Getting hit by Melvin's SUV and recovering
That's not really his name. It's just what I call him.
It’s a little after 8 a.m. as I’m finishing a pre-work road bike ride. I’ve crested the first of two hills on a road with a speed limit oft ignored. The road’s shoulder is that of a snake’s and to my right there is a strip of shaggy, dewy grass.
The air is thick with July mist. My legs feel good. I take a deep, satisfying breath.
My legs push, set on getting home to a shower before heading to work. Cars are passing and giving me just enough room to occupy the road, nothing atypical.
And then I hear a crunch and I’m flying through the air. I land on the unforgiving ground and roll. I open my eyes and I see red tail lights. The SUV turns around about 100 yards away and I get up.
My shoulder hurts. My arm is bleeding. My butt, also bloody, stings. My back aches. I’m missing a shoe. My bike’s handlebars are mangled and twisted. I probably can’t ride it. I need to call my wife to tell her I’ll need a ride home. Where’s my phone? I feel my foot getting wet through my socks. Where’s my shoe?
The SUV that hit me slows down next to me. I glance up, and I hear the engine’s pistons fire faster.
Damn. He’s driving away. Toyota Highlander. Slate gray. License plate? What’s it say? Where’s my phone? My shoe. Dammit, where’s my shoe? Toyota Highlander. Slate gray.
I hear a deep, primeval groan let out from the depths of me, along with a flurry of profanity akin to the old Orbit gum commercials — except I use the real words.
Finally. Found my phone. The screen is shattered. I feel the sharp glass trying to cut my fingers as I dial my wife’s phone number. I’ve memorized the number, but I’ve forgotten she’s on my Favorites list.
“Are you okay?”
I look around and see a woman sitting in her red SUV. Her window is down just enough for me to see her eyes and hair.
“I think so. I’m just trying to call my wife. I was just hit by a car.”
I continue with my task as she pulls into a nearby driveway. She’s standing across the road as other vehicles speed by, set on making it to work unimpeded.
“Would you like me to call an ambulance? Or I can take you to the hospital?”
“Nah. I think I’m OK. I was hit by a car. I just need to call my wife. She’ll come pick me up so I can go to work,” I say, also set on making it to work unimpeded by this inconvenience.
“Where do you live? I can take you there.”
A pause. Where do I live?
“Close by.”
“OK … here, let’s get your bike in my trunk.”
The lady, dressed in bright work out clothes, crosses the street to help me carry my bike. I can only use my left arm because the right shoulder feels a bit weird. She places it in the trunk and opens the passenger door for me. She places a towel on the seat. I climb in and notice it hurts to sit.
“Alrighty. So my mom is on the phone with us just because I never do this. My name is Lisa,” she tells me, nervously. I placate her by nodding and chuckling. I thank her.
“Just down this road,” I tell her — and myself. We drive down the road and turn into my neighborhood. It’s about a three minute drive. She tells me she recognizes me from a few minutes before when I passed her on the rails-to-trails path.
My wife notices the foreign vehicle pull into the driveway and meets us outside as I stumble out of the car.
“Whoa. What happened?”
She’s concerned. Her eyes tell me she’s genuinely worried and she tells me my shoulder looks bad. I tell her it feels weird and we share a nervous laugh. Her mind is racing. She tells me to sit down and heads back inside. She comes out with an ice pack and tells me to put it on my shoulder. I tell her it hurts. She goes back inside and grabs an Ibuprofen and I barely notice the nice woman pull out of our driveway and leave.
“You should probably go to the hospital. That really doesn’t look right,” she says.
Our daughter, who’s three, meets me outside.
“Daddy, you have boo-boo?”
Our other daughter, who’s one, is sleeping inside. My wife is due to work in a couple hours. She can’t really take me to the hospital. She calls my dad. He tells her he’s on his way.
The pain grows more intense. There are more areas on my body that hurt now. It’s uncomfortable to sit.
The next 10 hours are filled with CT scans, powerful opiates for the pain and revelations that I have a rare posterior shoulder dislocation, a broken vertebra, road rash on the left side of my body and possible internal bleeding in my head.
The months that followed the collision were filled with more painkillers, some depression, a lot of anger, people telling me I was lucky to be alive, mood swings and no riding. I couldn’t even take out the damn trash.
On being lucky: yes. I know. I’m lucky I didn’t end up dead like the woman who just a day before my accident got hit by a speeding car. Her dog and her daughter were also hit by the 27-year-old who also decided to keep on driving.
I’m lucky I’m not dead like the 13-year-old who got hit by another low-life who didn’t stop on a cold December day.
Ohio had 140 fatal crashes in 2021 that involved pedestrians. I’m lucky I wasn’t #141.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful to still be alive. I can’t imagine leaving behind my family. I’m grateful that I can still ride my bike and take out the trash and pick up my girls.
But I promise you: if you’re ever hit by a car, I’ll never tell you you’re lucky.
I’ll wish, with you, that it never happened.
I’ll ask you about your mental wellbeing as much as I ask about your physical wellbeing.
I’ll curse insurance companies with you.
I’ll encourage you to keep at PT, especially when it becomes a grind just to feel normal.
I’ll remind you that you will get back on the bike. Or the hiking trail. Or the mountain. Or the court. You will.
I’m not a super athlete by any means. I just really like riding my bike. So I used that love as motivation to get back in the saddle. To get stronger and better.
And that’s what has happened in this year. In November, once I began to feel comfortable riding for longer amounts of time again, I decided 2022 would be the year I’d complete the Mohican MTB 100. It’s a 100 mile race — which recently became known as one of the toughest in the U.S. — on a mountain bike through the Mohican wilderness.
I’ve covered the race as a journalist in years’ past. I had always walked away from covering that event feeling like my life was incomplete. I saw it as the ultimate badassery. Tough. Rugged. Joyful.
So one November night I sat on my couch with my wife and I said: “I think I’m gonna do it.”
We had a conversation about my injuries and how realistic it would be to actually finish the ride. The longest ride I had endured on my mountain bike at that point was 25 miles. I knew it would be a battle to get to the point of being able to push that far. My back still ached; my shoulder still felt weird. But I could ride my bike, I said.
My wife was so supportive. For Christmas that year, she got me a Wahoo trainer and a copy of Joe Friel’s “The Mountain Biker’s Training Bible.” She also bought me my one and only race bib and some new ridiculous biking socks that my toddler picked out.
She also sacrificed hours of time without me as I trained for long rides meant to prepare me for the crazy race.
Since the collision with Melvin’s SUV, I’ve logged 1,067 miles and 54,514 feet of elevation gain for a total of 94 hours and 16 minutes in the saddle.
Several of those rides were inside on a trainer, listening to podcasts and music while staring at a wall in our living room, dripping sweat onto our carpet.
One of those rides was the Mohican 100. I did not ride the 100 mile option, opting this year for the 100K route after seeking sage advice from seasoned mountain bikers.
I finished that ride in more than 10 hours. I felt a bit sad I hadn’t done the 100 miles. I also felt a bit defeated, knowing many others finished that ride much faster. But the 100K ride was still adventurous and hard and rugged and tough and joyful.
For me, it was badass. I can’t wait to do it again.
So to all the riders, runners, climbers — heck, all the active people — out there getting through an injury:
Keep pushing, yo. I’ll see ya out there.