Bruised Harley Gal

August 1, 2008
Fort Collins, CO

Where to start?

Last Friday - the 25th of July, 2008 - my new Harley and I had a difference of opinion (and we were getting along so well) about how to negotiate a curb in the parking lot of the High School where I was practicing. Just for the record: I usually steer pretty well clear of curbs whether in a car or on a bike. End result - no excuses - operator error resulted in a crash - neither one of us [me or the bike] came out of it very well.

Not to worry - both of us are going to survive - to ride again.

Details: I was setting up for a fairly tight left turn, unintentionally grabbed (instead of squeezed) the hand brake, accidentally rolled on the throttle, clipped the end of a small curb which sent the front wheel into a wobble, couldn't find/reach the kill switch, can't recall if I grabbed the clutch or not, no time or space to recover, I nailed the next curb dead on which resulted in what is known as a high side crash meaning I went over and in front of the bike.

Long Story Short: After giving Tim a near coronary... He was sprinting from clear across the large parking lot from me... as I rolled off the curb and sat up. Three good Samaritans arrived on the scene pretty quick. A man called 911. The other (a mother and daughter learning to drive in another part of the parking lot) helped Tim set the bike upright so it wouldn't leak gas and cause a fire. I got a ride in an ambulance (my first - no siren) with a really nice EMT name of Jay to the emergency room. Tim called a friend and neighbor who arranged to have the bike picked up and brought to the house while he was grabbing a clean shirt and calling my folks. I have three stitches (first stitches ever) over my right eye, a bruised cheek and a chin with road rash, an eight (yes, I said - 8 -) inch gash that wraps around my right forearm, a sprained left hand and wrist and significant bruising in assorted other places.

I landed in the edge of a bed filled with red cedar pine bark chips, that had to be washed out with the ER equivalent of a miniature fire hose and dug out of the gash with tweezers like the ones I use to get to hard to reach spots on the dolls I make. Ouch! Infection was/is a concern. So far. So good. The gash over my eye was caused by the impact of the helmet hitting my glasses. There's something to be said for spending the bucks on titanium frames (they bent but did not break) and shatter-proof lenses (cracked but did not shatter). As far as we know, the cut on my arm was caused by the edge of the windshield. Twelve stitches on the inside, about 22 on the outside. No major muscle or nerve damage. I know - YIKES! It's a miracle I have no broken bones.

Most people find it amusing that when I arrived in the ER, a nurse with scissors eyed my Harley t-shirt and asked how partial I was to that shirt. My answer was - pretty damn partial. The shirt is one of my favorites, chocolate brown and gold with an American eagle motif. My Dad bought it for me on a trip to Red River Harley Davidson in Texas. I pretty much said if I could get that far with bark hanging out of an eight inch gash in my arm I could manage to get the t-shirt off and on. With a little help, I did.

I've been asked: Did it hurt? - I can't say I was in real pain. Call it shock I guess. I looked at my arm when the medic took it out of the t-shirt and wrapped it in gauze for the ambulance ride but all I remember is thinking in a rather detached manner that my arm was FUBAR. For those of you who need a translation... F****d Up Beyond All Recognition. When asked in the ER -- I said my pain level was a 2 (and that was mostly a complaint about my eye and bruised cheek). A 2? Are you sure? The nurse and my husband looked at me like I was out of my mind... Of course, I didn't have the same visual they had - I didn't see myself until a trip to the rest room on my way out of the ER. Granted, that was a HSM - Holy Shit Moment.

I've been asked: Did you cry? - NO.

I've been asked: Was I scared? - Not really, Tim wrapped my arm in his t-shirt before I got a good look at it. He removed my helmet and broken specs. I saw the blood on the ground and my arm when the EMT wrapped it in gauze. I was slightly more concerned when the EMT's started talking among themselves about possible skin graft. The idea of that was scary.

Mostly I'm pissed... still. Rookie Rider I am but I could have done without making such a huge rookie mistake.

With that said - the most recurring question is: What will you do now? -

Meaning - What will I do in regard to the hare-brain idea I have about riding a Harley for the first time at age 52? Well, I'm going to get it repaired of course and I'm going to give myself time to heal. I'm not saying there won't be a few fear factors to overcome... but I'm getting back on the bike as soon as I am able. I told Tim he might want to take out a bigger insurance policy - 'cause me and the Harley are gonna get it together -- one way or another. LOL!

Overall, it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Call me Lucky... or perhaps a better word is Durable. Whatever.

Today, the stitches over my eye came out and I'm very colorful what with all the stages of bruising going on. Perhaps next week, the stitches in my arm will come out and the swelling in my face will go down enough to get my eyes checked and new specs ordered. I've had well wishes and encouragement from all the people whose opinions I value. Our neighbors, such good people, have fed us for a week, brought me books to read and movies to watch. I received a cute get well card in the mail just today from Mom. And, the leather biker hat I ordered just-for-fun a few days before the accident arrived today.

Yeah... my first biker experience has proven to be a bit more of a challenge than I bargained on... I am bruised and battered and slightly frustrated with the delay of healing and repairs... I still have so much to learn... but I have no doubt that in the long run - that first real ride out on the highway all on my own will prove worth all the fuss and bother. I'm counting on it...

There are no shortcuts to any place worth going.
-- Beverly Sills