becauseihavenowife.com
| following Andy Polley as he travels around the world... |
3:40 P.M.
I kicked Sam out of my house. He had come over to chill for a bit before
his soccer practice, and I was glad to have him. But I needed to work out.
I've been doing good the past few weeks...hittin' up the gym with discipline
that even I don't fully understand.
But the past few days were outside the norm, and it threw off my schedule.
It's Tuesday, and I hadn't been to the gym since last Wednesday. I
needed to go.
And it's a beautiful day outside. The clouds are doing their best to block
the sun, but as of late, the sun is winning the battle. It's inching up to 75
degrees...another great day for the motorcycle. These days are going to
be fewer and fewer now. It's the day after Labor Day...the mornings are
cold, and a biker needs to savor every nice day he has left.
So I head to the gym. And I had a great workout. It's one of those days
where you feel like you could go on and on. The pain is minimal (for
now!), and lifting and running actually get you excited! I didn't want to
come today, I'll be honest, but I'm glad I did. I felt great.
1/2 mile warm-up,curls, dumbbells, dips, ab crunches, more running, more
lifting, more crunching. I had been here about an hour.
And it was time for the next part of the day: Grilling out. Let it so be stated
that I LOVE grilling out. I have yet to find anything that does not taste
absolutely phenomenal off of the grill...steaks, burgers, brats,
shishkabobs, corn, chocolate, apples...ok, I'm sure there are some things,
but regardless...
I had set out pork shoulder for tonight. It's a cheap package of meat that
my brother and I decided to try last time we went grocery shopping (well
over a month ago!). I had cooked one batch already, and I loved them...so
much so that I ate all four slabs of meat without sharing any. I gave Kirk
his chance (he had 12 hours), but I couldn't stare at them any longer in the
fridge. I had to eat them.
So I was looking forward to another great meal tonight...after an enjoyable
workout...on a nice cool evening...off the grill.
It just doesn't get any better than this.
5:00 P.M.
Traffic is packed again today. It's 5 o'clock, right on the nose. In order to
get onto Clearlake, I had to turn onto the short safety lane and then merge
into traffic. Everyone's coming home from work.
I signal and then slide into traffic. Two lanes eastbound. Man, I should've
had more to eat today! I had had just a handful of chicken nugget-type
critters...out of the box. The type that you nuke...that was my lunch. I had
later eaten something else when Sam came over, but that only amounted
to a cup of milk with a solitary peanut-butter Oreo. It was to hold me over
until supper...
Grilled pork. Man, that sounds good right about now.
Traffic is less than fluid. The speed limit is 40 mph. But it's struggling to
manage that in the right lane. That car is some distance back, I can go to
the left lane. I had checked my mirror to see if the side lane was available.
It was.
I signal and come on over. There, that's better.
5:02:31 P.M.
"Holy cow, that van is not moving!!!!"
All at once, I grab my front brake lever, I push my foot down on my rear
brake, and I grab the clutch. My back tire locks up almost instantly. I am
now skidding, doing everything within my power to stop.
A blue minivan is literally completely stopped in the left lane. No movement
at all.
5:02:33 P.M.
I remember it vividly. With extreme confidence of what is about to happen,
the words billowed up from deep within me. I say out loud...
"OH, SH--!!!" I say these two words in the most matter-of-fact manner.
But let it be said that I don't cuss. I just don't do it. Have I? Well, of
course. But it's just not in my mainstream vocabulary.
But I knew without a doubt what was about to take place. I never even
once considered that I would be able to stop in time. Traffic was moving at
40mph. I was moving at 40mph. But this van was not.
5:02:33.7
Less than a second after my "I'm a product of my culture" slip, it happened.
I slammed squarely into the back of that van head-on with my motorcycle,
by that time probably doing close to 30 mph. And speaking of head-on, I
guess I became a bit jealous of my bike having all the fun, so I decided that
I needed a little head-on excitement, as well...
The sudden impact stopped my motorcycle, but as any learner of Newton
knows...an object in motion tends to stay in motion. And boy, did I have
that tendency. I fly up off of my seat, and I hurl forward. But then, I, too,
stop. You see, if a van could hold back a 650-pound mass of metal, who
was I to think that it wouldn't stop a 150-pound ball of flesh? To this day, I
can't tell you what exactly what I hit, but oddly enough, I can see the
images perfectly. I just don't know if it was the rear windshield or the metal
door...or even something on my bike. But what I did know was this: I had
just nailed my face onto something very, very hard.
My helmet is on.
I fall back to the pavement. Oh, boy. There it is. I have blood pouring out
of my face, though frankly, I am not sure from where. I need to let
someone know. That is all I can think about. I have to let someone know.
I can't remember if I was still somewhat on the bike or not. I think I was
partially, as I remember moving away from it, but I am unsure. (Although
the blood on the rear tire probably warrants a "yes" here...) But I only
have one thing on my mind...
I had to let the person behind me know I needed help. I wave my arms in
the "Please come here" fashion...I think I am talking to them, even though
they are still in their vehicle...
"I need help. Call 911." I say it so matter-of-factly, and at this point, I am
sure that a few people had called already, but in my mind, I could think of
only one thing..."I need help." And that was the only way I knew how to get
it.
I am sitting/laying on the pavement.
I just hit a van on my motorcycle. Wow, that's a lot of blood. I wonder if I
am going to pass out soon. That can't be good losing that much blood.
There's my bike. Is this it? How am I still able to talk? I just got into a
motorcycle accident. They ask me questions, I answer them. I am actually
thinking to myself as I talk..."If I can talk to them and be saying what I am
saying, then that means I am not terribly injured." So my goal was to keep
talking...for my own confirmation. If I kept on having legible answers, then I
was somewhat OK. It was almost as if I had two parts to myself...the part
that was watching to see how injured I was, and the part that was
methodically answering questions, though removed from any emotion.
If my watching part became convinced that I was OK, then I was fine. After
a few short minutes, I think I convinced myself...though the continual
pouring of blood kept me uneasy.
Then more thoughts came as I sat there. I just got into a motorcycle
accident. I have made it, though. I don't have insurance to cover that
bike. Man, I just lost a couple thousand dollars...I was working so hard to
manage my money well. I just called about full coverage last
week...should've got it. No, it was still too expensive. If I saved $600 a
year by not having it, then...nope, I lost money...
"Andy Polley...P-O-L-L-E-Y..."
"24..."
"My head and my hand..."
I'm answering their questions as they ask them. Two moms on their way
home from work. Their faces tell me that I am not completely messed up.
They don't have the "he is dying" look. One is a nurse, and she doesn't
care about touching my blood...
They ask me to lay down. I told them I would drown if I did that. Blood is
still running down my face, onto my hand, onto the pavement. I have taken
a sort-of lean at this point. I am resting on my right side, with the pressure
on my right forearm. I don't want to go any higher...and I can't go lower.
I still have my helmet on...the moms say I have some sense from wearing
that. I tell them my mom taught me well. I can hear sirens in the distance.
I don't know why, but sirens always fascinate me. I always wonder whose
house is burning, who is being chased, and who is dying...and what from.
And in the few instances in my life where sirens are coming for me or for
someone I'm with, I can't really describe the feeling. It's almost a bit of a
fulfillment, but at the same time a laugh.
But a laugh that is not funny...only comical in that sense of the word.
"Heh...those sirens are for me." I am amused yet complete.
"I have a cellphone in my saddlebag. Can you call my mom?"
The nurse can't find it. I don't know what I was thinking...I don't have a
cellphone in there, I suddenly remember. Or my wallet! "Nevermind...I
don't have it in there."
My speech is slowing down. I am now full of blood in and around my
mouth. It's difficult to talk normally.
The other mom volunteers her phone. I tell her the number...after asking
what time it is. It's after five...better call home. But this lady is anything but
graceful...or tactful...
"Mrs. Polley? Are you Andy's mom? Yes, um, Andy has been in a
motorcycle accident..."
Lady, you are crazy. That is NOT how you start out a conversation with a
mom...you should know! I could tell she was uneasy in talking,
though...she was obviously overly nervous...
I say I want to talk to her...I mean, if I'm talking, I can't be that bad, right?
Mom needed to know that.
My helmet is still on, and so I can't hear anything. I think I just say...
"Um, hey, I need my wallet. I need my insurance card and license..."
I don't know how she responded, because I couldn't hear her, but at least
she heard my voice, yeah?
The paramedics are here. They ask me questions, then load me up. As I
sit up, I notice the van. It is dented in in the back, and the bumper has a
crease and a large rubber marking (though it was on the right 1/4 of the
van). Did I think about swerving at the last split second? I'll never know...
The ambulance ride and the hospital are somewhat uneventful. A painful
two hours on the hard-as-a-rock backboard, a CAT scan, some X-rays, a
cute nurse who I later discovered was 35-ish...and...
45 stitches, a broken nose, a bruised and very-much swollen hand, a
sprained wrist, a messed-up ankle, and a six-hour hospital visit.
But I got another wristband. I think that's four from 2006. I act like I'm
thrilled about it, but I'm not. I am anything but thrilled. For hours I have
been asking why another event happens to me. I have lost all conclusions.
I used to think punishment, sometimes teaching, sometimes just the
results of a wildly-filled life. But I am never confident in any of those
answers. It could be any, I think, sometimes.
I am slowly adopting the "I have no control over anything" attitude. It's not
necessarily negative...or profound. It's just a realization. I can only deal
with life as it comes. Come what may.
Anyway, all things considered, I guess it's good to walk away from an
accident such as this...I'm thankful to be alive.
And, FYI, this was ridiculously hard to type, as I have one finger on my
right hand which is usable. But everyone always wants to know what goes
on in my life. I hope you enjoyed/appreciated another chapter...even
though I hadn't planned on having this one in my book.
Come what may.
I kicked Sam out of my house. He had come over to chill for a bit before
his soccer practice, and I was glad to have him. But I needed to work out.
I've been doing good the past few weeks...hittin' up the gym with discipline
that even I don't fully understand.
But the past few days were outside the norm, and it threw off my schedule.
It's Tuesday, and I hadn't been to the gym since last Wednesday. I
needed to go.
And it's a beautiful day outside. The clouds are doing their best to block
the sun, but as of late, the sun is winning the battle. It's inching up to 75
degrees...another great day for the motorcycle. These days are going to
be fewer and fewer now. It's the day after Labor Day...the mornings are
cold, and a biker needs to savor every nice day he has left.
So I head to the gym. And I had a great workout. It's one of those days
where you feel like you could go on and on. The pain is minimal (for
now!), and lifting and running actually get you excited! I didn't want to
come today, I'll be honest, but I'm glad I did. I felt great.
1/2 mile warm-up,curls, dumbbells, dips, ab crunches, more running, more
lifting, more crunching. I had been here about an hour.
And it was time for the next part of the day: Grilling out. Let it so be stated
that I LOVE grilling out. I have yet to find anything that does not taste
absolutely phenomenal off of the grill...steaks, burgers, brats,
shishkabobs, corn, chocolate, apples...ok, I'm sure there are some things,
but regardless...
I had set out pork shoulder for tonight. It's a cheap package of meat that
my brother and I decided to try last time we went grocery shopping (well
over a month ago!). I had cooked one batch already, and I loved them...so
much so that I ate all four slabs of meat without sharing any. I gave Kirk
his chance (he had 12 hours), but I couldn't stare at them any longer in the
fridge. I had to eat them.
So I was looking forward to another great meal tonight...after an enjoyable
workout...on a nice cool evening...off the grill.
It just doesn't get any better than this.
5:00 P.M.
Traffic is packed again today. It's 5 o'clock, right on the nose. In order to
get onto Clearlake, I had to turn onto the short safety lane and then merge
into traffic. Everyone's coming home from work.
I signal and then slide into traffic. Two lanes eastbound. Man, I should've
had more to eat today! I had had just a handful of chicken nugget-type
critters...out of the box. The type that you nuke...that was my lunch. I had
later eaten something else when Sam came over, but that only amounted
to a cup of milk with a solitary peanut-butter Oreo. It was to hold me over
until supper...
Grilled pork. Man, that sounds good right about now.
Traffic is less than fluid. The speed limit is 40 mph. But it's struggling to
manage that in the right lane. That car is some distance back, I can go to
the left lane. I had checked my mirror to see if the side lane was available.
It was.
I signal and come on over. There, that's better.
5:02:31 P.M.
"Holy cow, that van is not moving!!!!"
All at once, I grab my front brake lever, I push my foot down on my rear
brake, and I grab the clutch. My back tire locks up almost instantly. I am
now skidding, doing everything within my power to stop.
A blue minivan is literally completely stopped in the left lane. No movement
at all.
5:02:33 P.M.
I remember it vividly. With extreme confidence of what is about to happen,
the words billowed up from deep within me. I say out loud...
"OH, SH--!!!" I say these two words in the most matter-of-fact manner.
But let it be said that I don't cuss. I just don't do it. Have I? Well, of
course. But it's just not in my mainstream vocabulary.
But I knew without a doubt what was about to take place. I never even
once considered that I would be able to stop in time. Traffic was moving at
40mph. I was moving at 40mph. But this van was not.
5:02:33.7
Less than a second after my "I'm a product of my culture" slip, it happened.
I slammed squarely into the back of that van head-on with my motorcycle,
by that time probably doing close to 30 mph. And speaking of head-on, I
guess I became a bit jealous of my bike having all the fun, so I decided that
I needed a little head-on excitement, as well...
The sudden impact stopped my motorcycle, but as any learner of Newton
knows...an object in motion tends to stay in motion. And boy, did I have
that tendency. I fly up off of my seat, and I hurl forward. But then, I, too,
stop. You see, if a van could hold back a 650-pound mass of metal, who
was I to think that it wouldn't stop a 150-pound ball of flesh? To this day, I
can't tell you what exactly what I hit, but oddly enough, I can see the
images perfectly. I just don't know if it was the rear windshield or the metal
door...or even something on my bike. But what I did know was this: I had
just nailed my face onto something very, very hard.
My helmet is on.
I fall back to the pavement. Oh, boy. There it is. I have blood pouring out
of my face, though frankly, I am not sure from where. I need to let
someone know. That is all I can think about. I have to let someone know.
I can't remember if I was still somewhat on the bike or not. I think I was
partially, as I remember moving away from it, but I am unsure. (Although
the blood on the rear tire probably warrants a "yes" here...) But I only
have one thing on my mind...
I had to let the person behind me know I needed help. I wave my arms in
the "Please come here" fashion...I think I am talking to them, even though
they are still in their vehicle...
"I need help. Call 911." I say it so matter-of-factly, and at this point, I am
sure that a few people had called already, but in my mind, I could think of
only one thing..."I need help." And that was the only way I knew how to get
it.
I am sitting/laying on the pavement.
I just hit a van on my motorcycle. Wow, that's a lot of blood. I wonder if I
am going to pass out soon. That can't be good losing that much blood.
There's my bike. Is this it? How am I still able to talk? I just got into a
motorcycle accident. They ask me questions, I answer them. I am actually
thinking to myself as I talk..."If I can talk to them and be saying what I am
saying, then that means I am not terribly injured." So my goal was to keep
talking...for my own confirmation. If I kept on having legible answers, then I
was somewhat OK. It was almost as if I had two parts to myself...the part
that was watching to see how injured I was, and the part that was
methodically answering questions, though removed from any emotion.
If my watching part became convinced that I was OK, then I was fine. After
a few short minutes, I think I convinced myself...though the continual
pouring of blood kept me uneasy.
Then more thoughts came as I sat there. I just got into a motorcycle
accident. I have made it, though. I don't have insurance to cover that
bike. Man, I just lost a couple thousand dollars...I was working so hard to
manage my money well. I just called about full coverage last
week...should've got it. No, it was still too expensive. If I saved $600 a
year by not having it, then...nope, I lost money...
"Andy Polley...P-O-L-L-E-Y..."
"24..."
"My head and my hand..."
I'm answering their questions as they ask them. Two moms on their way
home from work. Their faces tell me that I am not completely messed up.
They don't have the "he is dying" look. One is a nurse, and she doesn't
care about touching my blood...
They ask me to lay down. I told them I would drown if I did that. Blood is
still running down my face, onto my hand, onto the pavement. I have taken
a sort-of lean at this point. I am resting on my right side, with the pressure
on my right forearm. I don't want to go any higher...and I can't go lower.
I still have my helmet on...the moms say I have some sense from wearing
that. I tell them my mom taught me well. I can hear sirens in the distance.
I don't know why, but sirens always fascinate me. I always wonder whose
house is burning, who is being chased, and who is dying...and what from.
And in the few instances in my life where sirens are coming for me or for
someone I'm with, I can't really describe the feeling. It's almost a bit of a
fulfillment, but at the same time a laugh.
But a laugh that is not funny...only comical in that sense of the word.
"Heh...those sirens are for me." I am amused yet complete.
"I have a cellphone in my saddlebag. Can you call my mom?"
The nurse can't find it. I don't know what I was thinking...I don't have a
cellphone in there, I suddenly remember. Or my wallet! "Nevermind...I
don't have it in there."
My speech is slowing down. I am now full of blood in and around my
mouth. It's difficult to talk normally.
The other mom volunteers her phone. I tell her the number...after asking
what time it is. It's after five...better call home. But this lady is anything but
graceful...or tactful...
"Mrs. Polley? Are you Andy's mom? Yes, um, Andy has been in a
motorcycle accident..."
Lady, you are crazy. That is NOT how you start out a conversation with a
mom...you should know! I could tell she was uneasy in talking,
though...she was obviously overly nervous...
I say I want to talk to her...I mean, if I'm talking, I can't be that bad, right?
Mom needed to know that.
My helmet is still on, and so I can't hear anything. I think I just say...
"Um, hey, I need my wallet. I need my insurance card and license..."
I don't know how she responded, because I couldn't hear her, but at least
she heard my voice, yeah?
The paramedics are here. They ask me questions, then load me up. As I
sit up, I notice the van. It is dented in in the back, and the bumper has a
crease and a large rubber marking (though it was on the right 1/4 of the
van). Did I think about swerving at the last split second? I'll never know...
The ambulance ride and the hospital are somewhat uneventful. A painful
two hours on the hard-as-a-rock backboard, a CAT scan, some X-rays, a
cute nurse who I later discovered was 35-ish...and...
45 stitches, a broken nose, a bruised and very-much swollen hand, a
sprained wrist, a messed-up ankle, and a six-hour hospital visit.
But I got another wristband. I think that's four from 2006. I act like I'm
thrilled about it, but I'm not. I am anything but thrilled. For hours I have
been asking why another event happens to me. I have lost all conclusions.
I used to think punishment, sometimes teaching, sometimes just the
results of a wildly-filled life. But I am never confident in any of those
answers. It could be any, I think, sometimes.
I am slowly adopting the "I have no control over anything" attitude. It's not
necessarily negative...or profound. It's just a realization. I can only deal
with life as it comes. Come what may.
Anyway, all things considered, I guess it's good to walk away from an
accident such as this...I'm thankful to be alive.
And, FYI, this was ridiculously hard to type, as I have one finger on my
right hand which is usable. But everyone always wants to know what goes
on in my life. I hope you enjoyed/appreciated another chapter...even
though I hadn't planned on having this one in my book.
Come what may.
|
| The day of the motorcycle accident. 40 stitches in the face, one broken nose, and two lacerated tendons. |
