My Green Butterfly

It was a beautiful sunny day, perfect riding weather; I was between work and school, running a bit late as usual. I’m “ball’in down Blackstone” as my kids would say and I notice one of those giant, red things, you know the ones; 20 feet tall with arms and streamers writh’in like a pole-dancer on steroids. I take a quick peak and I see her at the base of the tube. She looks green at city speeds, tall apes and a For Sale sign on her bar.

So I check to see how the flow up ahead goes…..got some traffic, but 4-5 cage lengths open ought to give me some time. The intersection’s a way up; let me check this one out. So I scan to the right and give her a better look-see; nice, ol’ school. As I pass her I notice a kick-start like I started with.……better scan ahead to see what’s up.

A sea of red lights and then I hit – hard- I hadn’t even fully turned my head. So now I have one of those out-of-body experiences as my mind watches my body fly from the seat, over the shield and I hear a dull “thump” as my hands and head hit the little white car in front of me. My helmet’s still on; good. Then my body smacks the pavement and I hear a “pop” in my mid back, and feel pain. I curl on my side as I reenter my body. What da…….what is that burn in my crotch? I slip off my glove and reach down to feel; I’m as wet as these March rains. I know my hands work, how about my feet? I try ‘em out and all four extremities answer my call; good again.

I want to be a tough biker and walk away from the scene, but I’ve been a trauma nurse for a lot of years and know the signs of spinal cord injury. I better get it checked out. A crowd was gathering by now and these guys with amazing tattoos and piercing were helping me out. The butterfly was parked in front of their shop. They call the Medics and I wait. I ask the guy how’s my bike ‘cause I can’t see much of her from here. He says it’s not too bad, front end mostly. I ask if there’s a biker here who can pick her up, but by then the Po-Po has arrived to take “the report.” At my request he calls Mathews H-D who agreed to take the tow to their shop. They know me and take good care of me. I was scared she would get hauled to a Yard.

A fire crew shows up first and gives me a quick look-over; got me out of my helmet and leathers before the c-spine process. I highly recommend this, as I know what trauma shears are for. Mr. Tattoo Extraordinaire got me a pillow from his shop to keep my head in alignment. What about my gear? The Firemen of Station 11 took it including my “cut” and told me I could pick it up later. I see two white pick-ups park across Blackstone blocking any traffic from running my bike and me over, my sincere thank-you to all who helped me, who I will never know.

The Medics arrive and haul me off to University Medical Center, the place I have worked for 10 years. It was my first trip to Trauma 1 in the horizontal position. My friend M.C. was at triage and got the ball roll’in. She and her husband are bikers too; they owned Rawlings Motorcycle Maniacs for years here in Fresno. A tender squeeze and a knowing concern, it was good to see a friend.

Well, if you haven’t had the privilege it goes kind of like this: The RN and EMT start taking history, cut off my clothes, assess my body, put me on monitors, start an IV and draw labs. The Resident is the first MD I see, followed shortly by the Attending; Dr. Bivens, a good Doc I have worked with for many years. The Resident does his assessment, gathers history and gives me the trauma handshake (don’t ask). I do not protest these intrusions; I know they are doing their job. Many of my friends came by, worried and encouraging, I’m in the best hands. Then I’m off to the surreal world of CT and X-ray anxiously waiting to “find out.”

My partner Irish arrives, “I’m sorry to scare the crap out of you baby.” My daughter Summer arrives next and let’s my family know what’s up. Luckily the tests all came back negative, I am not broke. I am thankful I have always worn a full-face helmet and leathers, no matter the weather. I just have to prove I can walk out of here. I don the blue, paper suit: signature couture from the House of Trauma. Eat a sack lunch, and I’m off to the races; but slowly…..it hurts.

Before I go home I got to see my Deuce. Irish loads me in the car and ride to Mathews, I thank them for getting my bike there, I was so worried about her. Her forks bend South instead of North now, front tire flat, fender crumped (that’s gonna take time to get out of The Factory), voltage regulator dangling, foot peg missing rubber, turn signal popped off, Windvest broke off (I took it with me when I decided to turn my Deuce into a flight deck), Linbar scuffed all to Hell (it did it’s job, almost no engine damage); not bad: consider’in a head-on crash at city speed without hitting my brakes. We can deal with this later, next stop to Fire Station 11. They were pleasantly surprised to see me upright and hauled it all my gear to our truck. Now, I can go home, slip into some cozy flannels and try to make sense out of what just happened.

1. “There’s no place like home.” If I hadn’t been daydreaming about what I don’t have I’d still be enjoying what I do have. I feel like I betrayed her and paid the price.
2. “Stay alert and alive.” I’ve been riding for about 35 years and have gotten very comfortable with my current steed. Still, I can’t take the ride for granted. My bike cannot stop as fast as the cages can and I have to ride defensively at all times.
3. “Trust in strangers.” My faith in humanity has been restored. I was in the most vulnerable of positions and yet I saw only care and concern from those around me, even Chief of Trauma Dr. Davis who razes me about riding all the time. He asked if I was still going to ride knowing full well my answer. “Of course, good to go right now!” He sarcastically said I had a slow learning curve, and then gave me a smile and a squeeze.

So, while you are out riding I want you to think of the green butterfly and me.
My sister Gramps told me she understood, something about chicks and squirrels. Add ol’ school choppers to my list. No more chasing parked cars for Helldog. See you on the road when my baby’s better.

Love and respect,
Helldog
SOSWMC