hppants
Well-known member
Prologue
This is not my usual type of ride report. I’m sharing this with permission from my friends. It’s long winded and at times, rambles on – my apologies for that. I hope that we can all learn something from it, or at least be reminded that every day is special.
Make Every Day Count
February 13, 2017
Andrew and his dad, Mr. Hillary are my good friends from a city about 70 miles away. We got to know each other through the FJR forum, and of course, our common love for our motorcycle. Over the years, we’ve traveled together on day trips and much farther, including a 2 week bucket list trip out to Colorado, Utah, and other points West.
Andrew’s sarcastic sense of humor is contagious, and we have great fun ribbing each other from time to time. Andrew is a very smart man – he knows a lot of things about a lot of things. Moreover, Andrew knows what he doesn’t know, and is not afraid to seek council from others, including myself, with challenging matters. He communicates well and thinks things through. When he makes up his mind, its set in stone and his focus is unwavering until he gets the results he seeks.
Perhaps most noteworthy is that Andrew is a man with a 100 pound heart. He wears his feelings right there on his shirt sleeve for everyone to know. He would gladly give you his left leg if he believed you needed it. I’ve witnessed him do selfless acts of kindness on the least suspecting, and in some cases, the least deserving people.
Mr. Hillary is a mentor for all of us. At 71 years young, he can probably out work every one of you, and if he can’t, he’d sure as heck give it hell trying. This guy comes from the old school, the one where you make your own luck. The one where real men don’t stand around bitching and whining about unfairness. Mr. Hiliary walks the walk – he thinks, feels, and lives what the rest of us wish, hope, and sometimes fake to get by. He’s a man of few words, but when he speaks, it’s meaningful and interesting. He’s respectful and responsible. And he loves his family with all his heart and soul.
I trust them both implicitly, and I know that they trust me. That would prove useful later today.
It’s been a while since I’ve ridden with Andrew and Pop. It’s past due, really. I started texting Andrew in the middle of the week to feel him out. Andrew works odd hours at times and with a young son, it’s hard to pin him down. Pop won’t ride much without Andrew so if one wants to get to Pop, he must go through Andrew. By the end of the week, things looked good – we agreed to meet in the middle at 8:30 am on Sunday. Andrew also invited Patrick to join us, whom just bought a shiny new 2016 FJR. We would be 4 riders for a nice warm Sunday ride.
I got there a tad late and was not at all surprised to find the other three waiting as Andrew is always known to be punctual. I introduced myself to Patrick and we exchanged formalities. Pop approached me with his usual pleasant facial expression. I remember his hand shake is always firm, and he extends his left hand on my right shoulder in a warm and welcoming embrace. I have such a high regard for Pop. I’ve thought about that before, often when we are traveling together. I know that I respect him mostly because of his personality and kind hearted nature. But in my mind, Pop lives that life that I dream of. He’s retired and completely secure in himself. He’s confident in the 7 decades of experience he has from the University of Hard Knocks. And he rides his motorcycle with passion. In those respects, Pop is the guy I want to be.
At our morning greeting, Pop shared some thoughts with me regarding his bike and riding style. He is scraping his pegs quite often, even though he has replaced the shock on his FJR with a newer style and a stiffer spring. I checked his tires and clearly, he is all the way to the edges in both directions. I also learned that his sidestand and even center stand have been scraped briefly as he has leaned the bike excessively. I told him that could be dangerous and he agreed. As long as I’ve known him, Pop has always followed Andrew when they ride. They talk to each other through their intercom system, and Pop follows Andrew like a fighter jet in flawless formation. I’ve often thought that Pop follows Andrew a bit close as they are usually only a few bike lengths apart. But in my experience and observation, Pop’s reactions are incredible and I’ve never seen him in trouble.
Still, with the center stand getting scraped, I felt compelled to respectfully offer an observation. My feeling is that Pop is following Andrew a bit too close. By the time his brain realizes that he has to make an adjustment, and he begins to do so, he has traveled some distance. Now, he has to over-correct to make up for the minute difference in lane position he holds because of the delay. I think this is what is causing his excessive lean angles. I suggested that he hold back just a little more, giving him a split second more time to process the correction, and make it more smoothly. Pop and Andrew decided that they would give it a try.
It was determined that I was going to lead us for the ride. I wasn’t surprised as somehow this is usually the case. I don’t have to be the leader – I’d be just as content to ride behind any of them. But I do tend to ride a little faster and I know all of the roads in the area. So I guess I won the prize.
Andrew just installed a new Cee Bailey 21” windscreen on his bike and I wanted to try it out in the wind. We agreed to swap bikes for a very short run. As you can tell, Andrew is very excited about this. Personally, I think red suits him.
So for the first 3 miles, we ran the slab west to the next exist. I was very impressed with this windshield and may get one for myself for cold weather riding. Andrew was just behind me, Pop behind him, and Patrick was running sweep for the day.
From Ramah, Louisiana, I turned north and west and led us through the curvier roads. I decided to myself that I wasn’t going to push it today. My front tire is well worn, and knowing this naturally instills less confidence in my riding. But also – I just wasn’t feeling it that morning. My lines could be better. My reaction to normal road side obstacles was not as crisp as it should be. I had a good night’s sleep, but was not quite on my “A game” physically. After you ride a motorcycle for over 100,000 miles, you learn to assess these things. If it’s not right, slow it down until you are comfortable. There’s no shame in that what so ever. I decided early on that day I was going to back off 7-10 mph and give myself a little cushion.
We crossed the Atchafalaya swamp on Hwy 190 and all things are going just fine. I haven’t really decided exactly where we are going, but we have got all day to figure it out.
Hello to you, my friend!! You are looking quite well. Your dad has a burnt headlight.
On the west side of the swamp, I turned north on Hwy 105, which is the levee road for the Atchafalaya River. It is otherwise known as The Easy Rider road, because much of that famous movie was filmed there. Down in these parts, a levee road is always a good choice for motorcyclists. They are wide open with very little traffic. It’s a good place to just feel the wind and settle in for some riding.
We turned west on Hwy 360, and then further west on Hwy 10 to the village of Lebeau, where we stopped at the gas station for a bio break and I presume for everyone to look at their motorcycle.
While we are here, Andrew figures he might as well pick up a kitchen utensil.
As is usually the case with bikers, the locals came out of the woodwork to greet us and ask the proverbial questions. Where are you guys heading? What kind of bikes are those? Where are ya’ll from? Is it hot in those space suits? I don’t mind it, really. I use it as a great ice breaker to say hello. Not often, but sometimes I try to get a read on these people. Usually its curiosity, but sometimes I sense envy. They imagine that we are on an adventure to great lands to see great things and have wonderful and great fun, and they wish sincerely that they were in our shoes or could join us. If that is true, then they are correct – we are in paradise and we are heading to paradise in a proper vehicle to get there.
We also talked among ourselves and had typically good comradery. When I lead a group ride, especially with someone new, at the first stop, I like to check with everyone to make sure we are running a pace that is comfortable, distance between stops is appropriate, road and route selection is meeting expectations, etc. Today, everybody seemed just fine.
I remember asking Pop how things were going, but I can’t remember what he said. For days now, I’ve been trying to imagine exactly what he told me? What were his expressions? What were we talking about? Did he offer me that subtle observation about something important to him, motorcycle related or not? And if he said something, why didn’t I remember it? Why didn’t I give him the courtesy of my undivided attention and interest? Did I just say something to appease him and not give away my selfish and inconsiderate ways? And if so, did he see right through that and think of me as being disrespectful?
If you knew – if you REALLY knew that this might be the LAST time that you spoke to someone you loved, would you make it count?
At the gas station, I pulled out my State map and surveyed my options. I made some mental notes of where I thought the ride might be good, keeping the very important decision of lunch in mind. We left Lebeau on Hwy 361, then Hwy 107 heading generally north. These roads are good for a Sunday ride – nice clean pavement, curvy but not too technical, and plenty of visibility in and around for safety. It’s about 10:30 am and I’m thinking that we will have lunch at Bernard’s in Cottonport. They have a pretty good special – 2 pieces of fried chicken, 6 fried shrimp, fries and coleslaw for $6.99. It’s only about 20 miles to Cottonport, but I can make it 200 miles if I want to. It’s just a tad early for lunch and after all, it’s all about the journey, not the destination.
From Hwy 107, I turn left onto Hwy 1179 for a little detour, which is a ring levee road. A ring levee is a circular levee around a piece of low land that keeps adjourning properties from seasonal and situational flooding. Hwy 1179 runs about 7 miles from Hwy 107 and doubles back to Hwy 107. It’s a nice twisty road with cotton fields on one side, and swamps on the other.
I approached an “S” turn yellow sign marked 35 mph. Typically, I can take these at 20 over, or even more. I don’t know how fast I was going, but it was likely in the 50 mph range. As I approached the first turn, a left hander, I quickly realized that this curve was much tighter than I expected. Instinctively, I pushed my left hand a smidge more and the bike flopped on command. My left peg scraped just a split instant, and I remember it startling me. That normally doesn’t happen for me with this bike, especially anywhere in Louisiana. None to worry, I straightened her out, executed the immediate right hander, and rolled on the throttle. Nice and easy, Japan-eze.
Having realized things were tighter than expected, I glanced in my left mirror for Andrew. I see Andrew slowing down and what appears to be a cloud of dust behind him. Oh no. I stopped on the road and coincidentally, a kid was standing in his driveway at the street. I looked at him and said “something is not right”. Then I turned around and accelerated aggressively back toward the curve.
Back at the tail end of the curve, I pull off the road and get off my bike. I removed my helmet and gloves and then see Patrick standing there. I could not see Andrew or his dad from that vantage point. Patrick said Pop crashed and it looked serious. I asked him if he knew where he was and in my memory, he said no. I told him to call 911 and tell them Hwy 1179 near the intersection of Hwy 107 near Dupont. Patrick sprang into action immediately.
I ran a few yards along the edge of the field and around a large oak tree. There, Pop was lying on his right side against the trunk of the tree. Andrew was on his knees beside him.
I’m not a paramedic or even a 1st responder, but I work in Public safety and I know many of them. We do emergency training together for all kinds of scenarios. If you ask these people for perspective on these matters, they will all tell you the same thing. When the **** goes down, you will get tunnel vision. When that happens, the only thing you have is training. Your training is going to dictate the next 60 critical seconds, until you can re-focus and think more clearly. If your training is good, you will succeed. If not, you won’t. Period.
If you knew – if you REALLY knew that the next safety meeting or the next safety training you participated in could potentially have an impact on a loved one’s life, would you put the ******* phone down and REALLY pay attention in that class?
Back at the scene, I kneel down at Pop’s head. His modular helmet is still on, but the face shield and chin bar have been lifted. His eyes are open only slightly, and his pupils are constricted and fixed. My training is telling me that we need to establish three things now – A. B. and C. Clear airway, victim breathing, and some circulation. Pop breathes are labored and short, but he is breathing. He is doing so through his mouth and I see no obvious obstructions. I put two fingers on his neck and in an instant I can feel a good pulse.
Andrew is visibly upset, but he is coherent and when I talk to him, his is making sense and focused. I told him directly that he was in charge. Again, this is related to my training – establishing an incident commander based on who has the most knowledge of the situation at the time. Looking back, that was a bad idea. It’s just him and I at this point. It’s not like we are going to have a pissing match. Besides, this is Andrew’s dad. Formally placing the burden of charge on him at this immediate stage is stupid. Looking back, it probably sounded like some kind of lawyer ********.
Andrew tells me that he knows CPR and I tell him that I do as well. He is concerned that if we have to do CPR, Pop needs to be on his back and he is considering rotating him from his side now. I tell Andrew that I don’t think that is a good idea. If Pop has a broken neck or back, moving him could be disastrous. I assure Andrew that ABC is in good shape. I show him that Pop is breathing, and I placed my fingers on his carotid artery and confirmed a very good pulse. We should not move him unless we have to, and right now, at that very second, we don’t have to. I looked Andrew straight in the eye in a calm but direct manner. I’m not yelling or screaming. I need him to trust that I’m confident in my ability, and to the very best of my knowledge right there at the scene, this is what is best for Pops. That assurance needs to happen instantly – like right NOW. We don’t have time to analyze this. Andrew’s facial feedback to me was re-assuring.
Pops eyes are unchanged. I don’t even remember him blinking. Andrew is talking to him constantly. “Stay with me, Daddy. Don’t leave us, Daddy. I’m right here, Daddy.” His voice breaks a little at times, but in my memory, he is still focused. Pop’s breathing is now getting more labored. He is struggling to pull in air and I’m hearing some gurgling in his breath.
Andrew and I noted that his color was changing too. It went from a red to a pink to what I recall is a deep purple. And then he stopped breathing. Now I have no choice. If I break his neck, it doesn’t matter if we can’t get him breathing. We have to move him. I run my forearms under his head to his shoulders and Andrew grabs his hips. Together, we gently rotated him 90 degrees on his back.
Pupils still constricted and fixed, still no breath. I took my two fingers and pried open his jaw and see that his tongue has rolled back. In my memory, it is formed a perfect seal for his air way. I used my two fingers to pull his tongue down. He then took a HUGE breath that in my mind resembled what we do when we have been underwater for minutes and surface for that first deep and cleansing air. Miraculously, at exactly the same time, his color turned a shade better. In my memory, I can see the oxygenated blood under his facial skin turning from blue to red. That’s probably not how it happened, but that’s how I remember it.
Andrew is still on the hips – “Daddy, don’t leave us. “Daddy, I’m right here with you.”
Now I’m holding his jaw open and his tongue down. Pops is taking breaths slowly, but now they are not so shallow like the beginning. Andrew notes his color change at the same time I do, and that is reassuring that I’m not making it up in my mind. Andrew expresses concern that Pop might bite my fingers. I grabbed a stick and was just about to put it in his mouth like a horse’s bit when he shook his head a little. I dropped the stick and focused on his face. His pupils started to dilate and he took a deep breath in. I felt the resistance from his tongue release and instinctively, I pulled my hand out of his mouth. I didn’t even realize it until then, but Pops was passed out the whole time and was just returning to consciousness.
(Pants) “Mr. Hillary, do you know who I am, sir?”
(Pop) “Yeah”
(Pants) “Tell me who I am”
(Pop) “You that fella from Lafayette.”
That was good enough for me at the time. I was so relieved and excited. We are not out the woods by a long shot, but in my mind, I’ve not got a little time – even a few seconds – to think clearly and talk with Andrew about our next steps.
We took my riding jacket and formed a pillow for him. We removed his gloves and Andrew verified good color in his fingers. We started asking him questions. Can he feel his fingers? Can you wiggle your fingers? Can you feel your toes? Etc. etc.
He told us his chest hurt like hell. We were sure that he broke some ribs, but wondered about other injuries. Although coherent, at times Pop expressed a little confusion and I was concerned about concussion. I think the tree roots and sticks were jabbing him in the back making him uncomfortable. He expressed a desire to sit up, but I discouraged it. In my mind, we’ve got him back now. There’s no obvious bleeding. Let’s just hold until the experts get here who know much better than I do.
Meanwhile, Patrick of course arranged for help. I can’t say how long it actually took, but it seemed to me that help came pretty quick, considering how far off the beaten path we were. I don’t know where he came from, but the first person to help to arrive was a volunteer fireman who also happened to be a paramedic. I don’t remember his name. He was a portly gentlemen that had a nice attitude. One by one, Andrew and I told him what we knew, and he immediately went to work.
Soon, many others showed up – they kind of appeared out of nowhere. Everyone in plain clothes but all trained first responders who obviously were there to help us on their Sunday off. Much of that is kind of a blur. We put a neck collar on him and removed his jacket. Somebody asked to see his helmet, which was rashed on the right side. Several people would tell me later that the gear he was wearing saved his life, and I believe it. One lady told Pop “what are you doing riding that crotch rocket? You should be riding a Harley”. Pop matter of factly responded “I don’t want a dam Harley!” I told Andrew that was going in the ride report, for sure.
They ended up putting him on a board and then onto a gurney. We rolled him to the ambulance on the roadway. Before the ambulance could take off, a helicopter landed in the field and Pop was transferred there. I would later learn that the last time Mr. Hillary rode in a helicopter was in Vietnam as a Marine. The helicopter paramedics indicated that they were going to Rapides General, about 35 miles away. I told Andrew that I would take care of things at the scene and then ride to the hospital. I then asked Patrick to please follow Andrew to the hospital. I told him that if Andrew goes more than 5 mph over the speed limit to fall back. I was concerned about Andrew’s safety and didn’t want him to hurt himself trying to hurry to the hospital. I knew that even in his state of despair, Andrew would not leave a riding mate behind.
One of those local first responders offered her carport to store Pop’s crashed motorcycle. Another brought his truck and trailer to the scene to transport it. People down here are so nice and so helpful. Really, I think it is in their DNA. Their Cajun ancestors were deported to this mosquito infested swamp land 250 years ago. When they got here, the quickly learned that they only had each other and they better get along and be helpful toward one another or they would not survive. That mentality is still very prevalent to this day.
It took an hour for the State trooper to arrive and document the scene. Before his left, I acknowledged that he surely could site Pops for Failure to Maintain Control. His response was that “He has had a really bad day. He’s a Marine Vet. I need to confirm with my Sargent, but I’m inclined to let this go.” I thought that was a stand up gesture.
We loaded the bike on the trailer and exchanged contact information. On the way to the hospital, I had to stop for a minute and compose myself. It was just too much to hold in. I don’t know why I cried. I wasn’t particularly sad about anything. When you start thinking about what could have happened, it gets overwhelming.
I got to the hospital and was pleased to see Patrick and Andrew together in the waiting room. Although we just met that morning, Patrick knew Andrew should not be alone and he stayed with him. That says a lot – a WHOLE lot.
I stayed with Andrew and Pops until his family arrived and had a little time to think about things. A minister from the Christian Motorcycle Assn. came in to visit, and say a prayer. I thought that was pretty cool. Pops was in pretty bad pain, and I knew he was hurting although he is tough as nails. I stayed until they changed his meds and got him feeling better. Even though his family was there and it wasn’t really my place, I just didn’t want to leave him. I wanted to see with my eyes that he was under control before I went home. Andrew and his family were nice enough to let me do that.
The ride home was 90 miles of boring slab. Admittedly, it was hard to focus on the road at times as I kept reflecting on what happened. But I tried to take my own advice – don’t get yourself hurt trying to help someone else.
I’ve gotten daily reports from Andrew regarding Pops recovery. It’s going to take a while, but he’s moving in the right direction. I know we will all be in the saddle in short order.
I’ve gone through several series of thoughts in my head about what happened to cause the crash, and more importantly, could I have done (or not done) anything to affect the difference. It will take me some time to work that through.
So what has this experience taught me? Well, quite a bit, actually:
First, it reminds me to stay calm and really focus in emergency situations. You only know what you know, but in many cases, that is more than enough. I’m long overdue for a CPR refresher at work, and I’ve signed up for a class next month. You can bet your ***, I’ll be in the front of the class with eyes wide open and the phone on silent. There is benefit in sharing your route with others so that they will know more precisely where we are at all times in case of an emergency. ATGATT – no exceptions. The gear works – period. As a rider, when I agree to assume the risk of riding, and throw a leg over, the consequences of that are REAL, and I need to be mindful of my risk tolerance at all times.
But perhaps my greatest reminder is that there are some things that we just don’t get to decide. Make sure that what you do today makes you happy and leaves you with a sense of peace. Tell your friends and family that you love them and mean it. Abandon childish grudges and animosities. Agree to disagree, but move on – it’s just not worth it, man.
And life is fragile and too dam short Make every day count. Every single one.
Stay thirsty, my friends….
This is not my usual type of ride report. I’m sharing this with permission from my friends. It’s long winded and at times, rambles on – my apologies for that. I hope that we can all learn something from it, or at least be reminded that every day is special.
Make Every Day Count
February 13, 2017
Andrew and his dad, Mr. Hillary are my good friends from a city about 70 miles away. We got to know each other through the FJR forum, and of course, our common love for our motorcycle. Over the years, we’ve traveled together on day trips and much farther, including a 2 week bucket list trip out to Colorado, Utah, and other points West.
Andrew’s sarcastic sense of humor is contagious, and we have great fun ribbing each other from time to time. Andrew is a very smart man – he knows a lot of things about a lot of things. Moreover, Andrew knows what he doesn’t know, and is not afraid to seek council from others, including myself, with challenging matters. He communicates well and thinks things through. When he makes up his mind, its set in stone and his focus is unwavering until he gets the results he seeks.
Perhaps most noteworthy is that Andrew is a man with a 100 pound heart. He wears his feelings right there on his shirt sleeve for everyone to know. He would gladly give you his left leg if he believed you needed it. I’ve witnessed him do selfless acts of kindness on the least suspecting, and in some cases, the least deserving people.
Mr. Hillary is a mentor for all of us. At 71 years young, he can probably out work every one of you, and if he can’t, he’d sure as heck give it hell trying. This guy comes from the old school, the one where you make your own luck. The one where real men don’t stand around bitching and whining about unfairness. Mr. Hiliary walks the walk – he thinks, feels, and lives what the rest of us wish, hope, and sometimes fake to get by. He’s a man of few words, but when he speaks, it’s meaningful and interesting. He’s respectful and responsible. And he loves his family with all his heart and soul.
I trust them both implicitly, and I know that they trust me. That would prove useful later today.
It’s been a while since I’ve ridden with Andrew and Pop. It’s past due, really. I started texting Andrew in the middle of the week to feel him out. Andrew works odd hours at times and with a young son, it’s hard to pin him down. Pop won’t ride much without Andrew so if one wants to get to Pop, he must go through Andrew. By the end of the week, things looked good – we agreed to meet in the middle at 8:30 am on Sunday. Andrew also invited Patrick to join us, whom just bought a shiny new 2016 FJR. We would be 4 riders for a nice warm Sunday ride.
I got there a tad late and was not at all surprised to find the other three waiting as Andrew is always known to be punctual. I introduced myself to Patrick and we exchanged formalities. Pop approached me with his usual pleasant facial expression. I remember his hand shake is always firm, and he extends his left hand on my right shoulder in a warm and welcoming embrace. I have such a high regard for Pop. I’ve thought about that before, often when we are traveling together. I know that I respect him mostly because of his personality and kind hearted nature. But in my mind, Pop lives that life that I dream of. He’s retired and completely secure in himself. He’s confident in the 7 decades of experience he has from the University of Hard Knocks. And he rides his motorcycle with passion. In those respects, Pop is the guy I want to be.
At our morning greeting, Pop shared some thoughts with me regarding his bike and riding style. He is scraping his pegs quite often, even though he has replaced the shock on his FJR with a newer style and a stiffer spring. I checked his tires and clearly, he is all the way to the edges in both directions. I also learned that his sidestand and even center stand have been scraped briefly as he has leaned the bike excessively. I told him that could be dangerous and he agreed. As long as I’ve known him, Pop has always followed Andrew when they ride. They talk to each other through their intercom system, and Pop follows Andrew like a fighter jet in flawless formation. I’ve often thought that Pop follows Andrew a bit close as they are usually only a few bike lengths apart. But in my experience and observation, Pop’s reactions are incredible and I’ve never seen him in trouble.
Still, with the center stand getting scraped, I felt compelled to respectfully offer an observation. My feeling is that Pop is following Andrew a bit too close. By the time his brain realizes that he has to make an adjustment, and he begins to do so, he has traveled some distance. Now, he has to over-correct to make up for the minute difference in lane position he holds because of the delay. I think this is what is causing his excessive lean angles. I suggested that he hold back just a little more, giving him a split second more time to process the correction, and make it more smoothly. Pop and Andrew decided that they would give it a try.
It was determined that I was going to lead us for the ride. I wasn’t surprised as somehow this is usually the case. I don’t have to be the leader – I’d be just as content to ride behind any of them. But I do tend to ride a little faster and I know all of the roads in the area. So I guess I won the prize.
Andrew just installed a new Cee Bailey 21” windscreen on his bike and I wanted to try it out in the wind. We agreed to swap bikes for a very short run. As you can tell, Andrew is very excited about this. Personally, I think red suits him.
So for the first 3 miles, we ran the slab west to the next exist. I was very impressed with this windshield and may get one for myself for cold weather riding. Andrew was just behind me, Pop behind him, and Patrick was running sweep for the day.
From Ramah, Louisiana, I turned north and west and led us through the curvier roads. I decided to myself that I wasn’t going to push it today. My front tire is well worn, and knowing this naturally instills less confidence in my riding. But also – I just wasn’t feeling it that morning. My lines could be better. My reaction to normal road side obstacles was not as crisp as it should be. I had a good night’s sleep, but was not quite on my “A game” physically. After you ride a motorcycle for over 100,000 miles, you learn to assess these things. If it’s not right, slow it down until you are comfortable. There’s no shame in that what so ever. I decided early on that day I was going to back off 7-10 mph and give myself a little cushion.
We crossed the Atchafalaya swamp on Hwy 190 and all things are going just fine. I haven’t really decided exactly where we are going, but we have got all day to figure it out.
Hello to you, my friend!! You are looking quite well. Your dad has a burnt headlight.
On the west side of the swamp, I turned north on Hwy 105, which is the levee road for the Atchafalaya River. It is otherwise known as The Easy Rider road, because much of that famous movie was filmed there. Down in these parts, a levee road is always a good choice for motorcyclists. They are wide open with very little traffic. It’s a good place to just feel the wind and settle in for some riding.
We turned west on Hwy 360, and then further west on Hwy 10 to the village of Lebeau, where we stopped at the gas station for a bio break and I presume for everyone to look at their motorcycle.
While we are here, Andrew figures he might as well pick up a kitchen utensil.
As is usually the case with bikers, the locals came out of the woodwork to greet us and ask the proverbial questions. Where are you guys heading? What kind of bikes are those? Where are ya’ll from? Is it hot in those space suits? I don’t mind it, really. I use it as a great ice breaker to say hello. Not often, but sometimes I try to get a read on these people. Usually its curiosity, but sometimes I sense envy. They imagine that we are on an adventure to great lands to see great things and have wonderful and great fun, and they wish sincerely that they were in our shoes or could join us. If that is true, then they are correct – we are in paradise and we are heading to paradise in a proper vehicle to get there.
We also talked among ourselves and had typically good comradery. When I lead a group ride, especially with someone new, at the first stop, I like to check with everyone to make sure we are running a pace that is comfortable, distance between stops is appropriate, road and route selection is meeting expectations, etc. Today, everybody seemed just fine.
I remember asking Pop how things were going, but I can’t remember what he said. For days now, I’ve been trying to imagine exactly what he told me? What were his expressions? What were we talking about? Did he offer me that subtle observation about something important to him, motorcycle related or not? And if he said something, why didn’t I remember it? Why didn’t I give him the courtesy of my undivided attention and interest? Did I just say something to appease him and not give away my selfish and inconsiderate ways? And if so, did he see right through that and think of me as being disrespectful?
If you knew – if you REALLY knew that this might be the LAST time that you spoke to someone you loved, would you make it count?
At the gas station, I pulled out my State map and surveyed my options. I made some mental notes of where I thought the ride might be good, keeping the very important decision of lunch in mind. We left Lebeau on Hwy 361, then Hwy 107 heading generally north. These roads are good for a Sunday ride – nice clean pavement, curvy but not too technical, and plenty of visibility in and around for safety. It’s about 10:30 am and I’m thinking that we will have lunch at Bernard’s in Cottonport. They have a pretty good special – 2 pieces of fried chicken, 6 fried shrimp, fries and coleslaw for $6.99. It’s only about 20 miles to Cottonport, but I can make it 200 miles if I want to. It’s just a tad early for lunch and after all, it’s all about the journey, not the destination.
From Hwy 107, I turn left onto Hwy 1179 for a little detour, which is a ring levee road. A ring levee is a circular levee around a piece of low land that keeps adjourning properties from seasonal and situational flooding. Hwy 1179 runs about 7 miles from Hwy 107 and doubles back to Hwy 107. It’s a nice twisty road with cotton fields on one side, and swamps on the other.
I approached an “S” turn yellow sign marked 35 mph. Typically, I can take these at 20 over, or even more. I don’t know how fast I was going, but it was likely in the 50 mph range. As I approached the first turn, a left hander, I quickly realized that this curve was much tighter than I expected. Instinctively, I pushed my left hand a smidge more and the bike flopped on command. My left peg scraped just a split instant, and I remember it startling me. That normally doesn’t happen for me with this bike, especially anywhere in Louisiana. None to worry, I straightened her out, executed the immediate right hander, and rolled on the throttle. Nice and easy, Japan-eze.
Having realized things were tighter than expected, I glanced in my left mirror for Andrew. I see Andrew slowing down and what appears to be a cloud of dust behind him. Oh no. I stopped on the road and coincidentally, a kid was standing in his driveway at the street. I looked at him and said “something is not right”. Then I turned around and accelerated aggressively back toward the curve.
Back at the tail end of the curve, I pull off the road and get off my bike. I removed my helmet and gloves and then see Patrick standing there. I could not see Andrew or his dad from that vantage point. Patrick said Pop crashed and it looked serious. I asked him if he knew where he was and in my memory, he said no. I told him to call 911 and tell them Hwy 1179 near the intersection of Hwy 107 near Dupont. Patrick sprang into action immediately.
I ran a few yards along the edge of the field and around a large oak tree. There, Pop was lying on his right side against the trunk of the tree. Andrew was on his knees beside him.
I’m not a paramedic or even a 1st responder, but I work in Public safety and I know many of them. We do emergency training together for all kinds of scenarios. If you ask these people for perspective on these matters, they will all tell you the same thing. When the **** goes down, you will get tunnel vision. When that happens, the only thing you have is training. Your training is going to dictate the next 60 critical seconds, until you can re-focus and think more clearly. If your training is good, you will succeed. If not, you won’t. Period.
If you knew – if you REALLY knew that the next safety meeting or the next safety training you participated in could potentially have an impact on a loved one’s life, would you put the ******* phone down and REALLY pay attention in that class?
Back at the scene, I kneel down at Pop’s head. His modular helmet is still on, but the face shield and chin bar have been lifted. His eyes are open only slightly, and his pupils are constricted and fixed. My training is telling me that we need to establish three things now – A. B. and C. Clear airway, victim breathing, and some circulation. Pop breathes are labored and short, but he is breathing. He is doing so through his mouth and I see no obvious obstructions. I put two fingers on his neck and in an instant I can feel a good pulse.
Andrew is visibly upset, but he is coherent and when I talk to him, his is making sense and focused. I told him directly that he was in charge. Again, this is related to my training – establishing an incident commander based on who has the most knowledge of the situation at the time. Looking back, that was a bad idea. It’s just him and I at this point. It’s not like we are going to have a pissing match. Besides, this is Andrew’s dad. Formally placing the burden of charge on him at this immediate stage is stupid. Looking back, it probably sounded like some kind of lawyer ********.
Andrew tells me that he knows CPR and I tell him that I do as well. He is concerned that if we have to do CPR, Pop needs to be on his back and he is considering rotating him from his side now. I tell Andrew that I don’t think that is a good idea. If Pop has a broken neck or back, moving him could be disastrous. I assure Andrew that ABC is in good shape. I show him that Pop is breathing, and I placed my fingers on his carotid artery and confirmed a very good pulse. We should not move him unless we have to, and right now, at that very second, we don’t have to. I looked Andrew straight in the eye in a calm but direct manner. I’m not yelling or screaming. I need him to trust that I’m confident in my ability, and to the very best of my knowledge right there at the scene, this is what is best for Pops. That assurance needs to happen instantly – like right NOW. We don’t have time to analyze this. Andrew’s facial feedback to me was re-assuring.
Pops eyes are unchanged. I don’t even remember him blinking. Andrew is talking to him constantly. “Stay with me, Daddy. Don’t leave us, Daddy. I’m right here, Daddy.” His voice breaks a little at times, but in my memory, he is still focused. Pop’s breathing is now getting more labored. He is struggling to pull in air and I’m hearing some gurgling in his breath.
Andrew and I noted that his color was changing too. It went from a red to a pink to what I recall is a deep purple. And then he stopped breathing. Now I have no choice. If I break his neck, it doesn’t matter if we can’t get him breathing. We have to move him. I run my forearms under his head to his shoulders and Andrew grabs his hips. Together, we gently rotated him 90 degrees on his back.
Pupils still constricted and fixed, still no breath. I took my two fingers and pried open his jaw and see that his tongue has rolled back. In my memory, it is formed a perfect seal for his air way. I used my two fingers to pull his tongue down. He then took a HUGE breath that in my mind resembled what we do when we have been underwater for minutes and surface for that first deep and cleansing air. Miraculously, at exactly the same time, his color turned a shade better. In my memory, I can see the oxygenated blood under his facial skin turning from blue to red. That’s probably not how it happened, but that’s how I remember it.
Andrew is still on the hips – “Daddy, don’t leave us. “Daddy, I’m right here with you.”
Now I’m holding his jaw open and his tongue down. Pops is taking breaths slowly, but now they are not so shallow like the beginning. Andrew notes his color change at the same time I do, and that is reassuring that I’m not making it up in my mind. Andrew expresses concern that Pop might bite my fingers. I grabbed a stick and was just about to put it in his mouth like a horse’s bit when he shook his head a little. I dropped the stick and focused on his face. His pupils started to dilate and he took a deep breath in. I felt the resistance from his tongue release and instinctively, I pulled my hand out of his mouth. I didn’t even realize it until then, but Pops was passed out the whole time and was just returning to consciousness.
(Pants) “Mr. Hillary, do you know who I am, sir?”
(Pop) “Yeah”
(Pants) “Tell me who I am”
(Pop) “You that fella from Lafayette.”
That was good enough for me at the time. I was so relieved and excited. We are not out the woods by a long shot, but in my mind, I’ve not got a little time – even a few seconds – to think clearly and talk with Andrew about our next steps.
We took my riding jacket and formed a pillow for him. We removed his gloves and Andrew verified good color in his fingers. We started asking him questions. Can he feel his fingers? Can you wiggle your fingers? Can you feel your toes? Etc. etc.
He told us his chest hurt like hell. We were sure that he broke some ribs, but wondered about other injuries. Although coherent, at times Pop expressed a little confusion and I was concerned about concussion. I think the tree roots and sticks were jabbing him in the back making him uncomfortable. He expressed a desire to sit up, but I discouraged it. In my mind, we’ve got him back now. There’s no obvious bleeding. Let’s just hold until the experts get here who know much better than I do.
Meanwhile, Patrick of course arranged for help. I can’t say how long it actually took, but it seemed to me that help came pretty quick, considering how far off the beaten path we were. I don’t know where he came from, but the first person to help to arrive was a volunteer fireman who also happened to be a paramedic. I don’t remember his name. He was a portly gentlemen that had a nice attitude. One by one, Andrew and I told him what we knew, and he immediately went to work.
Soon, many others showed up – they kind of appeared out of nowhere. Everyone in plain clothes but all trained first responders who obviously were there to help us on their Sunday off. Much of that is kind of a blur. We put a neck collar on him and removed his jacket. Somebody asked to see his helmet, which was rashed on the right side. Several people would tell me later that the gear he was wearing saved his life, and I believe it. One lady told Pop “what are you doing riding that crotch rocket? You should be riding a Harley”. Pop matter of factly responded “I don’t want a dam Harley!” I told Andrew that was going in the ride report, for sure.
They ended up putting him on a board and then onto a gurney. We rolled him to the ambulance on the roadway. Before the ambulance could take off, a helicopter landed in the field and Pop was transferred there. I would later learn that the last time Mr. Hillary rode in a helicopter was in Vietnam as a Marine. The helicopter paramedics indicated that they were going to Rapides General, about 35 miles away. I told Andrew that I would take care of things at the scene and then ride to the hospital. I then asked Patrick to please follow Andrew to the hospital. I told him that if Andrew goes more than 5 mph over the speed limit to fall back. I was concerned about Andrew’s safety and didn’t want him to hurt himself trying to hurry to the hospital. I knew that even in his state of despair, Andrew would not leave a riding mate behind.
One of those local first responders offered her carport to store Pop’s crashed motorcycle. Another brought his truck and trailer to the scene to transport it. People down here are so nice and so helpful. Really, I think it is in their DNA. Their Cajun ancestors were deported to this mosquito infested swamp land 250 years ago. When they got here, the quickly learned that they only had each other and they better get along and be helpful toward one another or they would not survive. That mentality is still very prevalent to this day.
It took an hour for the State trooper to arrive and document the scene. Before his left, I acknowledged that he surely could site Pops for Failure to Maintain Control. His response was that “He has had a really bad day. He’s a Marine Vet. I need to confirm with my Sargent, but I’m inclined to let this go.” I thought that was a stand up gesture.
We loaded the bike on the trailer and exchanged contact information. On the way to the hospital, I had to stop for a minute and compose myself. It was just too much to hold in. I don’t know why I cried. I wasn’t particularly sad about anything. When you start thinking about what could have happened, it gets overwhelming.
I got to the hospital and was pleased to see Patrick and Andrew together in the waiting room. Although we just met that morning, Patrick knew Andrew should not be alone and he stayed with him. That says a lot – a WHOLE lot.
I stayed with Andrew and Pops until his family arrived and had a little time to think about things. A minister from the Christian Motorcycle Assn. came in to visit, and say a prayer. I thought that was pretty cool. Pops was in pretty bad pain, and I knew he was hurting although he is tough as nails. I stayed until they changed his meds and got him feeling better. Even though his family was there and it wasn’t really my place, I just didn’t want to leave him. I wanted to see with my eyes that he was under control before I went home. Andrew and his family were nice enough to let me do that.
The ride home was 90 miles of boring slab. Admittedly, it was hard to focus on the road at times as I kept reflecting on what happened. But I tried to take my own advice – don’t get yourself hurt trying to help someone else.
I’ve gotten daily reports from Andrew regarding Pops recovery. It’s going to take a while, but he’s moving in the right direction. I know we will all be in the saddle in short order.
I’ve gone through several series of thoughts in my head about what happened to cause the crash, and more importantly, could I have done (or not done) anything to affect the difference. It will take me some time to work that through.
So what has this experience taught me? Well, quite a bit, actually:
First, it reminds me to stay calm and really focus in emergency situations. You only know what you know, but in many cases, that is more than enough. I’m long overdue for a CPR refresher at work, and I’ve signed up for a class next month. You can bet your ***, I’ll be in the front of the class with eyes wide open and the phone on silent. There is benefit in sharing your route with others so that they will know more precisely where we are at all times in case of an emergency. ATGATT – no exceptions. The gear works – period. As a rider, when I agree to assume the risk of riding, and throw a leg over, the consequences of that are REAL, and I need to be mindful of my risk tolerance at all times.
But perhaps my greatest reminder is that there are some things that we just don’t get to decide. Make sure that what you do today makes you happy and leaves you with a sense of peace. Tell your friends and family that you love them and mean it. Abandon childish grudges and animosities. Agree to disagree, but move on – it’s just not worth it, man.
And life is fragile and too dam short Make every day count. Every single one.
Stay thirsty, my friends….
