I was initially concerned about my neck and back. You never know. After a minute or two of taking stock, and concluding that my neck and back were likely OK, I started to roll over on to my back, much to the protests of the growing crowd of people gathering around me. I was certain that I’d just shattered my right shoulder, my humerus (the bone in your upper arm), or both. I’m not a small guy and there’s only so much a forty year old body can take. I figured my arm would be a tube of meat when I got to my feet. I wasn’t in a lot of pain but it’s also not the first time I’ve broken bones. I know what shock can do to perception…

As I rolled over, the cries to stay still until the ambulance arrives got louder and it started to become a chorus of voices instead of just the first one I’d heard. Once on my back, I stayed still for another minute or so, again taking stock of my body to ensure there was nothing major wrong. I was pleased to find that though my arm felt dead, I seemed to be OK all things considered.

I slowly rolled over to my left side, and worked my way to my feet. The chorus of voices was getting louder protesting each move I made. It was too late however, I’d made it to my feet. I slowly began to try to move my right arm expecting the worst. I was pleasantly surprised to say that it was apparent that there was no major bone breakage done. What I did feel was a bit of “dead arm”. For you guys, remember when we’d exchange punches with a buddy? You’d keep whacking each other in the upper arm until someone begged off. Usually that meant you had a “dead arm” where it kind of ached and at the same time you kind of couldn’t feel it too much. That sort of what it felt like. My first real statement was “that’s going to hurt tomorrow.” 

I wandered to the side of the road, looking for a place to sit where I’d be out of traffic. There were several people who’d stopped at this point to make sure I was OK. The driver of the car who cut me off kept saying “I didn’t see you!” I run Cobra Shotgun Pipes on my bike. The only thing I said to her was “then you should have heard me.”

On my way to the side of the road, I spotted a familiar face. He’s the father of an old childhood friend and former chief of police of the town where the accident occurred. I looked at him and inquired “Mr. Avanti?” He got this little smirk on his face as he was trying to hide the smile working its way to his lips. He had to be thinking “Who is this walking corpse?” I hadn’t seen the man in over 25 years. “Yes?” he said inquisitively as I shook his hand with the one at the end of the arm I’d just landed on. “Ian Creswell, how’s Jeff?” He could no longer surpress his smile and filled me in briefly on how my old friend was doing.

I sat down and tried to catch my breath for a moment, still taking stock as to my condition. For the first time, I saw my bike lying in the middle of the road. It appears as though it landed in right on the yellow lines in the middle of the road while I landed about 8 feet beyond it in the middle of my lane. Thank God there was nobody tailgating me, I’d be dead.

A fellow handed me my cell phone, less than two months old, in two pieces. It had been on my right hip in a holder on my belt. Surely it had been destroyed from the impact. I inspected it only to discover I was holding what appeared to be an intact phone in one hand and a battery in the other. I put the two together and attempted to turn it on. To my great surprise, the phone fired right up. 

I immediately phoned my wife to let her know what had happened and that I was OK. I told her I’d be picking up my bike shortly and would make my way home where I’d jump into the car and drive to the doctor’s office. She’d hear none of it! She informed me to stay put, that she’d be there in 10 minutes.

It was shortly after this that the police arrived. He started to assess the situation and asked me for an account of what happened. I only spoke to him briefly as soon after the ambulance and fire truck arrived at the scene. This is when things really started to speed up again. The paramedics were trying to talk me into going to the hospital and I was resisting. I felt as though I was in OK enough shape that I could just go in on my own.

As they paramedics were writing up the waiver form, indicating I’d refused treatment, I tried to stand back up. Suddenly, breathing became a chore. I’d obviously compressed my chest when I hit the ground and the discomfort was making it really difficult to breath when I was moving around. I decided to take the ride to the hospital after all.

Now here’s where it gets a little funny. They asked if I could walk into the ambulance which of course I could, I’d just walked away from my accident after all. When I got in to the vehicle, they begged me to let them strap me to the back/neck board. Apparently they catch hell from the nurses at the hospital if they don’t in cases like this. To save these guys some grief, I consented and so began the process of strapping me in. If I had any idea how uncomfortable the backboard would be on my newly compressed ribs, I would have reconsidered… As it turns out, both paramedics ride as well and they were really comforting through the whole process.

Off we went to Noble Hospital. This isn’t one of my favorite places, yes, I’ve experienced many, but it was certainly the closest. The ride is a little bit of a blur as I was in a good deal of pain each time we hit a bump. Westfield is known as Pot Hole City so relief was hard to find on this short trip.

Once in my room, I was first visited by a nurse, looking to take my vitals while they waited for the doctor. At this point, I’m still strapped to the board and can’t see much outside of the ceiling in the room. She took my pulse and temperature, and then picked up my arm to take my blood pressure. She giggled and said she’d be right back, she needed to get a bigger cuff. That’s the one thing I’ve retained from my lifting days is pretty good arms!

Before the doctor made it in, my brother-in-law and sister-in-law came into the room. They had heard from someone who’d driven by the accident scene and had to come down to check on me. We often ride together and Jim and I have become pretty close over the last few years so it really made me feel good to have them in there.

Soon after, the doctor came in and did an evaluation on my to confirm my neck and back were OK before taking me off the board. Once off, he did a more thorough exam and ordered a series of x-rays to make sure I hadn’t broken anything.  When the nurse came back in, it occurred to me that a certain orthopedic doctor still practiced in this hospital. He’s the very man I credit with ruining my ankle as a teenager. No, I won’t be naming names here but ask next time you bump into me if you’d care to hear the story… I politely explained to the nurse that “If Doctor X (name deleted), walks through that door, I will get out of this bed, beat him to a pulp, sore shoulder and all, and then I’ll drown him in that sink over there.” I really was calm and polite through this. Her response was great. With a grin she asked, “bad experience with him huh?”

Not to belabor the hospital visit any longer, the x-rays were negative, they scrubbed out my road rash, gave me some pain killers and told me to call my doctor in a few days to follow up. Off I went! What a relief, I was still in once piece, though a little nicked up.

Now I know we all have someone who lectures us about riding so I guess I’m no different than you in that regard. There were two people I didn’t want to tell about the accident. One already knew and the other hadn’t heard yet; my mom and my daughter. Yes, you heard me right, my daughter. Now mom was great about the whole thing, my daughter, not so much. She’s not crazy about riding, and is less crazy about Chris and I riding so I got an earful from my “little mom”!

With day one behind me, I decided I needed to get the process started by calling my insurance company. I called my agent first, who is also a local rider. In the effort of full disclosure, her agency happens to be an advertiser on my website. It’s FAIA out of Chicopee, MA. When I first picked them up last year, she asked me to give her a shot to win my insurance business. I’d begged off until this year as I’d already paid my policy in full for the year. If you saw the story I wrote earlier this year, she not only won my bike business but also carries my RV insurance now as well and she saved me a bunch of money at the same time! They started to carry Progressive last year which was why they were advertising on our site. 

Kim first inquired as to my wellbeing, and then told me the next steps. She actually got the process rolling for me with Progressive. I was contacted later in the day by a fellow named Dustin, the adjuster who’d been assigned to my claim. He asked me where the bike was, and then had the nerve to ask me if I had anyone who would go over there with me to pick it up and bring it back to my house. You see, he couldn’t get over to see it until the following Thursday (a week and 2 days after the accident), and didn’t want Progressive to have to pick up the storage fees. I was a little taken back by this. I’d just hit the ground less then 24 hours before, and couldn’t use my right arm to scratch my ass let alone move an un-rideable motorcycle. I politely told him maybe he should get over there a little sooner so they could decide what to do with the bike instead… He finally agreed to have the bike towed back to my house to sit and wait for him to come out the following week.


TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK...