12-31-2014, 04:51 AM
In 2006, my riding buddy, Carl, went on a motorcycle tour of the Patagonia region of Chile with MotoAventura http://www.motoaventura.cl/.
In 2007, he mentioned to me that he was thinking of going back in 2008 and riding the northern area of Chile and into Peru with the same tour company. After hearing his stories about the first tour I agreed to go with him.
We weren't kids anymore. I was 70 years-old and Carl was 68, but we were and are very fit and strong for our ages. We knew the days would be long, but that didn't bother us because this was going to be the adventure of a lifetime.
In June 2008 we flew to Santiago, Chile, and spent four days there exploring the city and area. We then flew north to the city of Antofagasta to meet the tour and our traveling companions. They turned out to be three Americans and four Belgians. The Belgians spoke great English and we were all good friends in no time at all.
The tour was for eighteen days and we rode across the amazing Atacama Desert; across vast salt flats and up into the Andes Mountains and in the valleys below. Around every curve and cresting every rise revealed wondrous sights and scenery we could never have imagined. We even had a side trip to the Inca ruin of Machu Picchu.
It was a Saturday morning on the second last day of the tour and we had just come down off a mountain and following a road along a valley floor that was cut into the side of a hill. I could see that the road curved sharply to my left, but since I wasn't riding very fast I rode into it as I had done many times before. Unfortunately, it was a blind and severe U-turn and I simply ran off the road and crashed down into a concrete drainage ditch. It all happened so fast I didn't have time to do anything about it. In those remote areas there are no warning road signs.
The impact didn't knock me out or knock the breath out of me, but I knew I was hurt. My right shoulder hurt badly and I could see my right glove was missing and right hand was bloody. I had dislocated my right shoulder and broken several bones in my right hand.
Out of nowhere three farm workers appeared on the berm of the ditch and began talking to me. I couldn't understand a word, but I knew they wanted to help me. My right leg wasn't injured, but it was trapped under the bike (a BMW GS650). In my best (worst) Spanish I asked them to lift the bike so I could sit up. They understood and freed me. I knew that Carl was coming along and did my best to tell them that a "moto amigo" would be along to help me. Moments later I heard Carl riding along - but he rode right on by! He later told me that he saw the natives waving, but the sharp curve needed all his attention - plus I was down in a deep ditch and he couldn't see me.
As it turned out, the lead group had stopped for a rest a few kilometers down the road and when Carl arrived and I wasn't there, he knew I was in trouble somewhere behind them.
The chase truck and the lead group were flagged down by the natives and I was rescued. The natives were fantastic and I can never thank them enough for what they did for me.
I was soon in the chase truck and heading for a country hospital about 45 minutes away. It was rustic to say the least, but they x-rayed me; gave me oxygen and shots and put me in a massive plaster cast. They folded my arm over my chest to immobilize my shoulder and the cast went over my right shoulder and all the way around my upper body. It was heavy and very uncomfortable (chaffing) but it was the best solution.
Carl hired an ambulance that can best be described as junk to take us to Cusco where there was an airport. We were able to fly out the following Monday morning to Lima; New York city and finally to Nova Scotia Thursday morning around 3:00AM. From Monday until Thursday we lived in airports and on planes.
I entered the hospital Thursday morning and had shoulder replacement surgery later that day. The ball of the ball-and-socket joint was so shattered that the surgeon had to fit me with a titanium shoulder joint. Thankfully, the socket wasn't damaged.
I went home the next day and two weeks later I started six months of physio. There was no way that I was going to allow myself to be impaired for the rest of my life so I put my all into the exercises and routines and today it's as if the crash had never happened. The following April I got on my bike and I have never looked back.
I have no lingering effects from the injuries and I'm as strong and fit as I ever was. I don't even think about it except for times like this when the subject comes up - and I have the adventure story to tell
I'll attach a couple of pictures. Sorry that they're only thumbnails.
In 2007, he mentioned to me that he was thinking of going back in 2008 and riding the northern area of Chile and into Peru with the same tour company. After hearing his stories about the first tour I agreed to go with him.
We weren't kids anymore. I was 70 years-old and Carl was 68, but we were and are very fit and strong for our ages. We knew the days would be long, but that didn't bother us because this was going to be the adventure of a lifetime.
In June 2008 we flew to Santiago, Chile, and spent four days there exploring the city and area. We then flew north to the city of Antofagasta to meet the tour and our traveling companions. They turned out to be three Americans and four Belgians. The Belgians spoke great English and we were all good friends in no time at all.
The tour was for eighteen days and we rode across the amazing Atacama Desert; across vast salt flats and up into the Andes Mountains and in the valleys below. Around every curve and cresting every rise revealed wondrous sights and scenery we could never have imagined. We even had a side trip to the Inca ruin of Machu Picchu.
It was a Saturday morning on the second last day of the tour and we had just come down off a mountain and following a road along a valley floor that was cut into the side of a hill. I could see that the road curved sharply to my left, but since I wasn't riding very fast I rode into it as I had done many times before. Unfortunately, it was a blind and severe U-turn and I simply ran off the road and crashed down into a concrete drainage ditch. It all happened so fast I didn't have time to do anything about it. In those remote areas there are no warning road signs.
The impact didn't knock me out or knock the breath out of me, but I knew I was hurt. My right shoulder hurt badly and I could see my right glove was missing and right hand was bloody. I had dislocated my right shoulder and broken several bones in my right hand.
Out of nowhere three farm workers appeared on the berm of the ditch and began talking to me. I couldn't understand a word, but I knew they wanted to help me. My right leg wasn't injured, but it was trapped under the bike (a BMW GS650). In my best (worst) Spanish I asked them to lift the bike so I could sit up. They understood and freed me. I knew that Carl was coming along and did my best to tell them that a "moto amigo" would be along to help me. Moments later I heard Carl riding along - but he rode right on by! He later told me that he saw the natives waving, but the sharp curve needed all his attention - plus I was down in a deep ditch and he couldn't see me.
As it turned out, the lead group had stopped for a rest a few kilometers down the road and when Carl arrived and I wasn't there, he knew I was in trouble somewhere behind them.
The chase truck and the lead group were flagged down by the natives and I was rescued. The natives were fantastic and I can never thank them enough for what they did for me.
I was soon in the chase truck and heading for a country hospital about 45 minutes away. It was rustic to say the least, but they x-rayed me; gave me oxygen and shots and put me in a massive plaster cast. They folded my arm over my chest to immobilize my shoulder and the cast went over my right shoulder and all the way around my upper body. It was heavy and very uncomfortable (chaffing) but it was the best solution.
Carl hired an ambulance that can best be described as junk to take us to Cusco where there was an airport. We were able to fly out the following Monday morning to Lima; New York city and finally to Nova Scotia Thursday morning around 3:00AM. From Monday until Thursday we lived in airports and on planes.
I entered the hospital Thursday morning and had shoulder replacement surgery later that day. The ball of the ball-and-socket joint was so shattered that the surgeon had to fit me with a titanium shoulder joint. Thankfully, the socket wasn't damaged.
I went home the next day and two weeks later I started six months of physio. There was no way that I was going to allow myself to be impaired for the rest of my life so I put my all into the exercises and routines and today it's as if the crash had never happened. The following April I got on my bike and I have never looked back.
I have no lingering effects from the injuries and I'm as strong and fit as I ever was. I don't even think about it except for times like this when the subject comes up - and I have the adventure story to tell
I'll attach a couple of pictures. Sorry that they're only thumbnails.
