I’m gunning my KTM 450 uphill on a steep wildcat trail through the trees and bushes, four-stroke thundering deep in its power band, the moisture in the soil is at a perfect level and so it’s like powering through cake, the perfect traction, and then the bike is gone and in a scramble of senses the world a jumble of noise and earth tones, I cartwheel down the steep slope. Somewhere between a split second and eternity, there’s this tremendous crack and a ping and zip in my head. My right shoulder felt like it had sort of come apart, but on my knees at the base of a tree, mostly I was focused on the ringing in my head. Had I hurt my brain or broken my neck? I gathered sensory input, but my neck didn’t seem to be injured.
When the ringing in my ears let up, my arm started to become present. I could move it a little bit and thought I might get lucky and it’ll sort of fix itself or clear up somehow like it has before like how you can have a really bad cramp in your leg or in your hip and after a minute it kind of goes away and you’re alright or like when you smashed your ribs in a fall, like I had several weeks before, and at first you can’t breathe but eventually even though they’re sore, you’re able to go on. So I got to my feet, my arm dangling, and I moved it a little hoping I’ll be able to ride my motorcycle, because for one we’re deep in the woods and there’s no way to get it out of there, except for a riding it, but there were crackling noises.
I thought perhaps maybe I had rolled over it during my cartwheel and strained or stretched or maybe, in the worst case scenario, torn soft tissue. I fumbled with the fingers of my left hand to get the strap under my chin undone to get my helmet off so I could understand more what was going on. It took a minute with my left hand, but I got it undone but then I had to take my goggles off and then I got my helmet up over my ears and my head was out, but I couldn’t see because I have corrective lenses inserted into my goggles. I released the clasp of my backpack and snaked my left arm through the strap, and then let it fall off my dangling right arm onto the ground. I unzip the outer top pocket, one-handed and get my glasses on.
I looked at my arm hanging at my side but didn’t try to move it again because it felt strange. I stood up and leaned against the tree, pushing my armored shoulder into it because that seemed to release the odd feeling. Below me down at the beginning of the climb behind some bushes and trees, the friend I was adventuring with was yelling up at me. I tried to responded with a wave of my left arm, still looking at my right. I couldn’t really understand what he was saying, but I guess he was about to come up so I looked at my bike to make sure it wasn’t in the trail. My bike was only a few feet above me, laying on its side, the motor had already stopped running. I thought that I should pick it up because the gas was coming out, but I let it go because there was this thing with my shoulder and I knew there is no way I could get it off the ground with one arm.
I heard his bike start, that powerful two-stroke brap, and he revved and then spun up the dirt slope toward me. He came into view and as he approached, I stepped uphill and with my left hand grabbed the rear fender and pulled the back end of my bike away from the trail to give him more room.
He passed me, focusing on his climb, back wheel churning throwing clumps of the black soil, his front wheel levitating off the ground as the rear tire bit and spun up. He stopped several yards above me at a flatter spot on the hillside. I yelled up that I almost made it man just a couple more feet and I’d have been where you are. He didn’t hear me, his bike still running and his helmet still on. I turned my attention back to my situation, hoping I hadn’t ruined the ride by getting hurt.
Waiting for him to come down, I waited for the dysfunction of my shoulder to ease up as the numbness of the trauma began to subside, just as it had in my head. Bent over, left hand on knee, I tried to lift my right arm forward, keeping it against my body, but everything inside felt loose and the crackling and popping panicked me and the adrenaline kicked up another notch, causing me to feel distant from my body, not outside of it, but just sort of back behind it in another dimension. Then the pain started more globally around the shoulder and down my arm. I felt like I was experiencing the pain more than feeling it. I leaned toward the tree and pushed my padded shoulder against it again imagining still that the pain would let up and mobility would return. My friend long-stepped down the slope and without saying anything picked up my bike and set it against the kickstand. Then he came closer and asked if I could ride. I said I didn’t know but I’m sure I would be able to in a minute. I didn’t want to irritate him by not being able to ride out, meaning we’d have to leave it and walk back and get it. We weren’t anywhere where you could drive to it.
The pain in my shoulder and arm became more intense and any movement led to those loose, sharply painful clicking sensations. I said I have tape in my backpack and maybe we could tape it to my chest and then I could ride out, but I knew it was wishful thinking. We still had lots of hill to climb out of and after that a mile of pretty rough trail. He says, have you ever seen a Tyrannosaurus rex ride a motorcycle? I knew what he meant. I begin to admit to myself quietly that I would not be able to ride out. And as the pain increased in the shoulder, immobility of my arm becoming more and more reality, the thought, the concern of riding out subsided, and now I was only concerned about getting myself out of there, getting myself to a hospital.
Standing on that steep slope every unbalanced move caused the pain to intensify, so I told him we’re gonna have to tape my arm to my chest, which was covered in armor plating. He got out my gaffers tape and wrapped it around my chest and her upper arm, and then taped my lower arm at a 90 by creating a sling with the tape over my shoulder.
He said he would stash the bike and see if he couldn’t get someone to help him get it out in the next day or two. I said great and thank you and that I’d happily pay for someone to help him get it out, but I just had to get out of there and I started to walk downhill where I would be able to make it through the bushes. The main trail we saw on our phone map was close by, downhill through the trees. I walked carefully, making very sure I did not slip or fall, each step was painful in my arm.
By the time I got to the motorcycle trailhead and my pickup, I was covered in cold sweat and focused on not jarring my arm and on getting to a hospital. My friend was already in the parking lot, but we didn’t say much. He told me again not to worry about the motorcycle. I thanked him again, and said I was really wondering how the hell I was going to get my jersey and all my armor off. I said they’ll just have to cut it off, after all they were only q few hundred dollars and this whole adventure was going to be a lot more expensive than that. The idea of lifting my arm or moving it in any way in order to get the gear off was a non-starter in any case. I don’t remember if he said anything.
I slid behind the wheel carefully, orienting myself to using my left arm for everything, and drove myself to an emergency room in Missoula, where several people commented on the nice job my pal had done taping me up. When I got into the intake area behind the emergency room doors, I told them they’d have to cut my jersey off. But the orderly guy said he’d had good luck getting these kinds of shirts off and that we should be able to do it. He did a great job and got it off without killing me. It’s all just emergency room procedures after that.
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