That’s gotta hurt

A moment’s inattention is all it takes to ruin a perfectly good day. No matter how much he knows about riding, the author admits to forgetting the basics from time to time.

Transcript

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Welcome to the Being There Podcast. Stories from the Road, where we keep the rubber side down. These are stories written by my father, Gene McCalmott. Commentary by his son, me, John McCalmott. This is episode 11. That's Gotta Hurt. A moment's inattention is all it takes to ruin a perfectly good day. No matter how much he knows about writing, the author admits to forgetting the basics from time to time. This is That's Gotta Hurt. I lay on the hard, cold surface of the X-ray table in the dimly lit room, covered only with the thinnest of blankets. My scuffed and torn arrow stitched suit lay crumbled on the stand beside the table, along with what was left of my helmet. I felt dirty and sweaty, even in this cold and antiseptic place. The hospital in Clifton, Texas didn't actually have an emergency room, but they did have a doctor on call, and he was on his way. I felt embarrassed by this whole affair. It was damn inconvenient. Well that's gotta hurt, Tony said, stating the obvious and trying to look unconcerned. Do you remember what happened? All I remember is looking back to see the words moto goozy through a long dark tunnel, then I grabbed a handful of brakes. The next thing I remember is Tom looking down at me saying something incoherent. Man, I've never seen anybody stand a bike on its front wheel like that. It all happened in slow motion just before you launched yourself over the handlebars. Tom's okay, not even a scratch. But his goozy's going to need some work. You knocked it right out from underneath him. Hell of a thing. The tech came in the room and said he'd have to take a couple of more pictures. He wasn't sure he was seeing all of the damage clearly. I felt a bit nauseous at that. Tony said he'd wait outside and holler if I needed anything. Hollering was something I had practiced several times as the EM guys rolled me into the X ray room. Actually, I was becoming rather accomplished at hollering. It's not something you can do in any premeditated way. It has to be spontaneous. It had been a great day for a group ride. The sky was clear, the roads dry, and the eight of us had ridden together many times over the years. Everyone was an accomplished rider, and we took riding seriously. Wearing protective suits, gloves, and helmets, we trusted one another, and when combined we shared way more than a hundred years of riding experience. It was about as safe as a ride was likely to get. But you know what? Shit happens. The doctor's here, I'll get these developed so we can take a look and maybe we can get you something for the pain. A nurse appeared at the door with a hypo. Relief was just a sharp prick away. She told me to lie still while the drugs took effect as if I really needed any encouragement. We had stopped to gas up and decided to have lunch in Clifton before heading back north. The station attendant suggested a good place just down highway six. I had followed Tony and Tom out onto the highway with the others in tow. We had naturally fallen into a staggered line, well under the posted speed. The restaurant was closed, but my attention had been drawn to some cars parked at the rear. I looked a little too long, before looking forward again, but then it was too late. Tom and Tony were breaking hard for an unanticipated left turn. There wasn't time to stop. Looks like you have a broken right collarbone, the doctor said, holding the X ray film where I could see it. Of course I already knew that. It's a clean fracture, no pieces floating about, it should heal with no problem. It's your right leg that concerns me. He reached for another film. I felt flush. The cold room grew unbearably hot. My mind raced in uncontrollable directions, and my attention was drawn to the throbbing pain down my right leg. I picked up the blanket to see if it was still attached. Of course, I pulled my shoulder, the pain shot down my arm. It appears to be a tiny fracture in the pelvis socket, he continued, pointing to a small fracture line. I couldn't see it well through my tearing eyes. I don't think it's a big deal, but you'll need to have it looked at. He looked at my torn riding suit and picked up the bashed helmet. You know, by the looks of it, this stuff saved you from serious injury. That's a good thing. Bev arrived about an hour later, Tony and the doctor wheeled me out to the truck and shoved me in the back seat. The pain in my hip and shoulder was more than I could stand, so I practiced my hollering. The doctor and nurses were very sympathetic, but I think they were glad to see me go. Just before Tony shut the truck door he said, You know, you guys almost made it. I mean just one more second and you'd had avoided hitting one another. Just one tick of the clock, another second, and things would have been different. It was a second we didn't have. Even after thirty years of riding, I'm still learning and relearning lessons about motorcycles. Lessons like wearing protective clothing, using a good helmet, and understanding that even an accomplished rider will occasionally make mistakes. I learned about being vigilant when riding with others. I learned that a moment's inattention could ruin a perfect day. I'm in this for the long haul. I plan to be riding well into my eighties, but I can only do so if I continue to learn and apply these lessons. So I don't have to practice my hollering anymore. That last line got me. My dad did not live into his eighties. He died at 67. Way too young for a young soul like himself. The collarbone. If you've ridden motorcycles as long as my dad has, as long as I have, as long as Jerry and my dad's friends have, you've probably broken your collarbone. It's the number one thing to break when you have a motorcycle accident. My dad always gave me these words when riding the motorcycle. It's not a matter of if you're going to have an accident. It's always a matter of when. And if you're prepared when that when happens, you're going to be okay. Because believe me, just like my father, I have had moments of inattention and have had my share of motorcycle racks. Heck, in my youth, when I was racing motorcycles out in California, if you didn't crash on a corner every once in a while, you were not going fast enough because you weren't pushing your limits. That we'll never know. I wonder if I'll be riding at the age of eighty. I guess in the end, you have to live every day. Somewhat like it's your last, because you never know when that last day will be here. If this stirs your soul like it stirs mine, and you enjoyed today's episode, be sure to subscribe and follow the podcast so you don't miss future readings and commentary. All written material featured in this podcast is the original work of my father and used with his permission. The thoughts and opinions I share are my own. This recording is for personal listening only. My voice lightness and performance are protected and may not be recorded, reproduced, or used in any form of AI training, cloning, or synthetic replication without my explicit written consent. Thanks again for being here. Until next time, keep the riverside down and save travels.