Heres a wee story....
"Around 1:30 am, on September 30th last year, while heading home to my
girlfriends after work, I had just gotten on the interstate 101,
northbound from mcdowell, and after a quick spool up to cruising speed
(@70 indicated) -I realized it was too cold to be out in without
leathers, especially to make a 25+ mile trek north especially with plans
to return later still (I was glad the temp gave call for them.) So, I
stayed in the on/off lane but noted headlights closing rapidly from the
ramp behind me and figured it must be a cop enroute to a scene. Having
decided to roll down to the next exit, take a cruise to my home (about 3
miles away) to suit up and get back on the road, I stayed in about the
rightmost third of the far right lane and took the Thomas exit as while
rolling off the gas, I noticed that the vehicle closing on me was coming
across 2 or 3 lanes and attempting to exit as well, looking over my left
shoulder I saw it was no cop car. I was hit when a brown, beat-to-****,
early '80's Nissan screamed by me, passing me on a one-lane interstate
offramp and clipping my left barend. The bike leapt to the right about a
foot, landed in a path parallel to my chosen and the front end went
nuts, my hands were thrown off the controls and I scrambled desperately
to get ahold of the bars. The rear brake affect was weak but I managed
not to skid. In less than an instant, my life was forever changed. The
exit veered left and I was airborne as the gravel-covered embankment
built up for the roadway sloped away towards a concrete lined drainage
canal 30+ feet wide and 10+ feet deep. Thankfully, I don't recall the
next two seconds, but Highway Patrol recreationalists say the bikes
front dug into the embankment and I was catapulted over 250ft bouncing
through gravel and finally into the empty canal. Upon being shot over
the bars, the right mirror; like a mellon-baller, took a 5"+ diameter,
3/4" deep super scoop out of my right leg, just outside the knee,
gouging and exposing the cap and knuckle of both bones. My clothes were
tattered, as was the flesh beneath. My boot sole was separated. Both
wrists were shattered as were most fingers, some partially amputated, my
ankles were disjointed and my backside deeply gouged. Numerous other
open injuries occured and I came to rest in a half inch or so of
fertilizer/waste/mud with a tiny trickle of farm field run off water
where I lay unconscious for a brief time. Upon awakening, I stood and
staggered about briefly, looking for the bike before discovering the
mangled remains of my hands and seeing fingers broken off sideways and
hanging by tendons. Looking down my left forearm, 8+ inches of the ulna
were exposed, I could see through my left palm, and the right hand was
about the same, tendons and bones visible up and down the length of the
arm. My right hand was 90 degrees out of line with the wrist and arm
bones, blood flowed everywhere. I muttered, then yelled; "you gotta be
kidding me!! YOU'VE GOT TO BE ****ING KIDDING ME!!!" unable to exit the
canal I began yelling for help. An older, mexican-looking fellow
appeared after a few minutes and shouted down at me to "get the hell
outta there!!" I yelled at him to call for help. He left, I tried to cop
a squat on my helmet, missed, and lapsed in and out of consciousness a
few times before an ambulance crew showed up. The crew reported my
condition to the pd enroute to St Joes and DPS (Highway) sent a fatality
specialist to the scene. They tried to get my name and such, but I
wouldn't shut up about the brown nissan p/u. I remember wanting someone
to make a note of it, and became angy when being asked other,
insignificant (to me) questions instead of making that point. DPS sent a
cop to do a dui/drug check on me and see how high I was, (not) then,
finally, they gave me a shot of something that made everything below my
neck disapear. Apparently, the cop then took a statement from me (now
high as a kite) but somehow missed the reference to, the brown nissan,
instead concentrating on anything else in the roadway. A few hours
later, my name still unknown, I lapsed into a coma, after a few days my
identity was found and my sister (from FL) was contacted for permission
to amputate my hands, she declined and got ahold of my girlfriend after
recovering my cell phone. G/f is a nurse and had been mad that I hadn't
called over a week, but sis filled her in and she saw me through the
bulk of the following; coming out of a weeklong coma, coming off a
ventilator, 17 or so hand surgeries; (whatever $1.3M buys) donor
muscles/tendons bloodvessels transplanted from left leg, 2+ square feet
of skin grafted from both legs to other sites, numerous debriedments, 8
or 9 transfusions, 3 times hearing; "he may not survive the next hour",
weeks of seeing me shaking under a pile of blankets lapsing a month
where I could keep nothing down, nightmares of penguins with bills like
scissoring steak knives tearing apart my hands, hours of crying,
screaming moaning in pain. I finally remembered the accident in early
November. The bike is totalled, flipped through gravel, stopped on
canals lip. My "hands" are a sick joke. Social security and welfare want
me to fill out forms. Mortage is months behind, ditto bills, one
creditor calls daily, even after I explained that I have no money for
them, but they come right after the roof over my head, my sons stomach,
the lights gas phone, the jeep, aol and the rest of $2700+ monthly bills
short term disability (teamsters, disapointing) put $544 per month (not
week) toward. Whats gonna be comical is the half-handed guy trying to
move his **** to storage via Uhaul when I get foreclosed/sellout. Over
17 years, I've dropped bikes, I've dumped, wiped out, been flung hiside
and crushed under this and that. Never like this. I've heard numerous
times that I'm lucky to be alive, but while I suppose I'm glad I'm not
looking out of a vegetable, this isn't "luck" -quite the contrary,
"lucky" is seeing me from the outside as perfectly healthy nurses have.
Hell, "luck" would've been passing painlessly and in midair from this
earth, before the combined forces of gravity and inertia deformed me and
ground me to shreds. I just knew I had my gloves on, I always wore
them... but, nope. Every day and night I pray and beg God for another
chance, to live forward from Sept 29th, 2003, in this body and with all
else as it was then, but knowing what I know now. I don't wanna win
lotto, I don't need 3 wishes, I'd feel better if I could even have a few
minutes to appear at the on ramp the minute before I shot up it, wave
myself down if I have to scream at "me" and holding the helmet as it is
now, briefly explain 100 reasons I should ease onto the highway... ..as
that little nissan sings by... I'll likely never ride again. I have
gained some insight regarding why some guys won't wear a helmet, they
know they couldn't live like this... if it weren't for hoping I can
still be there for and raise my son grows to be a smarter, healthier,
happier man than me; I would've made myself some rat poison pancakes by
now. My life isn't special, maybe I wasn't grateful when I was truly
blessed, or maybe God is like a kid with a magnifying glass on an
anthill on a sunny day, and if thats the case I hope he saw what he
wanted happen. If there is a heaven, it will be like living forth from
the day before, preventing the accident, and maybe kicking Gods *** in a
boxing match because I couldn't see anyone in a position/condition
praying to me and not getting my help asap... I wish all you who ride
the best, I pray for you, and am grateful for any prayers you could find
in your hearts for me. Maybe someday I'll get at least my sense of humor
back. Sincerely, 03wadofZ1Rmetal.crybaby.com"
11-May-2004, 22:39 
AK
Hybrid Mode
