Die Hard

Post date: Feb 16, 2011 10:50:47 PM

Valentine’s Day, 2-14-11

Frade, Brazil

Finally, with a fixed carburetor and a chosen route to the end of my rainbow, Ushuaia, Argentina, I sped out from Piratas de Ipanema Hostel with barely a goodbye. The accident, the parties, the motorcycle maintenance, and the lure of Rio’s many temptations had worn on me, and I was ready for a change of scenery.

The plan was to meet up with the Vikings in Paraty, just 4 hours south of Rio, before they flew off to Central America. From there I’d follow the coast south to Florianopolis, cut over to Iguacu, and from there cross the border to the titan Argentina.

Vroom! I was making good time, thinking I should consider racing after this is all over, as I wove in and out of traffic (carefully, of course) and looking like a prime bad@$$. The bike felt good.

45 minutes north of Paraty I cut through the teeny weeny town of Frade, terrifying the locals as I virtually flew over the speed bumps in town (carefully, of course) and once in the clear I throttled it hard for the run up the hill and into highway mode.

What?! Something completely unexpected. What the __ is that bus doing?! It was in my lane before I could blink, and at a very high speed I attempted to dodge the bus to the right since the opposing lane was occupied. There was too little space and time to accommodate the forced detour. The profound timelessness of that last thought before you die hit me. As the left side of my bike thwacked the right rear of the bus, I let go, heart and soul. There is nothing you can do in such a situation. I accepted death.

But no, a flash later and I am conscious and pacing like a headless chicken. Where did all these people come from? Why is everyone talking so fast? The light was very bright. They forced me to sit down despite my attempts to rush to my bike to investigate the damages. From a distance I could see that all the boxes had been torn off. The fairing was scattered in pieces around the roadside. And there was liquid puddled around my bike.

“Whats that liquid coming out of my bike?” I asked this man who happened to speak English. I thought he’d said water. I later learned it was gas.

I was shocked. How did I get here? I wondered. “Where am I?” I asked, but my helper’s answer meant nothing. I remembered only that I was in Brazil. For a moment I couldn’t remember why I was in Brazil. But I remembered I was supposed to meet the Vikings, and I was saddened by the realization that that would not be happening.

Lots of people were busying about for some reason, and I didn’t like how they were standing around my bike. I tried to stand up and go over there. They sat me back down, telling me to rest. I tried again, and again, and again, as if I had just realized that I was in an accident and it was the first I’d seen my bike.

I turned to Rod, the English speaker, and said, “I think I have a concussion.” I remember little else of what happened, but Rod tells me that I kept repeating myself. “What happened?” “Where am I?” “What’s that fluid coming out of my bike?” “So much for Armani. (my shorts were tattered and bloody)” “I want some water.” “What happened?” “Where am I?” “What’s that fluid coming out of my bike?” “So much for Armani” “I want some water.” Over and over and over again for 45 minutes while the ambulance worked its way to the scene.

When I asked for water, a guy who claimed to be an expert said I couldn’t have water because it could disrupt the x-rays at the hospital. Then I’d ask for water again and again, and suddenly everyone was a doctor, repeating the first man’s order. They were bystanders curious about who’d just fallen. Finally I got a swish of water that I was commanded to spit out. I did so. A little blood came with it.

I didn’t exactly feel pain at that point. I recognized stiffness in my body, but that’s it.

Then the ambulance arrived and they sat me in for a pre-exam. Then began the déjà vu. I had seen everyone of those people inside and at the ambulance rear entrance before, in a dream I’d dreamt weeks or years ago. In fact, the entire accident had played out in my dream. I had this visceral sensation that fate was playing itself out at that exact moment. The English speaker, Rod, stood at the entrance, monitoring my treatment, and he said, “I’m coming with you to the hospital.” I couldn’t believe my luck. I looked at him with such inspiration and matter-of-factly stated “You are my angel.” There was also this cherubic, shiny black woman with the softest expression, glowing smile, and big eyes who rode in the ambulance with me. Won’t find that in the States. I had seen her before and I knew she was my friend.

I didn’t know why those people were helping me, but I felt blessed because they were. They had trouble getting me to lie down. I was too amused by the whole scene. Outside the ambulance were congregated a throng of curious onlookers. I felt like a star, and it was comforting when I recognized my humor was still intact. I waved to them all like an actor on the red carpet, smiled gloriously, and shouted (knowing no one would understand), “I’m alive! I can’t be broken! Thank you all!” With some prompting, I laid down for the medics.

The quiet cave that was the ambulance forced my pouncing thoughts back into my brain, and I began to reflect on what was really happening. “I’m going to the hospital to check for broken bones, perhaps a broken spine, and to stitch my back.” “I’m not going to see my friends before they leave.” The hollowness and sadness crept into me, filling me. I called Live, one of the Vikings, and informed her that “I might be a little late.” It sounded like they wouldn’t be able to visit me due to a scheduled bus commitment.

Out of the ambulance and into the hospital, all the while just wanting to cry at the disappointment I felt with myself, with the state of events. How did this happen, AGAIN?

The déjà vu continued. I’ve seen these walls before! I know you! I’ve waited in this room before! I felt the connectedness of the rooms, the people, the rush I’d felt before the accident, the ways things were being done… but such sadness hit me. Such sadness that I no longer cared about the bike or my body or my trip. I thought of love.

Blah blah blah, I waited here, got some x rays there, got scrubbed and bandaged there. It took an hour before I was cognizant of the series of events leading me to this position. It was a few hours before I could see clearly again. I was a little worried when the physician couldn’t tell from the x ray if I had a pin in my back and had to ask me. I was also amused when they put a splint on my left arm due to my complaints of a sore wrist, despite the fact that there were no broken bones there or anywhere. I was stunned and especially relieved. I was strapped in motionless (not good for a minor claustrophobe), for hours, and during that time I’d felt pain in my neck but couldn’t move it. So when I was told my bones were good, I literally hooted. I had a scraped left calf, scraped hips, scraped hands, strained wrists and ankle, and worst of all a scraped and gouged lower back/upper buttock. I hit something that put two large holes in my back about 3 inches to the right of my spine. The holes are 2 inches long and 2 inches deep. I received 9 stitches. The concussion’s effects on my brain would slowly fade over a few days. The stitches can come out in 10, at which point most of my scrape bandages should also be unnecessary.

I was discharged 5 hours after the accident. I was told the bus company had shown up and offered to buy any medicines I needed. They also offered me a free bus ride to anywhere in Brazil. Yeehaw.

My angel, who also had taken my bike and its bits onto his property, took me to his home for some reason. At home, I met his wife Carol. I was invited to stay with them. I had no other options, and I graciously accepted their help.

I am told by witnesses that I should be dead. I skid 150 feet across hard pavement. I ended up on the roadside instead of in the path of traffic, and I somehow didn’t crush into a large concrete display in front of the condominium gate. I’ll die another day, I suppose. Accident #5 of the trip: checkmark. Survived?: checkmark. Lesson Learned?: checkmark. Ready to ride again?: checkmark. A little tired of concussions and scrapes?: checkmark. Still smiling?: checkmark.