My crash story - A must read for new riders

This was originally written in the beginning of 2006, a couple months after my accident. If you are a new rider, read this and realize just how much you are putting at risk. Ride safe and wear your gear when you go hard.




First off, I would like to thank my family (Especially my Amazing Mother) and God for being by my side through all this. Also I want to thank everyone who contributed so much as a thought for my health. You have no idea how much it meant to me.

In the hospital I cried when I read the printed copy of the get-well thread where so many of you said a little something for me. I lost it even further when I heard the r6mn was raising money for me. I must give special thanks to NOVAdam for such a generous contribution. Also, JohnyGeek for being so thoughtful as to send my parents a generous trip to dinner while I was in the ICU. I would also like to thank Cever, SFR6, and jasfrm for leading the way in updates as well as the fundraising. You guys are truly awesome people! If I have forgotten any of the major contributors please let me know because there were so many people that it is hard to name everyone. ( I wont list all the sponsors for privacy reasons, but if you want me to list you, PM me and you will be added.)

Well…I’ve been thinking about how to start the update to my accident for a long time now. At first I was going to wait for the laptop, which I was told that I would receive via the r6mn. For some reason that never got organized, no big deal, it’s just motivation for me to get my butt out of bed. The next hurdle was me realizing, “shoot, this is going to take forever while typing one handed.” Well, I gotta learn how to use this stupid right hand anyway, so here goes.


November 5th 2005
I rode up to San Luis Obispo from Santa Barbara the previous night. While hanging out with my best friend, my buddy Sean (SFR6 on here) called me up and we made plans to go ride after I got my new tires the next day (the 5th). On that Saturday morning I went to my other good friends’ shop (Central Coast Mechanics) to get a set of Pilot Powers put on. I had almost always used take-off supercorsas because @ $50 a set, I could get the same distance/dollar out of them as new tires but had the benefit of race rubber.

Anywho… around 4 PM we met up at a gas station. It was me, Sean, his friend Mike, and another guy on a super-motard. We let the motard go ahead of us b/c he can’t keep up till we get to the twisties (where he’s faster than all of us, ). Finally on the freeway I notice that there’s NO traffic. Good news I think because I love busting wheelies on the grade. For those not familiar with Hwy 101 in San Luis Obispo, the grade is a 4-lane (each way) pass between the mountains of SLO. At the base of the grade is an easy turn, which inspired me to try to wheelie it and carry the wheelie through the turn.

We were traveling about 80MPH and I was in the back of the pack. I dropped down to 3rd gear and bounced up my front end while leaning over at the beginning of the turn. Essentially, I started the wheelie mid-turn at probably a 15-20 degree lean. As my speed increased to around 90-100 mph, I pulled slightly ahead of the pack. Unlike straight wheelies, I never got the hang of the balance point in banked wheelies and started running out of RPMs. I brought the front end down very gently, meaning I let off the gas to bring the front end down and got back on it to control the impact of the front end coming back down to the ground. I don’t know if it was the newness of the tires or what…but the instant the front end touched down, the tank-slappper from hell overcame my bike. Instantly my hands were thrown off the clip-ons and I was doing a superman-like pose on the gas tank. Seconds later I was bucked off and sliding on my back at around 85MPH next to 400lbs of metal. 30 yards later we slammed side-by-side into the metal guardrail. My body coming to a sickening stop, and the bike bouncing off then sliding across all 4 lanes and into the center divider.

Here is the place it happened:
http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&hl=e...2,0.010278&t=h

I rolled once and then impacted on my left side. The impact nearly severed my arm. My femur burst through my leathers. My arm shattered in four places. A nerve severed in my shoulder destroying function and feeling from my left shoulder to my finger tips. Several vertebrae cracked. My shoulder was fractured in two places. I tore open the brachial artery, which supplies the blood to the arm. Moments after the impact I went into shock. I tried getting up, not knowing the extent of my injuries. My friends didn’t have time to stop and had to proceed a ways up to turn around.

By the time my friends returned, only a minute or two later, two off duty CHP officers were already radioing in and administering first aid. I was bleeding all over from the compound fracture. Within 10 minutes of impact I was being loaded into the ambulance. Once on the way, they cut all my leathers off. They quickly realized I was bleeding to death from the compound fracture in my thigh and internal bleeding from the ruptured artery supplying blood to my left arm, which was already turning blue.

Once at the hospital, I went directly into the ER. On the way into the emergency room my only words were a mantra “Am I going to die, am I going to die…?” directed at the first surgeon I laid eyes on. For 8 hours they operated on my injuries. They put the bone back into my leg and what they couldn’t put back, they placed in a cup instead. They tried with no success to stop the bleeding in my chest. When I had nearly bled to death, with a team of 5 surgeons working on me, a radiologist poked his head in and asked if he could be of assistance. He quickly analyzed the situation, noticed I was within a couple minutes of bleeding to death and inserted a catheter into my groin, working his way up to my brachial artey. Once at the tear, he inflated an angioplasty balloon in the artery and stopped me from bleeding to death.

At around 3 AM, Sunday morning the doctor came out to tell my family that I was in critical condition but not going to die… that night. He, and the other four surgeons credited the radiologist with the honor of saving my life. The next 3 days were very difficult. Over those first 3 days I received a total of 16 bags of blood (most of which in my initial surgery). They placed fixators into several points on my left side to isolate my bones from moving and further injuring myself as I was waiting for my orthopedic surgery.

I stayed in the SLO hospital for 7 days with my bones un-mended. My mom wanted the rest of my surgeries to be done at the best hospital with the best doctors. They had discovered that Dr. Hentz, a plastic surgeon specializing in hand/arm repair, was the best in the world for a brachial plexus injury (the nerves controlling the arm). So I waited for 7 days for Stanford medical center to have room so I could be air lifted there.

During those seven days I found out how much people really cared for me. Friends took time off of work, even traveling hundreds of miles to see me. My gf came to be by my side. My brother and sisters came too. My parents showed that they love me more than I could have imagined. The love I felt must have been immense for it kept me alive – I only wish that I could remember the visits with everyone who showed.

I don’t remember anything from the morning of the accident till 13 days later. All my accounts so far have been pieced together from all the stories of those that were there. In the ICU in SLO there are several memories I wish I had. I kept asking every 5-30 min if I had hurt anyone and what had happened. I am told that my main concern right after my first operation was “did I hurt anyone” (cute, huh?). For a couple of days I kept asking why I was in the hospital. But as time progressed I guess I started dealing with the injuries and showing signs of my normal self. I kept tearing the breathing and feeding tubes out. And, instead of making the nurses mad that I kept doing that, they told my family that it was good; that it was a sign of my stubbornness and will to live. They nicknamed me Houdini, because even after tying my one hand down, I still managed to free myself and rip tubes from my mouth. I am told I even managed to rip the catheter out of my peepee once – I guess that morphine is a MAJOR pain inhibitor, haha.

Other little stories include me seeing fraggle rocks across the room, reaching for a bar above my head (that wasn’t there) to pull myself out of the injuries, and doing things like playing duck hunt with the little heartbeat light on my pointer finger. I couldn’t eat solid food, but when they asked what I wanted in my feeding tube I said eggs benedict.

There was a tear-jerker moment too – as I was slipping in and out of consciousness, my best friend and his wife said goodbye. I was nearly unconscious with little/no strength and managed to reach up as he was getting up, grab his sweaters strings and pull him down to me because I didn’t want him to leave my side. Needless to say, everyone in the room went into overdrive tear production. (Yes, this was you Ryan)

I recently saw pictures of myself in the hospital. If ever there was a humbling sight, it’s to see yourself, broken, feeble, and unable to care for yourself… and not even remember what happened or the short time thereafter. But I guess I’m glad I don’t remember. I’m told I didn’t cry out in agony very often, but the look of pain was apparent in everything I did. If ever there were a moment in which I would swear off all people from riding, it was then.


Part Two - 1st update.

November 12th 2005

Finally I was airlifted to Stanford. My family all followed in their cars. After not being fed for 7 days I had dropped from ~155lbs to ~120. I was not fed was because every day I was told that the chopper was coming and that I couldn’t have food in my stomach on the chopper. Several times I was fed via the feeding tube, only to then have my stomach pumped. Needless to say the chopper actually arriving was good news because it meant food and bone mending. Although the morphine worked well, my knee and thigh still hurt immensely (I was told this since I do not recall) and I wanted to get out of there.

Update: After seeing the pictures of my transfer from the ICU to the chopper, I can say that the look of agony on my face spoke volumes.

Once at Stanford, I waited three days before I had my operation to fix my bones. The first operation could only get so far as to fix the bones in my arm. They placed full-length plates on my humorous, ulna, and radius. Unfortunately there was too much bleeding and swelling in my arm for them to continue and work on the leg. The swelling was so bad that they could not close the skin on my forearm. They placed a special suture on my exposed flesh. They then returned me to my room to wait for my next surgery to fix my compound fracture.

November 16th 2005

Around this time I started to be able to retain memories. I noticed for the first time (that I can remember) the fixators still on my leg. I couldn’t move my arm. I looked at my other leg and I had lost so much weight I looked like a white Ethiopian that Sally had stolen all the food from. I felt like my entire life had been destroyed. I asked how long I had been in the hospital and what happened. For the umpteenth time my gf and mother explain that I was in a serious accident on my motorcycle and had very nearly died. I asked if I had hurt anyone and they assured me that no one else was hurt. I went into deep despair. The type of stuff that poets write about – it felt huge, all round me, and getting darker.

Later, I had my next surgery and the most frightening experience of my life. I was aware when they put me under anesthesia and it seemed like I slipped under and back out instantly. When I awoke I was encased in ice (a la Demolition Man)– but I wasn’t cold. I couldn’t understand what was going on. I could see, but only what looked like an operating room filled with weird machinery. Then I heard the voices of my surgeons. They were saying something about examining my internal injuries and all of a sudden the block of ice I was in was being moved, and the machine-things around me were being moved. Suddenly I felt searing pain as sections of my limbs were being sliced off. They were taking cross sections of my body off without me being out or anesthetized. The pain was unbearable…but what was worse was seeing my body being cut apart right in front of me. Here is the best I can offer to display what I mean by being cut apart:
http://iregt1.iai.fzk.de/VOLREN/imag...AN_STOMACH.jpg

Then it happened; they got to my head and cut my face off longitudinally. Now I couldn’t see, couldn’t feel, couldn’t move. The only sensation I had left was pain and fear. My body was being inspected like a cadaver and all I could do is pray that it would end soon before I went crazy. Just when I felt I couldn’t take it any longer, I slipped from consciousness and immediately woke again. I was in the recovery room sweating up a storm, yet still felt cold. The nurse said it had been a success and gave me some ice chips. I ate some and fell asleep. It had been a dream – no, a nightmare, but like none I had ever had before. It was more real, more carnal, and more terrifying than anything I had ever experienced in my life.

Throughout my stay in the hospital I maintained a 101-degree temperature. I was never comfortable. I was always burning up or freezing. I started getting bed sores since I couldn’t move because of the neck brace and possible neck injury. Making things worse, I shared a room with a man that had fallen out of a tree and broke some ribs and wouldn’t stop moaning. I thought to myself “I hurt like hell too, but I’m not bothering people by moaning about it.”

Although Stanford is a top notch medical facility as far as Surgical skill is concerned, I found it extremely lacking in the quality and timeliness of the nursing staff. I suppose one could chalk it up to the dire situation nation-wide, but I don’t understand how a 2+ million dollar hospital stay could have such atrocities as a 6 hour wait for an asthma inhaler or a 2 hour wait for a bed pan. But I’ll get into that further in a moment.

Part Three - 2nd Update


Because I was now further away fewer of my friends were able to see me. Mostly family, my very best friends, and my girlfriend came while I was in Stanford for 3 weeks. I needed every bit of visitation b/c the days spent in a hospital bed are about as much fun as a kick in the nuts from Beckham.

I learned a great many things about hospitals while i was stuck there. Stanford, for all its technical savvy leaves much to be desired in terms of nursing staff. Many of them are rude, incompetant, or just seem like they'd rather not be there. I mean c'mon, it's not my fault you chose a career where you'd be wiping my ass after a particularly corny poo-poo! They get irritated when family try to help as well! I wouldn’t need my family to help if they could provide adequate help.

There was a lot of beaurocracy too. Early in my stay i needed an asthma inhaler. I was told one was on the way. Hours passed and i made several requests but was told the pharmacist had to do something to first before they were allowed to give me the inhaler. Six hours after my initial request my mom finally went ape shit and forced them to give me one. I told the nurse i didnt appreciate having to wait so long for it - she basically said that since i wasn't having an "attack" there was no imminent need. I wanted to break several bones in her body, force her to breath through a coffee straw and then ask if she had an "imminent" need for me to let her breath normally.

On a side note - My mom going ape shit turned out to be the only way to get a LOT of things done in the hospital - it turns out that cal-trans seems to run the hospitals too

There aren't many things as humbling as a traumatic visit to the hospital. Having someone wipe your ass because you are simply not physically strong/able enough to do it tends to be a little depressing. But day by day i was getting stronger. I was just looking over my first thread/post after my accident and told you I’d report on any hot nurses. There weren't any really hot nurses, cute at best, but no hotties. Worse yet, none of mine were cute. A couple of the phys. therapy girls were pretty hot though - but i was concentrating more on trying to work up the strength to stand up rather than check them out. All in all - none of them were nearly as hot as my gf.

Around the 22nd of November i finally was well enough to try to get in a wheelchair. I could only stand to be sitting up in it for about 20 min before i became completely exhausted to the point of passing out. This was another humbling thought - I was once able to run a mile in 4:30 or a 1/2mile in 1:57. Now I was beaten by the mere effort to sit up in a chair.

Three days into my wheelchair journeys came Thanksgiving. I had a LOT to be thankful for. I was finally out of bed, i hadn't died, and all my immediate family and my gf were there to have thanksgiving dinner with me. They set everything up in the cafeteria and were waiting for me when i finally got wheeled out. I was only able to sustain my energy for about 30 min before i petered out. But that 30 min was enough to give me the best thanksgiving i've ever had and will always remember.

Part Four 3rd update

The last week of the hospital was a busy time for me. I was learning how to feed myself, wipe my own butt, stand on one leg with 5% of my normal strength, and just stay awake long enough to get through the day. Well, I guess you could say “stay aware” since sleep was a luxury that I could rarely indulge in. The major dilemma was that I was fast coming to the point of discharge, but would still need nearly 24 hours of care. The case manager was openly rude to my parents and basically told us that at the point of my discharge I was no longer their problem.

Unfortunately I wasn’t a typical case – my injuries were not severe enough to warrant staying in the hospital, no nursing home would take me b/c I was too young (not that I wanted to go), and my parents both worked. “No our problem” still the hospital told us. “Your options are take him home or send him to a group home”. Gee… that helps us a lot. My mom had already been there with me every day for nearly a month, being my guardian angel and my advocate. Now they were telling her that she must take me or send me to the same place homeless people go. Once again, we (the insurance co. haha) have spent well over $1million here by now and their stance is, “Sorry”.
Well we decided to go home, home being the place I grew up, Vacaville, CA. My mom made almost immediate arrangements for a hospital bed, wheelchair, commode, shower stuff, etc for my living situation.

The transfer from 3rd floor hospital room to the car was hell. I hurt everywhere and couldn't bend my leg enough to easily enter the van. The whole ride home i dreaded how the living situation would go.. it was just my mom and i, what if something happened? On the way home we were told by a friend that the fire department offers assistance in/out of homes for people that can't make it - my mom was'nt sure she could handle getting me out of the car, into the house and onto my bed w/o hurting me. So we called them and they arrived at about the same time as we did. They were extremely nice and helped me in with impressive gentleness. My hat's off to the Vacaville fire dept.

that hurt.

Originally Posted by PepeRB29

i remember when i read this the first time jdoggg, its an amazing story, once again glad you are still with us. how is everything progressing with the arm now, any use of it yet?

My tricep is working again, as is my bicep, but my bicep is now controlled by the phrenic nerve so i have to control my breathing to use my bicep. Nothing below the elbow is moving yet, but i have bits of feeling in my fingers.

man, i remember this happened right after i joined.. glad you made you're still with us.. some kid my buddy worked with just died here a couple days ago.. crazy shit man

Damn. Praise God, man... That's a story you've got there.