FLYING
It was Saturday morning, 19 June, sunny but not yet hot. I hadn't had my black Honda Shadow 24 hours yet - and was just beginning to really get the feel of her between my legs. We started the morning taking some safe laps along some quiet residential streets with gentle curves, hills, and speed bumps. Each mile getting more comfortable rolling more throttle, hugging the turns a little closer, and going a little farther.
And the first time we rode past a fellow biker and extended a hand in an exchange of mutual respect and acknowledgment of another "in the club"... what a moment of thrilling pride!
We expanded our riding to a loop that ran along an open space west along the foothills - and I felt like I was flying! Along that route, the name of my bike came to me - for I hadn't wanted to name her without getting a feel for who she was. On that road, I kept hearing Captain Jack Sparrow's monologue from the first Pirates of the Caribbean movie:
"Wherever we want to go, we'll go. That's what a ship is, you know. It's not just a keel and a hull and a deck and sails, that's what a ship needs but what a ship is... what the Black Pearl really is... is freedom."
We road south past the wonder of Garden of the Gods and into Old Colorado City, navigating through a farmer's market without issue, then heading east to stop in at APEX where we had acquired our bikes the previous evening. Our salesman, Lance, ran out to meet us in the parking lot and said we looked like seasoned riders already. There was confidence in our posture, a natural fluidity to our movements. The hours astride our bikes that now hot Saturday had been taken to heart.
FALLING
Brimming, beaming, we decided to make our way home for lunch. Riding north we opened up the throttle on the city highway and felt the bikes cruising easily at the highest speeds we'd gone yet (about 50mph when we opened up to pass a slower-moving van). The road veered left under the interstate and then offered a turn lane for a left onto the frontage road that would take us home. Stu was leading and swung into the turn through the green light. I slowed to second gear and quickly gauged the turn as I noted the car coming up from the other direction...
Reacting, not wanting to cut too close in front of the upcoming car, I leaned into the left turn but misjudged how much sharper than a normal 90 degrees it turned out to be. I panicked as I object-locked my gaze on the curb instead of forcing myself to look and press through the turn; my bike went exactly where I looked and struck the curb throwing me to the right.
Something had bashed into my torso and knocked the wind out of me as I was thrown; at that moment the pain and panic from suddenly deflated lungs hurt the worst. I ached all over as I slowly rolled onto my back, moaning. Someone was by my side asking if I was okay. Then there was a woman in biker chaps who identified herself as an RN. She asked me questions while applying slight pressure along certain points; my helmet and jacket were removed; I baked in the merciless sun, breathing dust and feeling completely battered. I had a bit of a bloody gash up my left shin, tender areas on both legs that would surely manifest into some nasty bruises, but my neck, spine, and hips seemed in order, so that was promising.
More help came. A firefighter. More bikers. A police officer. Stu had help lifting my bike up and back onto the shoulder. One mirror gone, the other skewed on the bars. Right hand break knocked underneath the throttle, right foot break and foot rest knocked up at an angle. A vent cover on the exhaust pipe ripped off, and one minor scrape, but otherwise no worse for the spill and drivable.
I was helped to my feet, and instantly felt pain in my right ankle. I didn't want them to call an ambulance, so I shrugged it off and swallowed the pain. My boots gave me enough support that I could gingerly walk around, and allowed me to climb back onto the Black Pearl to ride her home. I was grateful for the amazing morning I'd just had riding astride her - if not for that I wouldn't have had the courage to drive her home after that. One mirror gone, and the other skewed, I couldn't see behind me, and the front break handle was awkward at best to use, but I took the road slowly in third gear and made it home. I crawled into the house, peeled off my helmet, jacket, and gloves, and allowed myself to cry in the privacy of my home. there was an imprint of my jacket's zipper on my torso from whatever hit me. My legs were starting to turn colors from the bruising. When I took my boots off, I noted the metal hook for the lacing on my right boot was bent completely in, and when I gently removed my sock, my horribly swollen ankle was revealed.
Relieved to be home, I took a bath to clean myself from rolling in the sun-baked dirt, and convinced myself that it was just a bad sprain. A REALLY bad sprain. Stu went and got a wrap and crutches, and I took a handful of Ibuprofen to help with the pain. I even went to a friend's birthday party that night, and to lunch with my inlaws Sunday afternoon. That's right. I'm hardcore!! But by Sunday evening, with elevation, ice, and over-the-counter drugs not doing much, I admitted that it was likely more than just a sprain, and Stu drove me to the ER to have it looked at. Sure enough: lower fibular fracture.
Thankfully, it was a clean break that hadn't shifted, so didn't need pins, screws or anything more drastic than a cast. They gave me a shot of morphine when they set my ankle in the splint, and referred me to an orthopedic doctor to get me into a cast the next day. Oh and gave me a prescription for an oxycodone and acetaminophen blend, without which I wouldn't have been able to sleep.
So it's now been three weeks since breaking my ankle. I've been in a hard cast (now covered in the signatures and smart-ass comments from friends and family) for almost that long, and am hoping that my upcoming checkup with the doctor will see them cutting this thing off to replace with an aircast! And soon enough, I'll be back on Black Pearl picking up where I left off - only now a little wiser for the wear.
ps - We're calling her 'BP" for short: She's black, slick, and has already spilled. Too soon?
No comments:
Post a Comment