How was your crash?

Blog #23

Lawrence Rinehart

Phyllis tells me that whenever her mother, an amazing, Godly woman now in heaven, would meet someone and discover they were a motorcyclist, she would ask, “Would you like to tell me about your crash?”
Apparently Phyllis’s mom had come to two conclusions. First, every biker crashes at some point. Second, we like to tell people about it.

I started riding in 1985, but I didn’t start riding seriously until about ten years ago. Readers of this riveting, life changing blog know that I ride with Full Armor Biker Ministry and that I’ve also traveled the country with Pete.
Full Armor rides local, while Pete and I have ridden all over. I figure I’ve ridden at least 300,000 miles on five bikes: one Suzuki Boulevard and four Harley Davidson touring bikes, all in the past ten years.

The perfect bike.
I finally came up with the perfect motorcycle for me, with the help of Farrow East Harley Davidson and the Honorable General Manager, Jeff Varney: a 2021 Road Glide Limited, Stage II upgrade, with screaming Eagle pipes that had opened up to the perfect sound for me. A nice manly rumble, not so loud as to annoy me (or the rider behind me) on long rides. I had her right at 30K miles. Scheduling that service was on my to do list.

Friday morning, September 29th, Saint Jay and I headed to the Ridge Inn in Laurelville, a beautiful rural ride. Roads were damp, fog was light so we slowed it down a bit. The air was perfect.

I always pray when I ride and this ride was no different. I asked God to bring Jay and me back home safe and sound. I would never consider myself an expert rider, maybe a solid intermediate with 300K miles without a major mishap. Ive made mistakes, but I’ve always gotten away with it.

Gravity.
I’ve dropped every bike I’ve owned, but on the road I always had Pete close buy to pick it up. He’s a big strong hulk of a man, not to be trifled with. Good guy to have around when you turn too tight in snow going 3 miles an hour. I’ve gotten off my bike in a hurry and forgot to put the kickstand down. I’ve dropped the bike at the base of the southern most marker in Key West when I forgot about the square concrete base of the round marker.

The list of drops goes on and on, but always 2-3 miles an hour or standing still. Gravity is always there, waiting. Pete has usually been there to make the recovery.

“Gravity is not just a good idea. It’s the law.”

My crash.
In true biker form and to not disappoint Phyllis’s mom, let me tell you about my crash. Back to Friday, September 29. Jay and I had a good breakfast. I suggested we stop at Lindsey’s Donuts in Circleville, a local landmark, on the way home. Ginger likes Jay to bring home good pastry. I think it’s foundational to their blissful marriage.

We’re on a road we’ve ridden dozens of times without incident so apparently my brain decided I didn’t really need to pay attention. I’m leading as we come into a right turn. Apparently I decided that I’ve got so many miles under my belt that I could be thinking about Lindsey’s instead of the slight curve. I realized I was taking the curve wide, into the other lane, but no traffic right there, thinking about donuts I didn’t realize the severity of it until I was almost out of asphalt. I may have even focused on the ditch instead of where I should have been looking. By the time my mental alarms went off, I had nearly laid the bike completely on its right side trying to stay on the road.

The fight was lost the minute I hit the wet grass. That’s when the lightening fast, slow motion, herky-jerky violence began. And just that quick, it was over. Pieces of Road Glide all over the place, me on my back, unable to get up, in enough pain to know it was not good.

Through excruciating pain, I sat half way up and was able to unstrap my HJC HD 3/4 helmet w/full visor, off. It was stuffed with grass and dirt. If I’d have been wearing a half helmet, it would have been bad. All you guys that wear small half helmets pretending you’re checking the block, read that again. Wear a helmet or don’t, but don’t deceive yourself. Half helmets will not do the job on your worst day.

Immediately I was surrounded with bystanders, including a doctor, medics, retired medics, Good Samaritans, all sincerely trying to help me. Two lady’s came and sat behind me, back to back, to lessen my pain. Jay was trying to find my phone, having discovered there was no cell connectivity. Couldn’t even call 911. Jay later said, “All those people were sincerely concerned.”

It took over 45 minutes to get an available EMS on the scene. Those of us who live in suburbia are spoiled with 7 minute response times. Whatever God was teaching me, he wanted to give it time to sink in. The medics worked on me a bit then took me on a harrowing ride to Adena Hospital in Chillicothe. I figured I’d be there for several days unless they moved me to OSU in Columbus, but I was pretty hopeful that if I made it to the hospital that I’d live.

I left Jay at the scene to deal with the Ohio State Highway Patrol, the towing company and to relive the entire event in his head. I know how traumatic it is to witness such a thing and Jay had a front row seat. It will impact him more than he knows. He and other witnesses said they watched that 1000 lb bike roll over me twice. Jay said that as he walked up to me he was wondering who he should call first to tell them I’d been killed in a bike crash. He knew I couldn’t have survived such a violent crash and he wasn’t looking forward to seeing the aftermath.

Once the squad got me to the awaiting hospital trauma team, they rushed me through scans, X-rays, and a variety of other tests. Finally they gave me some medical derivative of fentanyl and put me back in an ER room where I met a very professional, well groomed OSP Trooper who wanted to talk with me about my failure to maintain control of my vehicle. I might have come up with some defense if not for the fog of the pain med. I could only agree and “sign here, press hard, three copies.” (He was not as impressed with my retired status as I am.)

The good grace of God.
Then the ER doctor came with the news. “Nothings broken, no internal damage, not even broken skin. You’re free to go.” How’s that possible? Only one way; the miracle working power of Jesus Christ. No doubt in my mind, He spared me not only from death, but from physical harm. It was a miracle of God, period. Three hours after being wheeled in there, I walked out in my hospital gown to Phyllis’s car. Sore, beat up, but no physical damage. Remember, by this time an army of God fearing people, some of them church royalty, were aggressively praying for me. These are people with a solid relationship with God. Never underestimate the power of sincere prayer. I went from laying in a ditch, not being able to stand, to walking out under my own power.

I’m a prayer and I ride with prayers. God delivered me home safe and sound. Unbelievable, but true. God hears the prayers of the undeserving. God answers those prayers even while we’re living in sin. He is with us and we need to be communicating with him.

And also amazingly, I don’t think I had come to final rest in that ditch before my church family was asking for prayer for my family and me. Somehow they knew about it before I fully understood what had happened. If you’re not connected to a church family, you need to be. They will be there for you on your worst days. They will also celebrate your best days. Even if you’re not a full fledged believer, a church family is waiting to embrace you.
That’s the story of my crash. Would you like to tell me about your crash?