4fraziers.com

Archive for December, 2009

That banner photo at the top of this site, 4fraziers.com, is not just some random pic of a guy riding a big cruiser. That’s really me, riding my faithful 2300cc Triumph Rocket III Classic up the curve on the north end of the dam at Beaver’s Bend in Oklahoma last summer.

Notice I still call her “faithful” even though she tossed me over her handlebars recently…but it wasn’t her fault. I tried to make her defy the laws of physics.

My younger brother, Mike, and I took a four day motorcycle trip to our childhood town of Greenville and then up to Oklahoma and Arkansas to ride the famous Talimena Drive, which has been compared to the Dragon’s Tail. Mike rode to the top of the curve and set up my Sony Alpha 450 DSLR to snap that photo. It captured perfectly the most blissful condition I can attain on planet earth: leaning on a curve at extra legal speed (notice the 25 MPH speed limit sign I was not paying attention to?) amidst a backdrop of American woodland.

My paradise.

I can honestly say it was one of the best times of my life and I can’t wait for another motorcycle tour. Whenever I feel anxious, or angry, or fed up with the office I can look at that banner and remember the feeling I had as I negotiated those curves and fellowshipped with my brother. It makes anxiety just melt away and helps me remember that putting in time and effort at the office is the means by which I can ride the world’s largest production muscle cruiser.

I’m doubly stressed at the moment because BB (that’s my Triumph’s name) is still in the shop waiting for her repaired tank to arrive. If you haven’t been here before, see A Perfectly Executed High-Side for hilarious details on why she’s getting repairs.

It’s looking like I’ll have to wait another week before BMW/Triumph of North Dallas has her ready for me, and once I’ve taken delivery and put her through her paces I’ll be doing a write-up here with my opinions on their service and quality of work.

I am open to ideas on where to go next for a late winter/early spring ride of three or four days including primitive camping.

Anyone want to leave suggestions in the comments section for me? I want curves and scenery, as little of the slab as possible…and the trip initiates in Grapevine, Texas.

If you look up “cute” in Webster’s you ought to see the following video.

It’s Jade and the Radio Flyer Air Plane Grammie Millie and Grandpa Walter gave him for Christmas. It is such a joy to have this little tyke around.

I wish I could quit my job and just be a full time Grandpa.

Somebody give me a million bucks or so so I can do that, okay?

I’m going to find one of those machines that packages everything you buy off store shelves these days and use it to make myself a gun safe. I can think of no better way to secure my valuables from thieves, and it would likely be cheaper than a store-bought safe.

It used to be the big frustration after the Christmas gifts were opened was in assembly. Now one can be driven to distraction simply via the act of trying to open the packages.

You can’t use scissors very effectively on this material, as the plastic tends to have sharp edges of its own after being cut, and once you’re in past the length of the scissor blades you run the risk of a cut on your fingers or hand from the stuff. The only thing that works well is a really sharp knife, but if you’re not careful you will damage the contents you are hoping to extract with it.

I’ve been doing a bit of research on plastic injection molding, thinking perhaps there is some nefarious conspiracy behind it. In so doing I’ve discovered several injection molding companies, one of which is “Master Molded Products”, or, translated into the vulgar toungue, “Master of Mordor Products”.

Yes, I think it is Sauron himself that has developed this evil plot. The plastics used in the process of creating this retail packaging cannot be destroyed unless you travel to the land of sorrows itself and cast them into the fires of Mount Doom. Inside the factories that make it wicked Orcs and Goblins slave away to encase your toys, electric shavers, and all manner of medium to small sized gadgetry in the transparent shielding.

One day, after they have perfected it to the point that even knives and razor blades cannot sever it, the orcs and goblins will descend upon us, wearing impenetrable injection molded armor (the evil answer to mithril, wreaking havoc upon man and dwarf alike as we struggle to free our weapons from their injection molded restraints. The elves knew this would happen, that’s why they all sailed away to the elvish havens at the end of the third age.

This is how the Dark Lord will finally conquer middle earth.

Yes, I had wild mushroom stuffing for Christmas. Why do you ask?

I didn’t start tearing up until halfway through. By the time it was finished I was so choked up I could barely see to read the last few verses.

Folks, find a way to send something, a small token of our gratitude, to a soldier, marine, sailor, or a military family this season. For Heaven’s sake let them know we haven’t forgotten them. Let them know that some of us are standing guard over their rights here at home as they place their bodies between us and an enemy thousands of miles away.

Just send a card or letter to them or their families if that’s all you can do. If you can do more, locate a group that supports military families and find out what you can give to help them. And get active in the political world and fight for their benefits to be increased, not decreased.

Do you know that the average new army recruit makes less than $20,000.00 a year? They don’t do it for the money. They do it for freedom, for America…for YOU.

Let’s appreciate it.

Does anybody know how to turn this video right side up?

I didn’t realize I was holding my new Droid upside down when I filmed it. Until I get video editing software, I guess you’ll all just have to turn your monitors upside down.

It was Jade’s first Thanksgiving, and I’m happy to announce he loves Robin’s turkey, mashed taters, green bean casserole, and stuffing.

He isn’t so crazy about the cranberry sauce, though.

When I was a teenager, I took a challenge to memorize the “Sermon on the Mount”. It changed my life.

Memorizing this incredibly broad ranging set of life instructions from the Son of the Living God Himself created a thought process that still engages in my mind in certain situations to this day, even though I have long since forgotten much of the passage and can no longer recite it word for word.

Jesus gave the world a wonderful gift that day, a play book for earthly living and a foundation for every decision that faces us throughout our life. He had no speech writers, no teleprompter, just an impromptu sermon straight from his divine heart to his disciples.

Some of what he said flies in the face of human reason. Much of it I have failed to put into practice.

For example, I have been physically struck by an attacker on more than one occasion. I have never offered the other cheek under such circumstances. Instead, I followed my human instincts and defended myself, sometimes going beyond simple defense to administer a lesson to my opponent.

I wonder what would have happened in those instances had I followed the command of the God I profess faith in? Would I have received some immediate gratification or reward? I have certainly seen wonderful consequences and sometimes immediate gratification for my adherence to other commands.

Or would it simply be an act of obedience that stored additional treasure in Heaven for me?

Being a Christian is not an easy task. While some of Christ’s teachings are simple to follow, others take great strength and will power. I cannot fathom how I could ever restrain myself from a violent response to an unprovoked literal slap in the face.

How can we successfully follow a command that says, “Be perfect, therefore, as your Heavenly Father is perfect.” What?! That’s not possible, is it?

No. But it is possible to strive and struggle to achieve that goal. Just as men have died for a hopless cause, knowing it was hopeless, and knowing it would cost them their lives, it is a worthy enterprise to work toward perfection, even though we know we will never achieve it until we reach our Father in Heaven, who will make us so.

If there is any hope at all for me to achieve a feat of humility and obedience such as “turning the other cheek”, it must start with embedding these words in my mind so permanently that they immediately come to mind if the situation ever arises again:

If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also.

Many people claim to be Christians, but they’re not, really. True Christians are those who accept the fact that Christ substituted his life for theirs and paid the penalty of our sins past, present, and future. An active, Christian way of life is to consistently strive to achieve the impossible task of following all the teachings of Jesus and maintaining a personal relationship with Him.

I know the best way to do that is to memorize and keep at the forefront of my mind the teachings of Jesus Christ. That way I know the right response to every situation I am faced with regardless of how much time I am given to react.

It is equivalent to the comparison between police officers and lawyers knowledge of the law I was given long ago during a police academy class: While lawyers must know a broad range of legal concepts, they do not have to posses a mental copy of the criminal code. Police officers, on the other hand, must have an up to date working knowledge of current law. Unlike an attorney, a police officer is not allowed the luxury of time to go look up and research the applicable laws to the situation at hand. He often has only minutes or second to decide whether a subject must be detained, arrested, or released. If he makes decisions that do not comply with the law, he becomes a criminal himself.

If we do not carry our Lord’s commands in our hearts, we cannot know what He would have us do in certain of life’s situations. While the Holy Spirit is here to comfort and guide, we are compelled to know the commands of our great Captain. I belive the greatest summary of those commands is contained in the following words of Jesus Christ, and that is why I am endeavoring to re-memorize the entire passage:

Now when he saw the crowds, he went up on a mountainside and sat down. His disciples came to him, and he began to teach them saying:

“Blessed are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn,
for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek,
for they will inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
for they will be filled.
Blessed are the merciful,
for they will be shown mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart,
for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers,
for they will be called sons of God.
Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

“Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me. Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.

“You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled by men.

“You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven.

“Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them. I tell you the truth, until heaven and earth disappear, not the smallest letter, not the least stroke of a pen, will by any means disappear from the Law until everything is accomplished. Anyone who breaks one of the least of these commandments and teaches others to do the same will be called least in the kingdom of heaven, but whoever practices and teaches these commands will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. For I tell you that unless your righteousness surpasses that of the Pharisees and the teachers of the law, you will certainly not enter the kingdom of heaven.

“You have heard that it was said to the people long ago, ‘Do not murder, and anyone who murders will be subject to judgment.’ But I tell you that anyone who is angry with his brother will be subject to judgment. Again, anyone who says to his brother, ‘Raca,’ is answerable to the Sanhedrin. But anyone who says, ‘You fool!’ will be in danger of the fire of hell.

“Therefore, if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there in front of the altar. First go and be reconciled to your brother; then come and offer your gift.

“Settle matters quickly with your adversary who is taking you to court. Do it while you are still with him on the way, or he may hand you over to the judge, and the judge may hand you over to the officer, and you may be thrown into prison. 26I tell you the truth, you will not get out until you have paid the last penny.

“You have heard that it was said, ‘Do not commit adultery.’ But I tell you that anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart. If your right eye causes you to sin, gouge it out and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to be thrown into hell. And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to go into hell.

“It has been said, ‘Anyone who divorces his wife must give her a certificate of divorce.’ But I tell you that anyone who divorces his wife, except for marital unfaithfulness, causes her to become an adulteress, and anyone who marries the divorced woman commits adultery.

“Again, you have heard that it was said to the people long ago, ‘Do not break your oath, but keep the oaths you have made to the Lord.’ But I tell you, Do not swear at all: either by heaven, for it is God’s throne; or by the earth, for it is his footstool; or by Jerusalem, for it is the city of the Great King. And do not swear by your head, for you cannot make even one hair white or black. Simply let your ‘Yes’ be ‘Yes,’ and your ‘No,’ ‘No’; anything beyond this comes from the evil one.

“You have heard that it was said, ‘Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth.’ But I tell you, Do not resist an evil person. If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if someone wants to sue you and take your tunic, let him have your cloak as well. If someone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles. Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you.

“You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your brothers, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.

Notice how the white pit bull in the video below is attacking and mauling all the other dogs.

This is exactly how the Christmas decorations go at our house, only in exact reverse. We no longer put presents under the tree days before Christmas. Over the years Robin taught our pack to “unwrap” their presents. Unfortunately, dogs can’t read which presents have their names on them, and they also don’t give a fig about waiting until Christmas morning. Thus, they are happy to unwrap any and all presents left unattended under the tree at any given time.

Presents are now stacked upon the kitchen table. What about the ones from Santa? He’s not allowed in our house since we discovered he’s a Marxist. See the public service announcement below the to doggy video for more information.

Merry Christmas!

So it’s another year gone by and your birthday presents are, as usual, under the tree with your Christmas present.

I know you’ve always wondered whether I use the proximity of the Christmas holidays to your birthday as a means of cheaping out and giving you 75 per cent as many Christmas gifts and 75 per cent as many birthday gifts as you would get if there were more room between each so I can realize a 25 per cent savings on my gifting.

Of course I do.

Okay, not. I love you, and am so glad you have the same twisted sense of humor I do, which means you’ll laugh your butt off at this:

Happy Birthday, Brandt. I love you, son!

Today when Robin called the surgeon’s office and described the pain in her leg and how the medication wasn’t even taking the edge off I was sent scrambling home from work to get her down town for an ultrasound. Fortunately she had no blood clots, but in order for the vascular technical staff to do the ultrasound her cast had to be removed.

Then it was back to the surgeon’s office suite so his staff could build a new full cast. I was impressed with how far casting technology has come since my foot was run over at age twelve (come to think of it, that’s a funny story I should write about sometime!).

What used to be cloth soaked in plaster that had to set up for at least half an hour is now some magic rolls of mesh with a water activated plastic resin that sets in around five minutes. The tech dropped the full rolls into a bucket of water and then proceeded to wrap Robin’s leg with it like an Ace bandage.

Once the many layers of casting material had set up, he cut a seam all the way down one side and then wrapped the cast in an actual Ace bandage so it could expand and contract with any swelling that might occur. Again, something they evidently hadn’t thought of back when I was twelve.

Between the unwrapping and the tech’s brief absence as he went down the hall to fetch his cast making paraphenalia I managed to get a picture of Robin’s ankle with my Motorola Droid’s handy built-in 5 mega-pixel camera. I bet you’re thinking, “No wonder she needs pain meds!”

I agree with just about everything the man says, except for the fact that he still makes the mistake of calling people like Hasan “extremists”. They’re not extremists, they’re just Muslims who are serious about their faith. The ones who are not committing terrorist acts are the ones who don’t fully believe what their religion teaches them.

A true Muslim is a terrorist. Just as many people who claim to be Christians are not really followers of Christ, many people who claim to follow Muhammad don’t really keep his commands or believe his teachings. Thank God for that, or there would be a lot more murderous rampages going on inside the U.S. right now.

People have taken stands and spoken out against the Nazis, the Ku Klux Klan, Satanists, and all other manner of evil and murderous organizations and groups without reproach. Why is it that when I and others write or speak out about the blatant hatred and murderous intent of Islam’s fundamental teachings it is called bigotry?

When a group of people spread a false gospel and call Jews and Christians the enemies of god; telling it’s followers that it is okay to torture and kill Jews and Christians…well, it’s just a great example of how perverse society has become when people think standing against that sort of thing is bigotry.

Here’s a couple of quotes from the “holy book” of the “peaceful religion” that’s been “hijacked by extremists”:

5:54 O ye who believe! Take not the Jews and the Christians for your friends and protectors: They are but friends and protectors to each other. And he amongst you that turns to them (for friendship) is of them. Verily Allah guideth not a people unjust.

8:12 Remember thy Lord inspired the angels (with the message): “I am with you: Give firmness to the Believers: I will instill terror into the hearts of the Unbelievers: Smite ye above their necks and smite all their fingertips off them.”

47:4 Therefore, when ye meet the Unbelievers, smite at their necks; at length, when ye have thoroughly subdued them, bind a bond firmly: Thereafter either generosity or ransom: Until the war lays down its burdens. Thus: But if it had been Allah’s Will, He could certainly have exacted retribution from them; but He lets you fight in order to test you, some with others. But those who are slain in the way of Allah, —He will never let their deeds be lost.

With a “holy book” that teaches these things, why are so many Americans surprised when a Muslim attacks and kills innocent people? If you are not a “believer”, the Muslim you work with everyday, or ride the bus with, or stand in line with at the grocery store considers you a mortal enemy…unless he doesn’t REALLY believe what his religion teaches.

Despite running into a Grinch here and there lately who doesn’t understand that two hours restless sleep each night as a guest in a broom closet of a hospital room really doesn’t make for a happy, complacent, or “willing to be trod upon” Tim Frazier, there are some really wonderful bright spots to wrap up this week for the love of my life and and I.

I brought Robin home from the hospital yesterday. An excellent home-cooked supper was delivered by my ex wife, Jodi.

Today she brought our grandson, Jade by for a visit; then my awesome parents, (Awesome Jade’s Awesome Great Grandparents) Millie and Walter, AKA Mom and Pappy, showed up with arm-loads of Christmas gifts and multiple meals prepared by Mom and my sister, Charylcie (AKA Cha-Cha). Cha-Cha, that Caserola Espinaca is heating up in the oven right now…smells delicious!

Great Grands brought a little “Radio Flyer” air plane for their great-grandson as well, and it’s almost as cute as he is.

Robin is being a wonderful patient, except for a bit of naughtiness now and then when she decides to stray from the strict “bed to bathroom and back only” directives of the doctor. She’s terrible at just staying put and resting…I only wish I could bottle her energy…I’d make more money than Red Bull Corp.

Then Kelli stopped by for a visit when she got off work. I love her so much, and I hope she never forgets she will always be Daddy’s little girl, no matter what.

I missed out on seeing Brandt earlier in the week when he was in town, but it just makes me look forward to our next meeting that much more.

I know this is just the beginning of the list, because we are so blessed with family, friends, and co-workers who shower us with love and care when needed.

Thanks to all of you, have a Merry Christmas, and remember that Christ Jesus is the ultimate gift to mankind, and the reason we celebrate.

And Mom, I promise to stay off my motorcycle until after the holidays at least so you don’t have to fret about me…unless it comes out of the repair shop before then.

Just about any experienced motorcyclist knows the term “high-side”. It’s the two-syllable word that conjurs visions of a rider flailing helplessly in the air as he is thrown up and over the handlebars or tank of his bike.

I knew what the most common cause of a “high-side” accident was Monday, November 30, 2009. I knew that aside from failure to negotiate a curve, one of the next most common mistakes a rider makes is to lock up the rear tire during a sudden stop maneuver and then release it when the bike begins to fishtail or skid sideways.

That combination results in a rear tire regaining traction and trying to roll in a direction that disagrees with the momentum and direction of the rest of the motorcycle. This causes the bike to flip on it’s side, and typically throws the rider over the forward, or “high-side”.

I knew about that. I’d read it in books, seen it in videos, heard it preached about by veteran riders.

But when I finished watching the 747 touch down as I cruised north of DFW airport and turned my attention back to the traffic in front of me to see the impending tailights of a Mercedes approaching rapidly all my body would do was stand on both brakes in sudden panic.

The rear tire locked up and began to skid.

As the bike started to fishtail my foot lifted off the rear brake pedal in defiance of the commands my lagging brain sent a split-second too late saying, “Remember, don’t let off the rear brake now that the back tire is locked up.”

That mental directive passed from my brain to my foot well after my butt had been launched ass-over-appetite (as my Grandpa Hibner used to say) into the air above the Triumph that was slapping its tank against concrete pavement with giant cheese-grater perpendicular traction grooves. As I struck the road surface and began an 80 foot series of cartwheels my addled brain thought, (again, long after the fact) “this is going to hurt”. Somewhere in the distance I heard the sound of metal grinding on concrete as my bike skidded along on crash bars and saddlebags.

Finally I came to a stop. I could feel cold pavement underneath me and a primal fear arose of being run over by vehicles that had been following me. I knew I needed to get out of the road but all the air had been knocked out of my lungs and my limbs refused to obey orders from my brain. Even twitching my fingers resulted in nerves protesting like Union workers pounding the daylights out of scabs who hadn’t crossed the picket line fast enough. The signal from pain centers back to my cerebral cortex was plain: “We are currently on strike due to unfair treatment and exposure to undue risks by the management.”

In mere seconds a crowd gathered around me. Two women said they were nurses and told me not to move. A man told me he and some other guys were moving my bike out of the road. Then they told me I had ended up on the shoulder and there was no danger from traffic. The guy who had moved my motorcycle asked me if there was anything else he could do for me.

“Call 911, maybe?” I gasped.

Half the crowd that had formed around me replied, “I already did.”

The nurses kept telling me to lie still, so I did. Minutes later I heard sirens, and then a group of paramedics descended upon me, weilding scissors upon my clothing like Edward Scissorhands trimming hedges. In seconds my crash jacket, shirt, and jeans were shredded, and I was shivering on the concrete wearing nothing but underwear, boots, and helmet. The temperature was around 40 deegrees.

I was wondering if I should explain how exposure to cold causes extreme shrinkage to certain portions of the male anatomy so the ladies in the crowd wouldn’t start thinking I rode a 2300cc bike due to “compensation issues” when the paramedics rolled me onto a cold peice of plywood. They duct-taped my helmet to it and buckled numerous straps, securing me like Hannibal Lecter apprehended on a streaking binge and loading me into the back of an ambulance.

Inside the ambulance a female EMT told me “you’ll feel a sharp pinch, I’m starting an IV.” I told her I didn’t think a sharp pinch was going to bother me much, since I had plenty of other things hurting much worse at the moment.

Then I yelped like a puppy whose tail had been stepped on as she thrust a sixteen gauge needle into my arm.

“Sorry,” she said, “We use really big needles in case we have to get fluids into a victim fast.”

Not a bad idea, I thought, considering how I nearly lost a lot of fluid when I saw I was about to plow into the back end of an appropriately named Mercedes Kompressor.

She installed another giant IV pipeline into my other arm as a second paramedic climbed into the ambulance. “You wanna go east or west?” he asked.

“Huh?” I responded, not sure if he was trying to start a political debate or if this was some new medical jargon for “pill or suppository?”

“Parkland or Harris? Dallas or Fort Worth?” He said in clarification.

“What’s wrong with Baylor, Grapevine?” I asked.

“No way, pal. A witness to the crash says you flew 50 feet before you touched down and started tumbling, and from the shape your helmet is in we aren’t taking any chances. You’re going via helicopter to a trauma center. What’s it gonna be?”

Up to this point I hadn’t been very worried. Now I felt the beginnings of real concern that I might be worse off than I felt. “Harris, Fort Worth” I replied, reasoning that that’s the hospital where I was born and I might as well exit this earthly domain at the same location.

“You got it, pal. Air ambulance will be here in a couple of minutes.”

Sure enough, I hardly had time to give the paramedic my name, date of birth, and home phone number before I heard the sound of the helicopter landing nearby. They wrote my answers out with a magic marker on my bare shoulder and chest, “Just in case you lose consciousness and can’t answer when the E.R. staff needs this info.” the paramedic said, sending another wave of concern through my foggy brain.

Then a band of EMTs pulled me out of the ambulance, still naked except for underwear, boots, and helmet, and shoved me on my plywood spatula into the helicopter like some giant pizza going into a wood oven. One of them took time to ask me “Do ya think you’ll get nauseated in flight?”

“Naw,” I said. “I’ve ridden with DPD’s AIR-1 before back when I was a cop.”

“Yep, you can handle this flight then, those guys are nuts.” He said and slammed the side of the whirly bird shut.

“Are you in any pain?” That was the voice of another crew member on the opposite side.

“Yeah, my left knee and hand are hurting, and my… ohhh, yeah….” I replied as what could only be a close synthetic cousin of morphine rushed into my veins.

“Okay, I just shot some pain killer into your IV, you should be relatively pain free in a few seconds.” The paramedic said.

“Wow, the colors…” I replied.

There was no conversation on the ride to Harris Methodist in Fort Worth. Helicoptor crews wear those big “Great Gazoo” helmets and headsets not just to be able to communicate with each other, but to protect their ears from the massive racket made by the jet turbines that drive the helicoptor rotors. I was enveloped in the roar that my motorcycle helmet did a poor job of dampening.

In a matter of minutes we landed in Fort Worth and the crew was once again extracting my taped and bound body on its plywood gurney. Seconds later I was in trauma room three answering questions about drug allergies, medication I normally take, name, date of birth, etc. for the umpteenth time.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch poor Robin had arrived home and listened to a voice mail that had been left by one of the nurses who had stopped to help me immediatly after my crash.

“Hi, this is Denise. You’re husband has had a little accident on his motorcycle but he’s alert and he can wiggle his fingers and toes. He can’t use the phone because we’re not letting him take his helmet off. I think he’s going to go by ambulance to Baylor Irving.” In the background Robin heard my voice weakly protesting that it was Baylor Grapevine. Of course, Denise and I were both wrong.

Robin rushed to the Baylor Grapevine ER based on the provided information and even though she threatened to use water-boarding everyone there staunchly denied knowing who or where I was. For an hour she called hospitals and various public safety organizations trying to find out where I was. She also tried ringing both my mobile phones, which were buried with the scraps of my clothing in a large red platic bag marked “BIOHAZARD” in the corner of trauma room three at Harris Methodist Hospital.

Finally, right after Grapevine P.D. informed Robin that they had heard a motorcyclist had been flown to a trauma center via helicoptor from somewhere north of DFW, a male nurse heard my Motorola Droid ringing and dug it out of the bag. He hit the speaker button and held it next to my helmet so I could talk.

“Hello, Sweetie…” I said.

Sweetie interupted me immediately with “WHERE THE )^@!w*^@( ARE YOU?!”

“You’re on speaker phone…” I began sheepishly as the nurses in the room fell silent to listen to the awe-inspiring profanity of a woman who had been frantically searching for a husband with unknown injuries tended to by unknown caretakers for over an hour.

“I don’t give a ()*^(()*&itty-(*^$- *&^*, WHERE ARE YOU?!

“Harris Fort Worth,” said I. “Sweetie, please be careful driving over here. I’m going to be fine, they’re just chercking me over thouroughly.”

“We’re on our way. Love you!” Robin replied, and the line went dead.

A few minutes later my helmet was removed to make way for a cervical collar, and I was wheeled into the radiology department for a battery of x-rays. During that time Robin, her friend Stephanie, and her brother Ricky arrived at the hospital and were directed to trauma room three.

The first thing Robin noticed was that big red Santa Clause bag marked “BIOHAZARD” containing the shredded remains of my TourMaster jacket, jeans, and shirt. Panic started to rise as she dug out the multitude of pieces until Ricky pointed out there was no blood on the clothing and it was all cleanly sheared. Realizing that the EMTs had cut the textiles off me rather than them being shredded by pavement and wreckage while still on my body relaxed her…some.

When they finally rolled me into the trauma room we both came close to tears of relief. Robin because she saw I wasn’t torn limb from limb, and me because she obviously had not driven extra-legal speeds to get to the hospital. As a matter of fact, she’d been smart enough to have Stephanie drive. Had our roles been reversed, I’d likely have broken the sound barrier or (more likely) pushed the V8 Hemi in our Dodge Magnum beyond its limits trying to get to the hospital.

It was only a couple hours later when the doctor returned and unceremoniously removed my cervical collar. “I wrote you a perscription for some pain meds, muscle relaxers, and anti-inflamatories.” He said. “You don’t have any broken bones, according to the tech reading your x-rays, although I personally think I can see a cracked bone in your left hand. Follow up with your family doctor if it’s still bothering you in a few days. I also wrote you a work release for three days from now…believe me, you’re not going to feel like going anywhere for a couple of days.”

I thanked him, and he left the room. The primary nurse attending to me me brought over a clipboard with the usual several sheets of paper for me to sign. My left hand was hurting but I managed to scribble my signature on all the required lines…in about the same quality I did in first grade when I was using crayons and Big Chief tablets.

I don’t know how many times that night the doctor, nurses, and EMTs told me how glad I should be I’d been wearing protective gear, but every time they did I told them Robin deserved the credit. She made me buy the armor, gloves, and helmet before she agreed to buy the motorcycle, and I had to promise her I wouldn’t ride without them.

Thanks to her I was able to crawl out of our own bed the following morning, albeit with a great deal of pain, instead of waking up in traction and multiple casts with several square feet of road rash.

BB (that’s the name of my cherry red and white Triumph Rocket III) is still in the shop being repaired. Yesterday I went and bought myself a new crash jacket, gloves, and helmet. It wasn’t pleasant trying on motorcycle gear with a damaged right shoulder and possible broken bones in my left hand, but I know I have to have that stuff.

This time I didn’t protest in the slightest when Robin told me I wasn’t getting back on a motorcycle without them.

The following week as certain pain points continued to increase and additional doses of radiation and magnetic fields were exposed to my person various specialists determined I had a spiral fracture in my left hand, a crack in the top of my right femur, and a torn right rotator cuff. But I ain’t complaining. I could be wearing a Mercedes as a hood ornament.

P.S. I owe so much to Robin, but I also have to mention that Texas is a great place to live, with all the caring citizens who stopped to help, and those incredibly well-trained and professional first responders, from the cops to the EMTs to the flight crew to the ER doc and nurses. Thanks to all of them for the work they do and the excellent care they gave me that night.

AND thanks to a loving God who was watching over me…and each of them. Merry Christmas, everyone!

For those of you who heard I’d been in an accident and flown to a trauma center by helicopter Monday, November 30…I’m fine. I’ll write the whole story up soon and post it here with a few pics of my now retired helmet, jacket, and gloves. No broken bones, but I’m probably going to have to have another ‘scopic surgery on my shoulder. It’s getting worse instead of better.

The helmet, jacket, and gloves saved me a lot of skin, broken bones, and probably my life.

And I can hardly wait to go riding again. Hopefully BB will be out of the shop soon.