Motorcycles are awesome and I nearly died on one.

above: I got to ride a Harley on highway 1 in California in 2018 and yeah it totally makes you cool..

Here is a love story to all motorcycles, a defense of why I think they are awesome, and a short story of how I almost died on one. So first the short story of nearly dying…

Our newsletter is called “Flyin’ Bryan” and in a few months, I will start taking professional flight lessons. But last month I took an unscheduled flight that ended with me in the ER. Here is what happened.

The day was beautiful, with both bountiful supplies of sunshine and warmth. My lovely wife Maria and our three lovely but smelly children were in Pennsylvania visiting with Maria’s folks. Living 6 hours apart from the grandparents puts a strain on just how much spoiling can be accomplished, and so it delighted all parties involved to have Maria stay in PA for a week. That in turn left me to fend for myself in our now empty and quiet Coshocton mansion. Fortunately for me, the food situation was taken care of almost immediately. A local restaurant sells a two-pound burger, topped with one pound of bacon, topped with 8 slices of cheese, and finally topped with a whole tomato and lettuce all for $24 bucks. I had daydreamed off and on again about this heart-stopping masterpiece from the very first moment I learned about it. From the time Maria announced that she would be spending time in PA, to the time she finally left, my mouth didn’t stop salivating. So here was the game plan: I would cut this birthday cake-sized burger into 8 pieces and be fed from it for four days. To say that this was a faultless plan is not entirely true. The first few reheats were still delicious, but as time marched on, the reheats got less and less desirable. In fact, towards the end, my burning love for this burger was replaced with a contempt almost greater.

Anyways back to the warm summer day. I was at home alone, and the thought of driving an empty minivan to church seemed like a nonstarter. Most Sunday mornings consist of rushing out the door in a mad blur, hoping that all the children are at least dressed in human clothes and that I managed to brush my teeth, hair, and occasionally nose hair. So embracing the moment I grabbed my motorcycle helmet and the riding jacket and after a short nose hair brush, I headed at a much calmer pace. On the way to church, I was reflecting on how half my life I have been driving these mechanized death traps, first getting on one at 16 (I’m now 32). The warm sun shining down on me, and the beauty of the surrounding Ohio countryside made me think of my Creator. I started to pray and during which I asked, “God should I keep this motorcycle?”

After church and VBS drama practice, I once more hopped on my trusty bike. I had no reason to head home so instead, I decided to explore more of Holmes County. After about an hour of road apple dodging, I decided to head home. I was driving south from Millersburg on 83 just about to pass Walmart when out of the corner of my eye I saw a silver or white blur. My brain told me that “um you are GOING TO CRASH” and then the curtain fell.

The next I remember is waking up in the ambulance confused and with the taste of blood in my mouth. I asked the EMT what happened, to which he replied you have been in an auto accident. Me being the cheap wad that I am, of course, asked “who was at fault” fully hoping this luxurious ride to the hospital would not be on my dime. He offered up that he thought it was the other party’s fault, to which I laid my head back and relaxed. Then I remembered that my mother taught me that if I can wiggle all my fingers and toes I was not paralyzed. I hastily wiggled every willing digit, and to much relief, they all moved. Next on my mental to-do list was to contact my loving wife.

How I contacted Maria can be called many things, but in the middle of concussion-laden brain fog, I relied on an old trusty text. I texted her a picture of my feet on an ambulance gurney with the caption “been in a motorcycle crash”, and then I promptly passed out. Maria responded as any sane spouse would with follow-up questions, and concerns. All her texts were unanswered until I came to again and by that time the ER docs were scanning every part of me with machines that made grunting noises.

The Docs after running every piece of testing equipment they had, decided to discharge me. I was in a slight pickle being that my wife was 6 hours East of my current location and I needed a lift home. Fortunately, I am blessed with a lot of good friends, and their “good Samaritan” spirits were pricked because I was bleeding, and making moaning sounds. My friend Josh came and picked me up and graciously gave me a ride home.

The next day I slept almost the entire day. Concussions are weird and I have never had one this bad. I would not stay awake for a full day until an entire week after the accident. The only bright spot is that now when I fail at something I choose to still blame it on the concussion. Most people gently remind me that I wasn’t that good before the concussion either, so that excuse rings a little hollow.

On the second-day post-accident, I drove to the doctor to get a cast put on my wrist. I have never had a cast and thought this would be an interesting adventure. Trying to work on aircraft with a big cast and an immobile wrist proved to be difficult. Most of the time I wish my arm would have more joints versus fewer and having a wrist locked up made my arm as graceful as if I replaced the lower half with a baseball bat.

After four weeks in August, my stinky cast was finally removed. The smell of my cast was impressive. I was both disgusted and interested in a smell that was a cross between Febreze and death. I sprayed my cast almost daily with Febreze to help calm the smell down. If you Google whether or not to spray a cast with Febreze all the experts say “it will only make things worst”, to which I say, “you have never had a cast in August.”

 So I am good now. All casts are removed, spine straightened, and knee healed. My wrist is still not perfect, but it gets better daily. I still love motorcycles and even now I look at them with longing eyes. I miss working on them, and the dirt, grease, and bugs in your teeth that you acquire from riding them. But I feel God has made it clear to me that this is not the season, and I honestly don’t know if I will ever get another motorcycle. I praise God that my crash was not worse, and for the amazing support structure (wife, church, friends) that He has surrounded me with.

But…. I still wanna go vroom-vroom….