As we sped across I-10, we began to pass through states like they were mile markers. First we came to a huge sign welcoming us to Mississippi, and we were passing through Biloxi before 10am. Then, before we knew it, we were gassing up in Mobile, Alabama. We hit the Florida state line before lunch and at that point settled in for the long haul out to
the Atlantic.We hadn't noticed it much in New Orleans, but having arrived in the Southeast, we had entered into another ecological zone. A temperate, almost tropical, landscape lay before us, with salt grass marshes breaking up dense jungle enclaves of over-grown ferns and moss-covered
Cypress and Oak trees. And the land was brimming with life; fresh hatches of bugs splattered against our windshield like a light passing rain shower; flights of birds, armies of billowing frogs, and orchestras of crickets filled the thick humid air for miles and miles of open road.I-10 is an amazing freeway, stretching, almost in a straight line, from Louisiana to the Northern tip of Florida, and we made amazing time. We were passing though Jacksonville by mid-afternoon and looked to be arriving in Savannah before 5pm. Then, with little more than 15 miles left to go in our 3,200 mile journey, disaster struck.
We were cruising along in the fast lane when I glanced in my rear-view mirror and saw two large men closing in behind us on big hogged-out Harleys. Unlike most people in the South, I pulled out of the lane to let them pass. As they pulled along side me, I got a better look at them, both guys were African-American, both probably 350 to 400 lbs, and both had much smaller females sitting behind them clutched to the backs of their waists. The guys were wearing leather gloves and goggles (and helmets of course), standard i
ssue gear for long-distance rides, but they were also sporting t-shirts and loose fitting pants, both things that can leave you vulnerable if you ever got into an accident on a bike.This very thought was passing through my mind when, now about 25 yards in front of me, the front bike suddenly bucked on itself and nose-dived into the asphalt going around 85 miles an hour. After that everything else seemed to pass in slow motion. The first bike, and its riders started to skid along the freeway as the second bike crashed straight into them and sent the second set of people skidding along the pavement as well. Sparks and metal flew off the bikes as we quickly came up behind them and I had to quickly swerved to the right, narrowly missing the bikers as we flew past them.
Once passed, I looked back in my side view mirror to see other cars swerving out of the way to avoid hitting them as they continued to skid off the freeway and shoulder toward a grass ditch serving as the median. I shutter to think of what would have happened if there was no median.
I quickly pulled off the freeway, coming to a screeching halt about 100 yards in front of the accident. I told Naomi to stay put with Zoe and I ran back to toward the rising smoke. I came up on the first couple, now laying in a watery ditch next to their bike in the middle of the median. I expected the worst but, miraculously, they were not only still alive and in one piece, but able to pull themselves out of the bog under there own power. “Are you guys OK?” I asked. The man, dazed, gave me a slow nod. “Yeah, we’re good, check on my boy,” he said as he motioned up to the shoulder where the second couple lay, about 25 yards apart, motionless, on the pavement.
At this point, about half a dozen other people had gotten out of their cars and were running up to help. People were already attending to the girl so I ran up to the man to give aide. He was lying on his side and as I approached I could smell burnt flesh in the air. I came closer and could see his pants and shirt were torn in many places, blood oozing from the holes onto the hot concrete. I knelt down by his head and could hear him breathing. Well, wheezing actually, and they were coming in short sporadic heaves. I peered over his big shoulders and looked at his face. His eyes were open, but glazed
over and drifting off in two different directions. Blood was dripping down the side of his mouth. This was not good.Having been an instructor at a sports camp for kids throughout high school and college, I had extensive trained in first aid and CPR. But at this exact moment, I might as well have had never taken a class, I was drawing a blank as to what I should do. I tried to remember the first steps when you come to the scene of an accident. What was it.... Ah yes! ABC (airway, breathing, circulation), that is what you're supposed to check first! Then I reminded myself that he was already breathing and I didn't need to do that. I froze up again. See if he can respond, I remembered more from common sense then from training. "Sir, are you OK?" Nothing. "Sir, can you hear me?" He just continued to lay there with a vacant stare, bleeding and breathing laboriously. His neck! You've got secure his neck, Scott. I reached down to hold his helmet and as I did, he gowned and fell on his back. Shit! I thought. I just snapped his spinal cord.
Then I looked up and saw a crowd of people standing over me and I stopped thinking about what I should do and just starting doing it. I barking out orders: "someone tell me how the girl is doing?" "She's breathing, and can move her legs but I don't think she can hear us" someone yelled over to me. "Did someone call 911?" I inquired. "I'm on the line with them right now," someone else responded. "Good, tell them we got two down and unconscious, non-responsive, and with possible head trauma and bleeding."
Just then the big man moved his arms. Oh my god, I thought, I didn’t break his neck after all. That’s good. But then he started to mumble, "get it off... get... it off" and he reached up for his helmet. This was not good, if he did have any injuries to his head or spine taking off this helmet could make things a lot worse. "Some one grab his hands!" I yelled. Two guys jumped in and took hold of his hands. Just then, the other guy from the first bike staggered up. "Tim, Tim are you okay?" he asked. "Get it off!" he garbled again. The first guy just stood there staring, no doubt in shock in seeing his friend in this condition. I jumped in. "Hey man, you said his name is Tim?" "Uh, yeah" he uttered. "Okay, I need you to talk to your buddy Tim, and let him know that help is on the way and that we can't take the helmet off until they get
here." He bent over and started speaking into Tim's ear. Whispering really, that everything was going to be alright. Meanwhile I waited for the sirens, and help to arrive.At this point a women came bursting onto the scene carrying a first aide badge shoving it into peoples face. “Excuse me,” she said, in thick southern accent, “coming through, I’m trained in first aid, please let me by.” She came up to us and pushed the Xeroxed credentials in my face. “I’m First Aid Certified!” she announced. “That’s great” I said, wondering what the hell she wanted me to do about. “Let me talk to this man,” she said an leaned down. “Miss,” I started “he’s not really responding, but he’s got motion in both his–.” “Sir,” she said leaning over the big guy uninterested in what I had to say, “Sir, can you hear me.” “Miss,” I offered again, “we’ve already trie–” “Sir,” she said cutting me off again “Sir can you tell me your name.” She reached over and tried to turn his head. At that point, I leaned over and got between them. “Miss, as you are also first aid certified, you’ll remember that you never want to move someone, especially there head, unless they are not breathing” (it was starting to come back to me at this point). “Well,” she said, obviously embarrassed to be called out in front of everyone, “I am just trying to help.” And, with that she got up, dusted herself off and walked off in a huff.
The minutes passed and my arms were starting to ache. I felt like I had been holding his head forever and Tim, while not responsive to us, was beginning to move around and become more adamant about getting his helmet off. He had full use of bot
h arms now and one of his legs, and even though he was very much crippled by the accident, he was still the better part of 400 lbs and it took all my strength to hold his head in place while the other guys tried to gently secure his arms.Suddenly a guy pulled up in a truck and came running up. "I'm an EMT, let me though." 'Thank God' I thought, now he can take over I thought. "You," he said, pointing to me. "You stay right where you are and keep a hold of his head." As good as it felt to know I had been doing the right thing, it was the last thing I wanted to hear. He then grabbed a pair of scissors and started cutting away the Tim's clothes. Soon after, the fire trucks and ambulance arrived, and I thought for sure that I could relinquish my post, not so much because I was tired anymore, but to be honest I was scared. I was scared I would mess up, break his neck, see him die. I was just plain scared. But, when the fireman got on the scene and the first thing he said was "you," pointing to me, "stay right there."
What happened next was kind of a blur. I think they thought I was an EMT because they started saying thing to me that I didn't understand and they apparently thought I did. "Okay, were going to get under the cap and secure him in a grave-hold, then you gotta C-roll him on your count... got it?" I didn't but nodded anyway. They brought in a neck brace and had me hold the helmet and the brace as the tried to tape it to his head. Then they brought in a stretcher in and set it next to him. Tim did not like being moved and started to shout and squirm and it was becoming increasingly difficult to contain him. We had to move quickly, "OK, on your count, " the fireman said, and all the EMTs (there were four of them now) all looked up at me. I stuttered, 1-2-2-uh-3 and the rolled him on his side, slid the stretcher underneath him and then rolled him back, all the while I tried to hold his head straight. Then he gave another set of coded instructions which apparently meant it was time to lift him and put him on the gurney, then, finally into the ambulance.
No sooner had they closed the doors than I slipped passed the fire crews, police units and caution tape and walked back to my car in the now dark evening sky. Naomi was waiting for me and I gave her a big hug and we got in a drove off. I felt bad for leaving, no doubt they could have used a whiteness to recount what happened, but I needed to get
out of there. Away from the blood, burnt flesh, and gas soaked haze. I was shocked by what I had seen. We were half way home before I realized that I was covered in blood and had some how scrapped up my arm pretty bad.We made it the rest of the way without incident. We made it to our pretty little apartment set on a lake off right off the highway and a two-minute car ride from downtown. We did have our celebratory dinner that night, at a great little pizza spot downtown and it was truly nice to be home at last. But I had a hard time taking it all in, I was still shell-shocked from the incident on the highway. But in the coming days, the shock would fade and the excitement of a new life in a new place would take hold, and maybe even with a bit more a poignancy then it might have been before because I learned two things that day: 1) Never ride a motorcycle on the highway in a t-shirt and 2) life is short and you better enjoy the ride (which is preferably not on a motorcycle on the highway in your t-shirt).
I never found out whether Tim or his girl made it or not, but I like to think that he did. That he and his other riding buddy are out there right now having a beer at a biker bar someplace and laughing about the time they almost kicked the can. Then, they would get into their dual-airbag, traction-controlled Volvos and driving home in complete safely.
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