was riding in a group and not alone we would have been retracing miles and miles of road for evidence of his disappearance.
3. OnStar, which I never had an opinion on one way or the other, should be offered on motorcycles. It can be designed to know when you've left the road and automatically send a signal.
4. The La Porte area Search and Rescue team as well as the Volunteer Fire Department are first rate and deserve any and all accolades they get.
That's about it, except for this. Most of you who know Old Michael will completely understand the following. Michael is in severe pain. He comes close to passing out several times from the pain. He can't move much other than his fingers and toes. But, when Jeanne, from the La Porte Volunteer Fire Department, who happened to be the first on the scene, sets down her medical bag, Michael looks over and politely inquires if she brought beer with her.
Unfortunately, she hadn't
