End of the road

[the Ferret]

Great posts by Stichill and VLJ

[Houtman_imp]

All this makes me think very much of how long I want to ride.
My riding buddies and me meet every Tuesday in a restaurant and at 69 I am the youngest , oldest is 81. I probably ride till I am 75 and than give it up reluctantly . I am also looking at what other hobby would give me pleasure and I am strongly thinking of buying an older English car like a Triumph Herald or Vitesse . As my wife never rode with me , having an old British car (she is British ) could make us go together to old car shows.[/code]

[redbirds_imp]

VLJ's accident has forced me to focus more on the dangers of riding, thoughts that I had pushed to the farthest recesses of my mind. How even a seasoned, experienced rider can be taken off guard and grievously injured. I love riding as much as I love archery which I had to quit because of injuries to both shoulders. When I came to the reality that I would never use my bows again it was years later before I could bring myself to sell them. I've held on to two self bows for purely nostalgic reasons.

I nearly gave up on bikes last year after heart surgery. Glad I didn't but the potential hazards seem to be in my head now every time I ride. I wonder how I'll cope when the time to stop riding happens, as it will.

[GoldOxide_imp]

The Honda Monkey starts to look better and better in a post-riding career distraction. I hope it is around for awhile.

[Cormanus]

If I had two spinal surgeries due to motorcycle crashes, I wouldn't give myself the opportunity for the third. I commend VJL for his commitment to the activity he loves and applaud his commitment to the people he loves.

My thoughts, exactly. The reason I had to stop riding sportbikes, or even sporty standards like my Street Triple, wasn't because I'd grown tired of them, or afraid of them, or anything of the sport. Nope, it was simply a matter of physiology. Following my second neuro-spinal fusion procedure, I was left with C1 and C2 as my only flexible vertebrae above the fixed-solid reconstruction. C3 through C7 are fused together and plated with titanium. They can't move. As a result, I can no longer tilt my head at the angle necessary to ride any bike that enforces even a semi-aggressive forward-lean riding position.

The docs told me that if C1 or C2 blow out, I will be left with no ability to turn my head at all, up or down, left or right...nothing. In order to see anything, I'll have to turn my torso like some robot from a 60's-era Sci-Fi TV show. I'm getting a preview of that reality right now, wearing this cervical collar. It's not good.

And now I've broken C1 and C2. We're hoping they will heal, and no surgery will be required.

I'm cutting it too close.

Quote:I commend VJL for his commitment to the activity he loves and applaud his commitment to the people he loves.
And yet I remain torn, precisely for the reasons stated so eloquently by Stichill and Pdedse, and also by mickey.

I love riding, obviously. I'm not some novice Baby Boomer whose kids are finally out of the house, and wifey has finally given me her reluctant permission, so now I'm free to scratch that motorcycling itch, and I just managed to get into a bad crash within my first year or so of riding.

Not at all. I've been riding for forty years, sometimes at a reasonably high level. In general, I have not been a casual rider. Along with guitar, motorcycling has been my primary hobby for most of my adult life. In fact, when I had Stage IV-A cancer and lost the use of my body for a year, including any dexterous use of my hands, the very first thing I did once a bit of feeling returned to my extremities upon the conclusion of the radiation and chemo treatments was I went right back out and bought another motorcycle, and a new guitar. (Knowing I would be on disability for a long time, with no decent income, I had to sell everything I owned to get through that period.)

I knew I wouldn't really be "me" again, until I was riding again. It was too much a permanent part of who I am.

To a degree, I still feel that way...but not so much now. As mickey and others here have stated, there is a difference between hopping right back on that horse when you're in your twenties or thirties, vs doing so when you're older, and the majority of your best riding years are behind you. Increased real-world responsibilities, physical-condition realities, a diminishing of the need for speed, etc., all cast a different light on the situation.

I was already attempting to morph into that new, more laid-back kind of rider, with the CB1100. As a younger man, a track-day junkie, an idiot who lived for ripping in the coastal canyons and mountain roads, I never would have given something like my CB1100 a second thought, even despite her obvious aesthetic beauty. Now I'm loathe to part with her, even though every common-sense fiber of my being tells me to listen to my loved ones and get off this dangerous merry-go-round.

I had convinced myself that I could go to a slow, relaxing bike and eventually slide into mickey mode, full time, with no regrets. Just take it easy, enjoy the ride, and, above all else, be safe. Take no unnecessary risks. Stop being stupid. Keep those remaining healthy vertebrae secure.

Be an adult.

Yeah, well, great. In all my years of being an idiot, I never got clobbered. None of my previous crashes involved collisions, and none were really all that physically damaging. Even the crashes that caused the need for the neuro-spinal reconstructions didn't result in anything that the docs caught at the time. It wasn't until a decade or so later that MRIs revealed the shattered vertebrae.

Now, this. I was only doing thirty-five mph, in a straight line, on the dullest, quietest country road imaginable. It was literally the safest-seeming stretch of road a motorcyclist could ever hope for. We all know such roads. They're the ones that allow you to sit up and stretch out your tired limbs while taking a mental breather.

A safe zone. Nothing bad can happen here. Bright noon sunshine, clear visibility, smooth asphalt, no blind turns, no stop signs, no cross-traffic, no driveways, nowhere for deer to hide. No worries.

Flash of a red bumper. Crazy pain. Flying through the air, dreading the landing, hoping you don't get run over by oncoming traffic. Crazier pain upon sticking the landing. White-hot pain and even crazier mortification, lying on grainy asphalt in nothing but one sock and your underwear, the paramedics having cut your super-expensive riding suit to shreds in an effort to remove it. Crazier-still mortification, once the hospital stint begins. Constant degradation. First-for-me degradation.

Now, a future of uncertainty.

I don't know how I feel, or even how I should feel. I don't know what to do.

Mate, how can you know any of these things at this stage? You can examine how you feel on any given day, knowing you’ll probably feel differently the next. We all wonder whether we’re feeling what we should, but it’s irrelevant. What you feel at any moment is all that matters in this situation. The only faint glimmer of good news is you do Know what to do: focus your energies on recovering as quickly and well as you can from horrendous injuries.

Hang in there.

[GoldOxide_imp]

Veal: Under the incredible circumstances and despair, your articulation and script are well thought out, whole, coherent and in many instances, witty. I don't think I would have been so prepared, let alone able to form a sentence while under pain sedation. Part of you, arguably the most important part, is well on its way to recovery.

[LongRanger_imp]

^ Well stated, GO

[KiowaEagle_imp]

^ Well stated, GO

^^+1

[Aussieflyer]

VLJ, I'm lost for words ... just wanted to wish you the best for a speedy recovery of both body and mind.

[VLJ_imp]

Update...

Just saw both the Trauma (hip, leg, foot, heel) surgeon, and also the neck surgeon. The femur, hip bones, ankle bones, metatarsals, and shattered heel have all healed. The foot, ankle, and lower leg, however, are still riddled with open wounds, and swollen like a balloon. He informed me that it will be another full year before I arrive at whatever level of mobility I will manage to achieve, but the swelling will never go away. It may decrease a bit, but it will never be like my left foot. My shoe will never fit over it.

It basically looks like a clubfoot. Between the discoloration, swelling, blister scars, open wounds, and surgical scars, it is positively grotesque. I've been given permission to begin putting light pressure on the foot, but the moment I touched the heel to the ground I was hit with a sudden jolt of white-hot pain akin to pressing your hand to a cherry red stove burner, or sticking your finger in an electrical socket.

A year, indeed.

As for the broken neck, the news is much worse. No healing at all has occurred. In fact, he says, the scattered pieces have actually distanced themselves even further. So, now he wants to put me on some sort of electrical stimulation dog collar and wait another three months to see whether any healing occurs. If it doesn't, then he has to go in and do yet another neuro-spinal fusion reconstruction, which would leave me with C1 as my only movable vertebrae. At that point, I'm the robot from Lost In Space. It'd be Game Over. I'd be permanently disabled. Add the sketchy situation regarding my ability to walk, and I definitely won't be able to return to work...or ride.

I just paid off the Honda ("You'll receive the pink slip in six to eight weeks!" exclaimed the inexplicably cheery bank lady), and, like an idiot, I even just paid for another year of registration, and now I need to sell her.

Jeez.

Oh, well. If any of you want to buy a mint, bone stock 2017 CB1100 EX with factory heated grips, tons of cleavage, and a wicked Italian accent, drop me a line.