mx775

Two months after the crash, I'm finally starting to feel like myself again. And I don't just mean in the way of my injuries; nearly every aspect of my life has been in flux since I nose-dove off that cliff in neutral.

First things first, I hear you ask: how do you nose-dive off a cliff in neutral? Call it carelessness. I'd be using this line (see photo right) for more than 10 years, and on this day, I rode up to the edge from a short approach and casually clicked for second gear as I lofted my front wheel over the edge (as was sometimes my habit.) Only I never found second, and soon found myself clinging to a 230-pound boat anchor--formerly my CRF450--falling in a forward rotation toward the ground 20 feet below...fast.

Sitting up from a crash to catch your breath and finding that you can't (which happened in the exact rocky spot that I am landing in the photo) is even less fun than it sounds like. Luckily, my dad arrived on the scene in just seconds. After asking me to stand--actually, I'm not sure he asked at all--he led me to the truck to sit down while he loaded my bike. And after he lamented over the badly bent handlebars on my 450 for a moment ("Can we go, dad?"), we were on our way to the emergency room.

The drive there was predictably terrifying. My breathing was shallow and painful, and my chest ached in a way that warned of impending bad news. As we dodged what seemed like slower-than-usual traffic, my mind considered the worst-case scenarios: Was there internal bleeding? Had I crushed something vital? Would I need emergency surgery? Surprisingly, contemplating these horrible fates did nothing to help my breathing.

The next few hours were a blur in which I searched for answers to a checklist in my mind. Yes, you are going to live (fear number one conquered.) No, you are not going home soon. Yes, you will make a full recovery. Yes, you are hurt: collapsed lung, broken ribs, compressed vertebrae, broken collarbone, separated shoulder. No, you should not try to sit up.  

Spending a week in the hospital was a record for me, and it came just seven months after a three-day stint I spent for a broken femur. Before then, I had never spent a night in a hospital because of injuries. Looking back, 2008 was a terrible anomaly in my riding history: after 21 years of nothing but outpatient-type injuries (and very few of them, to boot,) I was suddenly a regular in the antiseptic halls of Renown Medical Center.

After the seven days it took my lung to re-inflate itself, going home was a relief, and I won't lie: a drug called Fentanyl, which comes in an adhesive patch, made my first month at home a breeze. My pain was manageable and I felt pretty decent mentally. But at the one-month mark I missed a dose and was suddenly miserable...and not just because of the injuries. I suddenly understood why people get addicted to painkillers, and realized that I now had a new struggle to face.

I won't go into the details of how I felt during the week and a half after I stopped taking Fentanyl. But I will say that I've never felt so strangely weak and vulnerable in my life, and that stopping the drug was roughly as difficult as enduring the injuries in the first place. Today, after nearly a month off the medicine, I am just starting to feel like my pre-crash self.

Or at least in most ways. Throughout this process, I've had to come to terms with a new reality. It's one that I've contemplated before, but this injury has made it final: my days as a racer are over.

That is not to say that I'm going to stop riding dirt bikes, or that I've stopped loving motocross. It's only to say that, after putting my wife and family through a year of worry and hardship, and having two daughters that need me to be healthy, I don't want to take the chances it takes to race competitively anymore. 

Of course, at this point it's wise to note that both of my crashes this year happened at practice sessions, not races. But until my latest crash, I was still thinking of myself as a racer, and practicing in a way that pressed my limits (I actually muttered some gibberish about this--stupidly, I now think--just moments before the crash.) When I am free to ride again in a month (and yes, I will go riding,) I won't be doing that so much.

What will I be doing? Oh, I don't know...wheelies, figure eights, blip jumps--whatever feels good. I am actually looking forward to it. Not being a racer means not feeling obliged to practice starts or do long motos--though I will feel free to do both of those if the mood so strikes me.

Naturally, a part of me will miss racing deeply. It's been my habit for 22 years, and it's brought me a lot of great memories. But if I want to be able to ride a dirt bike in another 22 years--and I really do--it's time to find a new habit.