Sometimes I speed. I've also been known to text while I drive. I know, I know. It's wrong, it's illegal, it's dangerous, it's a horrible example and it's hypocritical. I'm not proud of it. I am addicted to both like Whitney was to crack and Honey Boo Boo is to chocolate. I'm joining TA (Texters Anonymous) soon.
And I hate lectures. People get on their high horse and preach at you like a fundamentalist on the eve of the Apocalypse. And that's why I've kept my mouth shut about what I'm about to disclose now. I'm just letting you know and I don't need to hear "I told you so!" But you're gonna hear it eventually, so I might as well tell the world now.
I biffed it bad on my bike in Colorado last week. I hit a hairpin turn way too fast and had to bail. I should be dead, or crippled. My bike should be on a trash heap. But, God is still in the miracle working business and His guardian angels are still working overtime.
First, the bike. One leather saddlebag took the biggest share of the beating. The engine guard and slip on exhaust got scraped up a bit. Easy replacements. I just couldn't believe me and the good Lord got it upright and running with no problem.
Then there's me. Thank God for adrenaline! Oh, and good helmets and jackets. Without which, I'd have been life-flighted to some west slope hospital for TBI and skin grafts. How I don't have cracked ribs, a broken neck and severed appendages, I don't understand.
However, I've just got some bruised ribs, a few scrapes and a bunged up knee. So, other than not being able to breathe or walk, I'm fine.
Did I mention adrenaline? It's amazing how things go in slow motion and a million thoughts go through your head during an accident. Like, as I heard my helmet being sanded down by the pavement, thinking, "just stay on my head, I need you for a few more seconds." Or, "glad I didn't wear the Fossil watch they got me for Father's day, I lost the last one on the Sturgis trip." And, "Glad I gave the safe combo to my wife before this excursion."
So, after sliding along the pavement for a while, I took a few tumbles and then just lay there on the road under the beautifully blue Colorado sky. All was so serene as I lay here a dying. I turned over on my back and spread eagle to take inventory of my body. "I can't breathe, but I don't see a lot of blood, wish I'd had some gloves on. Arms and legs all work. Neck turns. Oh, there's the helmet sun visor laying on the center line, how bout I roll over there and get it? Okay, that worked. Still can't breathe though. Better roll off the road in case someone comes along."
So I lay there reassembling my helmet, wondering what internal injuries we're going to change my life. And why and how I'm still alive?
When I could get enough breath in my lungs to make the attempt, I got up to see if I was ambulatory and go check on the bike.
After assessing the situation, I grabbed the handlebars and hefted the 1200 ccs along with the stuffed saddlebags and 50lb suitcase upright. You're not supposed to lift the bike like that. Bikers would show you the proper method. But did I mention adrenaline?
So, it started right up, I got on and left the scene of the accident without reporting it. It would have taken law enforcement an hour and a half to reach me anyhow.
I couldn't believe it! How can this be? I should be waiting on a ride to the hospital or should have gone over the rim of the canyon I'd been riding for the past half hour. But I'm alive and riding! This, I told myself, has to be God, there's no other explanation.
My riding companions were at the next Canyon overlook. As I approached, Dan's jaw dropped and asked what happened. I explained the best I could then excused myself to go to the little boy's room. Halfway across the road, the adrenaline wore off. I about dropped to the pavement. My knee didn't work, my ribs felt like Mike Tyson just worked me over. All the scapes began screaming at me.
We remounted our bikes and rode another 6 miserable hours over passes made for mules in the mining days, through pouring rain (cold, cold rain) and drizzle and hail and maybe even a tornado, hurricane and tsunami for added measure.
By nightfall, I felt my body was going into shock. But, the others were convulsing as bad as I was, we we're all that cold. For me, the cold was just insult added to my injuries. Ouch, that cliche' hurts.
The next day, I had to ride another 3 hours, load the bike into a pick up, just me and the angels, and drive from Ft. Morgan to Lincoln. Easy-peasy.
Well, there you have it. I've delivered my soul. Now everybody knows. Now the church will know why I was walking like a 115 year old man this morning. Some will wonder how and why I carried the big ladder into the sanctuary and changed that lightbulb. I guess a guy's just gotta do what a guy's gotta do.
God is good...all the time...