My Last Ride?

I needed to get to Tennessee. My Father had surgery on Monday and this was Friday and he wasn’t feeling well. All of his support people were leaving town to go to Cincinnati for the weekend so I thought I’d go down and keep him company. My truck was being used and my little car was in the shop. That left the old Harley and me! Of course I didn’t call my wife until I stopped for gas just north of Indy. Then I had an excuse for not taking her car. Pretty slick eh! I thought so.

I would head down through Indy and hit HYW 65 through Louisville to Cave City then turn east. I would eventually hit HYW 127 to Jamestown Tenn. It was a beautiful hot summer day made for a motorcycle ride. Around Columbus, In I noticed that all exposed skin was turning red so I stopped to gas up, check in, and get some spf55 suntan lotion. I re-hydrated with a bottle of water, called home, and relaxed for a while. I slathered on the lotion on my face, arms and even my lower legs. Although I was wearing long pants my pant legs kept creeping up with the wind and exposing skin that didn’t usually see sun. I drove back on the highway and merged onto the interstate. The old Harley pulled out in traffic effortlessly as I twisted the throttle. The familiar deep predator growl settled into a monotone tune that keeps me company as the miles roll away. 70mph is effortless for the machine and I try not to disturb it as I hurl down the highway. My mind drifts to many things. I reflect on my mission. I remember Dad telling me about the HWY 61 that parallels 65. It goes through small towns and is built for yesterday’s traffic, slower paced and more motorcycle friendly. There are less big semi’s rolling by at breakneck speed (My neck in particular). In my younger days I thought it was fun to fantacize about playing tag with the enormous fenders or writing “wash me!” as they went by on the trailer dirt. Now I cringe every time one of those Triceratops semis rolls by. I know they are herbivorous and don’t eat motorcycles, but one lash from the huge tail could send me to the Promised Land!

I rolled into Louisville just as rush hour peaked. Great timing on my part! I tried to stake out my turf and get over the bridge and through the city without stopping. At this time of day stopping on a motorcycle meant sure heat stroke for me and the bike. As I reach the southern edge of the bridge into Kentucky I say a little prayer of thanks for deliverance so far. The southern edge of Louisville is where I see the first exit sign for HWY 61. The still small voice in me said, “Take the exit. The traffic is better and there are more chances to rest”.

I wrestled with the decision for a while until it was too late to turn. I reasoned that I would make better time on the interstate so on I went. This was my first mistake. I wanted to take the road more traveled, to go with the flow. On I charged! On HWY 65 south of Louisville I saw a sign especially for motorcycles. It read; Motorcycles beware; uneven road surface ahead. Great! It was close to this sign that I saw the second exit sign for HWY 61. Oh well, the semi was in the way and I couldn’t get over. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it! For the second time I resisted the still small voice.

Through rolling hills I travel. Sometimes bumper to bumper, sometimes traffic thins and my tension subsides. At this stage no matter how I shift or set I’m only comfortable for a while. Fatigue slowly takes over. I should stop and rest but I charge on. There’s the third sign. Oh well, I’m too tired to even argue about it so on I go. The heat is almost unbearable but as long as I’m doing 60 or 70mph the wind helps cool me. The fourth sign goes by. Peter’s denial of Christ in Matthew only happened three times! I come upon my exit finally. Cave City, I know it well. With the passing of Mom in 2009 and my sister in 2010 it had become a trail of tears for me. This time things are different. I am looking forward to visiting with Dad. The trip odometer approaches 250mi. The way I feel it should say 400. I’m not hungry but I know I need fluids so I stop at the Wendy’s to rest. I stay for quite a while enjoying the air conditioning and a salad with plenty of water to drink.

As I prepare to leave I notice the heat has abated some. I feel refreshed and ready. This leg of the trip would be more fun. The pace is slower and the scenery is great! I roll on through Glasgow to smaller towns like Eighty-Eight, Beaumont, through the construction zone at Marrowbone. Got to watch the speed traps, it seems every time there is a lower speed I’m going downhill!

As I approach a gentle valley on the way to Burkesville I see angry tail lights. One car stopped and then another, and another. My stop was rather hurried but not panicked. I rolled to the far right side of the lane to see why someone would stop with no apparent reason on a State road with a 55mph speed limit! Time has a way of distorting at these moments. I don’t remember how long it was before I heard the protesting tires as they tried to stop a three thousand pound car instantly. I was in trouble but I had nowhere to go! There was not even a shoulder to die on!  As the car hit me the motorcycle lunged like a horse slapped on the hind quarters. As my throttle hand left the bike I heard the last roar of the beast as it went airborne down the side of the meadow. I remember a white car with its nose as close to the ground as the suspension would allow. It had made a valiant effort to avoid me but had failed. When I first made contact with the ground I felt a crushing pain in my chest and I couldn’t breathe. I don’t think I would have gotten even a one for technique at any gymnastics meet. When I quit flailing and came to a rest I clutched my left chest. I remember setting up and gasping for breath. Someone suggested that I lay on my back so I could breathe better.  That didn’t help so I turned on my right side in a fetal position and grabbed a handful of the dry grass with my left hand just to have something to hold on to. I could breathe only short shallow breaths like a panting dog or someone on an artificial breathing machine. The police arrived and asked me for my license. Of course, it was in the bottom right pocket of my cargo pants underneath me. As I moved to retrieve it guttural, involuntary, animal sounds came from somewhere inside. I conversed with the officer in short three word sentences, because that was all the wind I could spare. I opened my eyes to see when I heard someone say something about leaking gas. It seems old Harley was on its left side with the gas tank headed downhill. I saw three men pick it up and flop it over on its right side. At least the gas wouldn’t leak out. The meadow was dry and a spark could have caused an impromptu hog roast (Harley Hog). The tail light was still on warning anyone behind of my presence. At that time that seemed offensive to me so I asked the officer if he would turn it off. The ambulance arrived and paramedics started hovering over me and asking questions. They rolled me on my back onto a flat board. They kept grabbing arms and legs and hips and asking if they hurt. I wanted to yell “MOM! Their touching me!” but I’m not sure they would get the humor.

They tried to duct tape me to the gurney but I kept sliding down the hill so one of them stood at the bottom with his shins against my feet while they taped. When they were satisfied I wouldn’t slide off, they picked me up and carried me pall bearer style up the hill to the Ambulance. I remember someone asking about drug allergies and me saying none and something about 4 units of morphine and a surreal feel to the world. They took me to Cumberland County Hospital in Burkesville. HWY 61 intersects with HWY 90 about ½ mile from the Hospital. If this was Hollywood and a movie like” Back to the Future” I could have seen the man on the Harley, the one who had listened to the still small voice, ride through the intersection onto 90 oblivious of the drama unfolding just yards away from him. Four times I had denied the warnings but still I survived. My only explanation is Grace. Although I did not deserve it, God’s hand reached out and shielded me from destruction.

Did I come out unscathed? NO. God knew my heart. If I had walked away my man pride and arrogance would have prevented me from learning and leaning on Him. Every breath I’m now taking I owe to him! Maybe next time I’ll temper my reasoning with His Will!

Dan Fulton