A Night At BATES MOTEL
I transferred to Cape Cod
on June 17, 1996. True Wheel Cycles of Cape Cod hosts several rides
a week, three of which are off-road rides. Their trails are affectionately
named after things the trails remind them of. For example, Car Wash
(trees and bushes brush you), Star Wars (twisty like the asteroid field scene), Grinder (long, steep climbs),
and Playground (goes past an abandoned, overgrown playground). If someone
crashes, the trail may be named after the effected body parts. Examples of
this are Face Plant (self explanatory), Hand Job (broken hand), and Little
Fib (broken Fibula).
I rode with the group on my first Wednesday in
MA and thought I was going to barf! The hills were tough and the
riders were well conditioned and accustomed to riding the rocky, hilly terrain.
I rode with them again on Saturday and noticed improvement in my riding
abilities. I rode again on Wednesday the 27th, just 10-days after reporting to CGC CAMPBELL. I was riding very
well, keeping up with the group and staying mostly centered on the trail.
When riding in a large group, we'd break up into smaller groups based
on each rider's abilities. We keep the smaller groups together by waiting
for the person behind us if he or she falls behind.
I had climbed a
steep hill and lost the person behind me. I waited for a minute, then
backtracked to find her. It's common for riders to walk up some hills.
That's not necessarily because they're too steep; but if the rider
spins out or chooses the wrong "line" and has to stop, it's nearly impossible
to getting going again. I returned to the hill and saw a woman climbing
the hill. She was from another group. The lady from my group,
Mary Ann, came up the hill next, so I rode on. I didn't know the trails,
so I decided to catch up with the woman that passed me earlier. She
was easy to spot because she had a long, thickly braided ponytail. Mary
Ann kept up. I caught up with the other woman. I followed her
line through the trails. As we approached a steep descent, I decided
to follow her line. I figured she was more experienced and would choose
the best line for me to follow. We sailed down the hill until it leveled
out, passed between two trees, then continued down a steeper part. I
had slowed for the trees and fell back somewhat, so I allowed my speed to
increase to close the gap between us a little.
Before I knew it,
I had somehow strayed from the trail and was bouncing through some rough
terrain. I remember thinking and doing all the right things: "Keep
your body back... Stay off the front brake... Stay loose and let the bike
pivot under you..." I was going too fast for any of that to matter.
The bicycle flipped end-over-end and I flew upside-down for at least 30 feet. I was in the air for over a second. I remember having lots of time to think about stepping
off the bike, or throwing the bike away, but I was unable to do anything.
I never released the bike, or left the riding position. The last
thing I had time to think about was, "This is really going to hurt," and,
"I don't think I'm going to walk away from this." I landed upside-down
on my right shoulder, then the bicycle landed on my chest. I let out
a heavy grunt upon impact, then slid to a stop.
I was surprised to
be able to take a couple breaths. Then I was even more surprised when
I stopped breathing. Somehow, I was able to patiently wait until my
next breath came. It seemed like an eternity; but was probably about
10-15 seconds. I began to hyperventilate with a strange, uncontrollable moaning
sound each time I exhaled. Although I don't remember if Mary Ann stopped,
I'm sure she did because someone was slowing the other riders down as they
came down the hill. A group of about eight riders came back to help.
Someone said, "Stay back, give him some room." I imagine he knew
I'd have to work the first minutes of pain out on my own. I looked
around and saw everyone standing there looking at me. I probably looked
and sounded pretty messed up. I tried to speak, but I couldn't. The
same person told me not to speak and asked me to point at the pain. I
pointed at my shoulder. He said I had probably broken my collar bone.
By then I could speak between pants. I said, "And probably a
few ribs, too. Just give me a few minutes and I'll get up." I was assured I wasn't going anywhere. Someone else
mentioned that we didn't have much daylight left. It was 8:15pm.
By
then a rider returned. Apparently, he was going to ride to the nearest
telephone and happened to pop out on the highway as an off-duty State Highway
Patrolman passed by. The officer radioed for an ambulance. All
ambulances in the closest town were dispatched; therefore, he called one
from another town. It would be on scene in about 20 minutes. I
was getting cold, so some of the riders removed clothing to cover me.
Paramedics from
a nearby fire station arrived first and began securing me to a backboard
for transport. It took six paramedics to remove me from the woods because
of the rough terrain. I arrived at the hospital at about 9:10pm. My
clothes were cut off (except for my shorts) and I was given an IV. The
nurse interviewed me, and then she wheeled me to the X-ray room. I
was parked under a clock until about 10:30pm. Then I was placed in
many painful positions for x-rays. To top it off, I was told I had
to move myself from the backboard to the new gurney. Then I was parked again,
where the State Highway Patrolman interviewed me. He asked if I wanted
him to call my wife. Still barely able to speak, I told him I'd rather
have her hear about my accident from me. That way she wouldn't worry
as much. After my interview, I met the doctor. He told me that
I had shattered my right clavicle and broken three ribs. Then the biggest
shock of all came: I was told it was time for me to check out and that I
needed to call someone to come pick me up.
I couldn't call the ship. They
were 50 miles away and there was no way I'd be able to get into my bunk.
The only person whose first AND last names I knew was someone named Tim from the CG
Air Station that I had met at church. The nurse called, but
there was no answer. After all, it was 12:30am. While I was thinking
of someone else to call, perhaps the duty corpsman at the Air Station, Tim
called. He was working the night shift and had just gotten home. He
arrived at the hospital at about 1am and took me to his house. He set
me up on his sleeper sofa and went to bed. I called my wife (still in
Virginia) and gave her the news. She wanted to come up; but I told
her to let me figure out what the Coast Guard was going to do with me first.
The next day Tim
dressed me in his clothes (I was still wearing the shorts from the night
before) and took me to the Coast Guard clinic at the Air Station. They
confirmed the broken bones and referred me to an orthopedic surgeon that
afternoon. The surgeon said I may require surgery due to the large
displacement of the clavicle ends (the photo is after one month).
Therefore, he ordered me to bedrest over the weekend and to see another
surgeon in Newport, RI on Monday. Tim took me to the ship between
appointments. My commanding officer was very disappointed with the
timing of the accident, but understood that accidents happen. The ship
was leaving for a patrol the following week. I was given temporary
orders to teach at TRACEN Yorktown (my former unit). But I decided to turn them
down since I might have been pending surgery. I wanted my care to remain
in one area. Tim arranged a place for me to stay over the weekend.
On Monday, the next surgeon decided against surgery and placed me in
a "figure-eight" brace. I stayed with Tim for a few hours Monday until
Joanne arrived. Then my wife and I went and stayed with someone elso
I had met at church.
I think the worst
part of my recovery was during the time that the swelling in my neck and
shoulder was going down. As the swelling went down, the sharp bone
ends would dig into my skin. That was very painful. It took thirty
days for the clavicle ends to adhere and stop jiggling as I walked. Then
I had to wait for the bone ends to calcify so they wouldn't be so sharp.
It was another three weeks before I was able to lift my hand over my
head. Unable to lay flat, I had to sleep in the reclined position for
about six weeks. It was another two weeks before I would share a bed
with my wife. I was still in enough pain that I didn't want her to bump
me in my sleep.
I began riding my
bicycle again on the quiet roads of Otis Air National Guard Base in late-September. Then I did
my first off-roading in March/April of 1997. However, I was so out
of shape and afraid of the terrain that it wasn't very fun. Once May
came along and the ground wasn't so slippery, I was able to get out and get
accustomed to riding off-road again. I had an MRI done in May to
investigate some popping sounds that were coming from my shoulder. The
MRI exposed some spurs and bony overgrowths. I was advised to do some
weight training to strengthen the shoulders so that I would not require surgery.
It turned out that mountain biking was the right exercise. I
rode in a race in late-May, but I was not properly conditioned for it.
Since then, I've been riding a lot during my inports. I ride
35 miles to the ship when I have weekend duty. With the exception of
a small loss of flexibility, I'd say I'm just about fully recovered.
What's funny is that one of my friend's kids broke his collarbone in
a skateboarding accident. He was mountain biking again in one month.
Ahhh, to be a kid again...
The trail I crashed
on was called, "Bates Motel" (riders go in, but they don't come out). The
bottom (where I crashed) was later named "Three Ribs and a Clavicle."
The trail was determined to be unsafe by the club the following year due to erosion. They
closed and overhauled it that summer and built a new one. New trails are
cut as old trails are closed each summer. I still ride descents fairly
slowly, but I've become a good climber. Most riders that leave me on
the descents are caught on the climbs.
By the way, there
are plenty of reasons for me to believe that GOD was at work in my life during
this time. After all, there were just too many coincidences: I
just happened to crash on a section of trail that was closest to the highway.
Although I landed almost completely upside-down, there wasn't a scratch
on my helmet; and none of my injuries were serious or life-threatening, An
off-duty patrolman just happened to be driving by. The ambulances in
the town where I crashed were all dispatched; therefore, an ambulance from
the next town picked me up and took me to their hospital (which was actually
CLOSER). Although I left the hospital in exactly the same condition
I went in (no slings, braces, straps, etc), the 1-1/2" displacement between
the bone ends nearly closed by themselves prior to seeing the surgeon in
Newport (five nights' time). The fragments had also pulled in and were
almost invisible. This alone was why there was no surgery.
Eventhough my clavicle is still crooked, the surgeon said that there
are always complications, such as nerve damage, when surgery is performed.
"Natural bone growth is always best," he said.
There was a generous
outpouring of support from total strangers. My wife and I had planned
for her to remain in Virginia until we were assigned housing. Therefore,
we had made no reservations to stay in Temporary Lodging. These new
friends allowed us to stay in their homes (one family had us for
two weeks). Also, the riders that helped me were mostly strangers,
too. A couple of them recovered my bicycle, fixed it (they said there
was nothing wrong with it... remarkable!), then stored it until I was ready
to pick it up. Several weeks later, I learned what was perhaps the
biggest mystery of all . NO ONE knows who the lady with the ponytail
was. The person that was ahead of me was waiting for me. He said
he went back when he heard the crash and saw no one but Mary Ann and me.
No one else saw her, and no one can recall having ever seen her. I
would've recognized her, but I never saw her again,
either.
Leaving my wife alone
in Virginia was a first for us. The idea was that we'd save a little
money by having her stay with friends until a house became available for
us. Then she would drive up to MA and move in while I was at sea.
This would've been very stressful for her. People say, "God works
in mysterious ways." Did He provide the situation that allowed me to
remain behind to support her in the big move? It's hard to say.
But the whole event cost me nothing but a little pain. We moved into a nice three-bedroom house, the bicycle repair bill was $0, and the $2200
ambulance ride and ER visit was paid by the Coast Guard, as well as all follow-up
appointments (including two MRIs). The bone healed exactly as shown in the X-ray above. I opted against surgery that would reshape my crooked clavicle by grinding the hump out of it. The doctor suggested I might suffer nerve damage. But I made my decision for another reason as well: Years later, the ugly hump still serves as a daily reminder that I'm not Superman.
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