Around 1:30 am, on September 30th last year, while heading home to my girlfriends after work, I had just gotten on the interstate 101, northbound from mcdowell, and after a quick spool up to cruising speed (@70 indicated) -I realized it was too cold to be out in without leathers, especially to make a 25+ mile trek north especially with plans to return later still (I was glad the temp gave call for them.) So, I stayed in the on/off lane but noted headlights closing rapidly from the ramp behind me and figured it must be a cop enroute to a scene. Having decided to roll down to the next exit, take a cruise to my home (about 3 miles away) to suit up and get back on the road, I stayed in about the rightmost third of the far right lane and took the Thomas exit as while rolling off the gas, I noticed that the vehicle closing on me was coming across 2 or 3 lanes and attempting to exit as well, looking over my left shoulder I saw it was no cop car. I was hit when a brown, beat-to-sh#@T, early '80's Nissan screamed by me, passing me on a one-lane interstate offramp and clipping my left barend. The bike leapt to the right about a foot, landed in a path parallel to my chosen and the front end went nuts, my hands were thrown off the controls and I scrambled desperately to get ahold of the bars. The rear brake affect was weak but I managed not to skid. In less than an instant, my life was forever changed. The exit veered left and I was airborne as the gravel-covered embankment built up for the roadway sloped away towards a concrete lined drainage canal 30+ feet wide and 10+ feet deep. Thankfully, I don't recall the next two seconds, but Highway Patrol recreationalists say the bikes front dug into the embankment and I was catapulted over 250ft bouncing through gravel and finally into the empty canal. Upon being shot over the bars, the right mirror; like a mellon-baller, took a 5"+ diameter, 3/4" deep super scoop out of my right leg, just outside the knee, gouging and exposing the cap and knuckle of both bones. My clothes were tattered, as was the flesh beneath. My boot sole was separated. Both wrists were shattered as were most fingers, some partially amputated, my ankles were disjointed and my backside deeply gouged. Numerous other open injuries occured and I came to rest in a half inch or so of fertilizer/waste/mud with a tiny trickle of farm field run off water where I lay unconscious for a brief time. Upon awakening, I stood and staggered about briefly, looking for the bike before discovering the mangled remains of my hands and seeing fingers broken off sideways and hanging by tendons. Looking down my left forearm, 8+ inches of the ulna were exposed, I could see through my left palm, and the right hand was about the same, tendons and bones visible up and down the length of the arm. My right hand was 90 degrees out of line with the wrist and arm bones, blood flowed everywhere. I muttered, then yelled; "you gotta be kidding me!! YOU'VE GOT TO BE ******* KIDDING ME!!!" unable to exit the canal I began yelling for help. An older, mexican-looking fellow appeared after a few minutes and shouted down at me to "get the hell outta there!!" I yelled at him to call for help. He left, I tried to cop a squat on my helmet, missed, and lapsed in and out of consciousness a few times before an ambulance crew showed up. The crew reported my condition to the pd enroute to St Joes and DPS (Highway) sent a fatality specialist to the scene. They tried to get my name and such, but I wouldn't shut up about the brown nissan p/u. I remember wanting someone to make a note of it, and became angy when being asked other, insignificant (to me) questions instead of making that point. DPS sent a cop to do a dui/drug check on me and see how high I was, (not) then, finally, they gave me a shot of something that made everything below my neck disapear. Apparently, the cop then took a statement from me (now high as a kite) but somehow missed the reference to, the brown nissan, instead concentrating on anything else in the roadway. A few hours later, my name still unknown, I lapsed into a coma, after a few days my identity was found and my sister (from FL) was contacted for permission to amputate my hands, she declined and got ahold of my girlfriend after recovering my cell phone. G/f is a nurse and had been mad that I hadn't called over a week, but sis filled her in and she saw me through the bulk of the following; coming out of a weeklong coma, coming off a ventilator, 17 or so hand surgeries; (whatever $1.3M buys) donor muscles/tendons bloodvessels transplanted from left leg, 2+ square feet of skin grafted from both legs to other sites, numerous debriedments, 8 or 9 transfusions, 3 times hearing; "he may not survive the next hour", weeks of seeing me shaking under a pile of blankets lapsing a month where I could keep nothing down, nightmares of penguins with bills like scissoring steak knives tearing apart my hands, hours of crying, screaming moaning in pain. I finally remembered the accident in early November. The bike is totalled, flipped through gravel, stopped on canals lip. My "hands" are a sick joke. Social security and welfare want me to fill out forms. Mortage is months behind, ditto bills, one creditor calls daily, even after I explained that I have no money for them, but they come right after the roof over my head, my sons stomach, the lights gas phone, the jeep, aol and the rest of $2700+ monthly bills short term disability (teamsters, disapointing) put $544 per month (not week) toward. Whats gonna be comical is the half-handed guy trying to move his sh#@T to storage via Uhaul when I get foreclosed/sellout. Over 17 years, I've dropped bikes, I've dumped, wiped out, been flung hiside and crushed under this and that. Never like this. I've heard numerous times that I'm lucky to be alive, but while I suppose I'm glad I'm not looking out of a vegetable, this isn't "luck" -quite the contrary, "lucky" is seeing me from the outside as perfectly healthy nurses have. Hell, "luck" would've been passing painlessly and in midair from this earth, before the combined forces of gravity and inertia deformed me and ground me to shreds. I just knew I had my gloves on, I always wore them... but, nope. Every day and night I pray and beg God for another chance, to live forward from Sept 29th, 2003, in this body and with all else as it was then, but knowing what I know now. I don't wanna win lotto, I don't need 3 wishes, I'd feel better if I could even have a few minutes to appear at the on ramp the minute before I shot up it, wave myself down if I have to scream at "me" and holding the helmet as it is now, briefly explain 100 reasons I should ease onto the highway... ..as that little nissan sings by... I'll likely never ride again. I have gained some insight regarding why some guys won't wear a helmet, they know they couldn't live like this... if it weren't for hoping I can still be there for and raise my son grows to be a smarter, healthier, happier man than me; I would've made myself some rat poison pancakes by now. My life isn't special, maybe I wasn't grateful when I was truly blessed, or maybe God is like a kid with a magnifying glass on an anthill on a sunny day, and if thats the case I hope he saw what he wanted happen. If there is a heaven, it will be like living forth from the day before, preventing the accident, and maybe kicking Gods *** in a boxing match because I couldn't see anyone in a position/condition praying to me and not getting my help asap... I wish all you who ride the best, I pray for you, and am grateful for any prayers you could find in your hearts for me. Maybe someday I'll get at least my sense of humor back. Sincerely, 03wadofZ1Rmetal.crybaby.com
ADMINS NOTE: Eric took his life on Friday, June 4, 2004 due to depression and hopelessness brought on by this accident. If you would like to contribute to his 7 year old son's trust fund, please see the details here: http://www.zrxoa.org/forums/showthre...threadid=57567
