I’ll try pack this eventful day into a good few pics, and not too many words.
As many are aware, on Aug. 2, I went on a ride with Mark (Bokerfork), RsvlFeej (Patrick),
and my brother Sean.
(Geez. - Sean, Patrick, Michael, and Mark. Sounds like roll call at a pub in Dublin.
)
We met very early that Saturday morning just out of Grass Valley, and with Sean leading the way,
we zoomed off on a really fantastic series of Sierra mountain roads.
Even though I’d taken a good part of this route before, I still can’t tell you exactly where the hell we went.
On group rides, I normally just jump on the tail end, get a general idea of the route, and commit to thoroughly enjoying the ride.
(This is a shot from a couple of months ago, on La Porte Rd. near where this ride ended for me this time.)
On this ride, even though my three companions possessed skills far superior to mine, I wasn’t worried about being left behind.
I knew that even if I fell way back, Sean would eventually pull over and wait for me,
or have to live with me sniveling about it later.
It was indeed a glorious morning weatherwise, the pavement was perfect -clean and smooth- and at our frequent stops,
it was fun to watch Patrick quickly pull out his manuals and work on fine-tuning his new Penske suspension.
I considered twisting some of his setting knobs while he was in the bathroom, but wisely thought better of it.
Didn’t want an ass-whipping on such a nice day. Here’s a few pics I took at our stops.
Patrick learning, Seany, and Mighty Mark.
Patrick! Just flip that lever to hard! I slept at a Holiday Inn and .... Kiss your what?
Posers.
Last stop before I screwed the pooch.
Well, let’s cut to the chase.
10 or 15 miles out of La Porte, on La Porte Rd., I totally blew a tight right-hander,
flew off the road, and went way down a pretty steep embankment.
No excuses. I simply lost focus, completely misjudged the curve, and didn’t have
the skills necessary to save it.
I knew the others guys were all fast, and I therefore felt even less pressure to keep up.
And as I've mentioned, I take a certain pride in motoring along at my own pace, and making the whole damn bunch of them
occasionally stop and wait for me. So I hope I wasn't even for a moment trying to keep up with someone else's pace.
That would make me even MORE of a dork.
But this particular corner just GOT me. If I could offer a more revealing or useful analysis, I certainly would.
But I’ll have to leave it for others to perhaps point out the mistakes I made.
Okay, so the few seconds between when I left the road and the moment I came to a stop are a bit of a blur.
I know I came off the bike pretty quickly, and cartwheeled and bounced and slid a loooong way.
When I came to a stop, the pain was pretty quickly overwhelming, especially in my back. I looked at my right gloved hand,
and almost chuckled to myself when I saw I could move my fingers! Cool. A good sign. The back and chest pain was
pretty severe though, and I was hoping I’d done no serious or permanent damage to my spine or nervous system.
In just minutes, Mark was at my side, reassuring me that help was on the way, and talking to me, asking me things, I think.
Mark's (Bokerfork's) account of his actions are detailed in the beginning of that other thread, and I yes he saved my ass and did
everthing right. I'll forever be in his debt. Thank you again Mark.
I remember feeling like I was going to sleep sort of, but having to focus so I could respond to him.
Well, the fantastic EMT’s arrived shortly thereafter, and through all my pissing and moaning, managed to cut off
my jacket and pants, strap me to a stretcher of some sort, and winch me up the hill and into the helicopter, where they were finally
able to shut me up with morphine.
They flew me to Reno, which they told me later was the nearest trauma center, and began tending to my fragile, middle-aged ass.
Nine broken ribs, (eight of ‘em on my left side), nubbins broken off the lower part of my spine
(the doc said they’re not even needed) and some tricky lung and breathing problems, and don’t get me started
about the freaking constipation brought on by the meds. Holy CRAP. It’s amazing how long a human can go
without making a stool. I’ll stop now. You hadda be there!
Two weeks later, they removed the first chest tube, and I enjoyed a really cool flight from Reno to
Sacramento in a (I made a note of this) Rockwell Turbo Commander.
Just the pilot, with me behind him on the gurney, and the two EMT’s sitting facing me. I’d flown over the Sierras
many times, but always at much higher altitudes in commercial jets. We stayed pretty low, and I was
sort of propped up and able to look out under the wing. Beautiful.
At the medical center in Roseville (a suburb of Sacramento), they determined that my lung had gone to shit again,
so I had a surgery done to clean out the stuff that had overwhelmed it. They put in another chest tube (in a new hole)
and I spent the next week feeling sorry for myself even as I fell in love with about 10 different nurses.
A week at the med center in Roseville, and then home. I’m told I’ll recover completely. Good deal.
I fully realize that I'm an incredibly lucky bastard. My injuries could have, and probably should have been much more severe.
The pain and discomfort I endured was just part of a very valuable lesson.
Red, on That '70's Show, said it beautifully, didn't he, in lecturing his son?
"Bad things happen to you because you're a dumbass." :lol:
Not always true perhaps, but I'm thinkin' it was in my case.
I screwed up, and I'm not about to complain about learning a lesson.
I took care to not post this on Friday. :lol:
Here are some pics of what was left of my gear and my Yamaha.
The jacket. Rashed on the right elbow. That woulda hurt.
My way cool helmet. It had been pristine. I polish it all the time. (Don't start with me HYCLE.)
The jacket was a very heavy leather Cortech. The EMT’s had a hard time cutting through it with the scissors thing.
As I recall, Mark even helped out the EMT's with that! The pants were textile Joe Rocket Alter Egos. No pics of them.
They cut them into very small pieces in removing them. Alpinestar boots, scuffed here and there, but no foot injuries at all.
Almost no road rash because I didn’t do much sliding, but I was visciously bruised all around my middle
from bouncing like Homer Simpson down the hill.
And of course my FJR took a beating.
See the driveshaft through that hole?
I know lots of folks say “it’s just a machine” when talking about their bike, but mine meant a lot to me,
it having taken me on so many long, trouble-free trips. I feel pretty bad about having completely wrecked it. I’ll miss it.
Okay, now I’d like to say a few really important things, before I wrap this up.
Medics and EMTs are special folks. I'm sure they get sick of scraping up idiots from the side of the road. But they keep doing
it, because somebody has to. Yes, I apologized to them for making them climb down that stinkin' hill to drag me out.
I could not even consider doing their job. I can only imagine some of the scenes they roll up on. Thanks guys.
I love nurses, both RN’s and CNA’s. They put up with an awful lot, see suffering every day, and I think
they should all be given an automatic pass into heaven for taking on such a difficult career. It takes a special kind of soul.
They are angels, and I'll always have a spot in my heart for them.
Finally, (did I hear amen?), but most importantly, I want to try to thank all of you, my forum brothers,
for the overwhelming support, the prayers, the visits, the phone calls, and the positive,
encouraging thoughts sent my way. It meant everthing to me, and I'll never forget it.
Thank you. Thank you.
That's all I got.
Rest in Peace Tim.
As many are aware, on Aug. 2, I went on a ride with Mark (Bokerfork), RsvlFeej (Patrick),
and my brother Sean.
(Geez. - Sean, Patrick, Michael, and Mark. Sounds like roll call at a pub in Dublin.
)We met very early that Saturday morning just out of Grass Valley, and with Sean leading the way,
we zoomed off on a really fantastic series of Sierra mountain roads.
Even though I’d taken a good part of this route before, I still can’t tell you exactly where the hell we went.
On group rides, I normally just jump on the tail end, get a general idea of the route, and commit to thoroughly enjoying the ride.
(This is a shot from a couple of months ago, on La Porte Rd. near where this ride ended for me this time.)
On this ride, even though my three companions possessed skills far superior to mine, I wasn’t worried about being left behind.
I knew that even if I fell way back, Sean would eventually pull over and wait for me,
or have to live with me sniveling about it later.
It was indeed a glorious morning weatherwise, the pavement was perfect -clean and smooth- and at our frequent stops,
it was fun to watch Patrick quickly pull out his manuals and work on fine-tuning his new Penske suspension.
I considered twisting some of his setting knobs while he was in the bathroom, but wisely thought better of it.
Didn’t want an ass-whipping on such a nice day. Here’s a few pics I took at our stops.
Patrick learning, Seany, and Mighty Mark.
Patrick! Just flip that lever to hard! I slept at a Holiday Inn and .... Kiss your what?
Posers.
Last stop before I screwed the pooch.
Well, let’s cut to the chase.
10 or 15 miles out of La Porte, on La Porte Rd., I totally blew a tight right-hander,
flew off the road, and went way down a pretty steep embankment.
No excuses. I simply lost focus, completely misjudged the curve, and didn’t have
the skills necessary to save it.
I knew the others guys were all fast, and I therefore felt even less pressure to keep up.
And as I've mentioned, I take a certain pride in motoring along at my own pace, and making the whole damn bunch of them
occasionally stop and wait for me. So I hope I wasn't even for a moment trying to keep up with someone else's pace.
That would make me even MORE of a dork.
But this particular corner just GOT me. If I could offer a more revealing or useful analysis, I certainly would.
But I’ll have to leave it for others to perhaps point out the mistakes I made.
Okay, so the few seconds between when I left the road and the moment I came to a stop are a bit of a blur.
I know I came off the bike pretty quickly, and cartwheeled and bounced and slid a loooong way.
When I came to a stop, the pain was pretty quickly overwhelming, especially in my back. I looked at my right gloved hand,
and almost chuckled to myself when I saw I could move my fingers! Cool. A good sign. The back and chest pain was
pretty severe though, and I was hoping I’d done no serious or permanent damage to my spine or nervous system.
In just minutes, Mark was at my side, reassuring me that help was on the way, and talking to me, asking me things, I think.
Mark's (Bokerfork's) account of his actions are detailed in the beginning of that other thread, and I yes he saved my ass and did
everthing right. I'll forever be in his debt. Thank you again Mark.
I remember feeling like I was going to sleep sort of, but having to focus so I could respond to him.
Well, the fantastic EMT’s arrived shortly thereafter, and through all my pissing and moaning, managed to cut off
my jacket and pants, strap me to a stretcher of some sort, and winch me up the hill and into the helicopter, where they were finally
able to shut me up with morphine.
They flew me to Reno, which they told me later was the nearest trauma center, and began tending to my fragile, middle-aged ass.
Nine broken ribs, (eight of ‘em on my left side), nubbins broken off the lower part of my spine
(the doc said they’re not even needed) and some tricky lung and breathing problems, and don’t get me started
about the freaking constipation brought on by the meds. Holy CRAP. It’s amazing how long a human can go
without making a stool. I’ll stop now. You hadda be there!
Two weeks later, they removed the first chest tube, and I enjoyed a really cool flight from Reno to
Sacramento in a (I made a note of this) Rockwell Turbo Commander.
Just the pilot, with me behind him on the gurney, and the two EMT’s sitting facing me. I’d flown over the Sierras
many times, but always at much higher altitudes in commercial jets. We stayed pretty low, and I was
sort of propped up and able to look out under the wing. Beautiful.
At the medical center in Roseville (a suburb of Sacramento), they determined that my lung had gone to shit again,
so I had a surgery done to clean out the stuff that had overwhelmed it. They put in another chest tube (in a new hole)
and I spent the next week feeling sorry for myself even as I fell in love with about 10 different nurses.
A week at the med center in Roseville, and then home. I’m told I’ll recover completely. Good deal.
I fully realize that I'm an incredibly lucky bastard. My injuries could have, and probably should have been much more severe.
The pain and discomfort I endured was just part of a very valuable lesson.
Red, on That '70's Show, said it beautifully, didn't he, in lecturing his son?
"Bad things happen to you because you're a dumbass." :lol:
Not always true perhaps, but I'm thinkin' it was in my case.
I screwed up, and I'm not about to complain about learning a lesson.
I took care to not post this on Friday. :lol:
Here are some pics of what was left of my gear and my Yamaha.
The jacket. Rashed on the right elbow. That woulda hurt.
My way cool helmet. It had been pristine. I polish it all the time. (Don't start with me HYCLE.)
The jacket was a very heavy leather Cortech. The EMT’s had a hard time cutting through it with the scissors thing.
As I recall, Mark even helped out the EMT's with that! The pants were textile Joe Rocket Alter Egos. No pics of them.
They cut them into very small pieces in removing them. Alpinestar boots, scuffed here and there, but no foot injuries at all.
Almost no road rash because I didn’t do much sliding, but I was visciously bruised all around my middle
from bouncing like Homer Simpson down the hill.
And of course my FJR took a beating.
See the driveshaft through that hole?
I know lots of folks say “it’s just a machine” when talking about their bike, but mine meant a lot to me,
it having taken me on so many long, trouble-free trips. I feel pretty bad about having completely wrecked it. I’ll miss it.
Okay, now I’d like to say a few really important things, before I wrap this up.
Medics and EMTs are special folks. I'm sure they get sick of scraping up idiots from the side of the road. But they keep doing
it, because somebody has to. Yes, I apologized to them for making them climb down that stinkin' hill to drag me out.
I could not even consider doing their job. I can only imagine some of the scenes they roll up on. Thanks guys.
I love nurses, both RN’s and CNA’s. They put up with an awful lot, see suffering every day, and I think
they should all be given an automatic pass into heaven for taking on such a difficult career. It takes a special kind of soul.
They are angels, and I'll always have a spot in my heart for them.
Finally, (did I hear amen?), but most importantly, I want to try to thank all of you, my forum brothers,
for the overwhelming support, the prayers, the visits, the phone calls, and the positive,
encouraging thoughts sent my way. It meant everthing to me, and I'll never forget it.
Thank you. Thank you.
That's all I got.
Rest in Peace Tim.
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