SOMETIMES BAJA BITES...Hard!! PART 2

BAJA BITES 

When we last left off I had just crashed and gotten the bike up and going with a serious hand injury. My goal was to get the bike to the next rider exchange point by riding out to the paved highway and taking the penalty for course deviation in order to be able to deliver the bike to Doug who was waiting approximately 85 miles south of my current location. However, I still had to ride down the course a few miles (very painful) before I could catch a dirt road that would take me out to the highway, about six miles out.

When I reached the dirt road I believed was the one I needed there were some American spectators parked at the intersection watching the race. I was relieved to come across them and verified that this road was the road I needed. They confirmed and offered to help by taking me out in the truck but I told them I would just ride out to the road and cruise the pavement as far as possible. I thanked them and continued on for about 500 yds when the motor seized up! Apparently when I slammed into the rock pile so did the bike. It had shaved off the left side cover at the oil filter and was pumping oil out as I tried to ride it out in first gear. Fortunately the American spectators were definitely paying attention, I hadn’t gotten far when they heard my bike quit, and they were quite concerned when I rode off after seeing my left hand. They hopped in their truck, picked me up and loaded the bike in the back.

Away we went, as we discussed the crash one of them was on the radio and phone relaying information to the race officials while lining up assistance. We met the race support crew at the road and they said there was an ambulance on the way. It sounded as if the ambulance was a good hour or more away due to our location. As I sat in the vehicle preparing for the delay I heard the sound of a helicopter approaching. The helicopter came into view and landed near us. It was the SCORE race helicopter and was staffed with a pilot/medical technician and the co-pilot was an American doctor. I could not believe my good fortune! We spoke for a few minutes as the doctor did an evaluation.  He told me the hand was seriously injured but not life threatening and they would transport me back to the clinic in San Felipe instead of waiting for the ambulance. So  instead of waiting for an hour or more and then making the same length return trip which would have been three hours total I was taken by helicopter in about 15 minutes to the small clinic in San Felipe. This was my lucky or unlucky day depending on how you look at it. But at this point I viewed it as lucky because it was now about 45 minutes to an hour since the crash and the pain was starting to really show its ugly face!

We arrived at the little Mexican clinic which was actually much better than I expected. The doctor spoke pretty good English which was great because I speak no Spanish. The nurses spoke only Spanish but we did our best to communicate while they cleaned and dressed my injuries. We had a pretty good time considering the circumstances and we even managed a few laughs along the way. They did a very good job with what I observed to be obviously limited resources. I was given shots for painkillers, antibiotics and local numbing so they could stitch the injury on the palm of my hand. I was starting to wonder if they just liked practicing giving shots!  After cleaning and dressing the hand the doctor explained that the injury was way beyond the capabilities of the clinic and instructed me to head for a hospital as soon as possible. He mentioned hospitals in Mexicali or Ensenada and I just nodded in agreement. There was NO WAY IN HELL I was going to check into a hospital unless it was in the USA! My wife, Cheryl, finally got enough information on my location and had caught up to me at the clinic. So she tossed me into the van, stopped to pick up our belongings where we were staying and headed for the border crossing at Los Algodones while handing me a couple of pain pills along the way. She said she was giving me the pain pills because she didn’t want to listen to me whine. So I guess the pain pills were really for her!

We made it to the border crossing about 4pm then waited in line luckily for only about an hour. About 5pm we pulled into the emergency room at the hospital in Yuma, Arizona. One look at my hand and I was pushed to the front of the line then immediately into a stall and seen by a doctor that echoed the Mexican doctors evaluation. They were not equipped to handle such a serious injury and he would begin a search to find a qualified reconstructive hand specialist. He found one in Phoenix, Arizona and told us he would make arrangements. It was now about 10pm and we figured here we go again and we would be driving the rest of the night. Since I was now under an American doctor’s care he made arrangements for a medical flight. Wow, I have never had a helicopter and a plane ride in the same day and hope never to again! But at least I was now at what should be my last stop in the conga line of clinics and hospitals.  This had been one of the longest days of my life since I had crashed at 7 am Friday morning and it was now 1 am on Saturday when I was finally admitted and placed in a hospital room to await surgery.

I spent all day Saturday, at about a level 9 on the pain scale whenever the drugs were not working at their peak, waiting for surgery. I finally made it into surgery sometime around 10 pm Saturday night. I met the doctor, Dr Schaub, before going under and was very relieved by his personality, professionalism and his bed side manor. But it had now been 27 hours since I had injured myself and I was more than ready! Sunday morning rolled around and I got paroled just before noon. Cheryl loaded me into the van one more time and headed for the barn! I have been in the recuperation and rehab mode ever since. It has taken much longer than we first thought. I had anticipated a couple of months to be back on the bike but with a couple of unexpected setbacks it has turned into a real test of my patience.

However, I am trying to remember that when I lose the race, I should not lose the lesson. I am thankful for my blessings because it was the same day at the same event that Kurt Caselli tragically lost his life.  Godspeed Kurt.

#33

“Live by choice, not by chance”