NOT a Memorial Ride

 In the movie Get Low, Robert Duvall stars as a cantankerous, elder hermit who decides to hold a funeral for himself early, so he can partake while living in hearing what others have to say about him.  I haven't seen the whole film, and while I can't remember if my exposure was just a trailer or starting but not seeing it out, that idea of an insight into others' perspective of oneself rooted itself solidly enough in my mind that it wasn't shaken loose even by my brain injury (notice that dropping on "traumatic" and all caps?), although sure, I did need to look up the title and I'd remembered Bill Murray in the lead instead of a supporting role.  My point, and yes, there is one of those here somewhere, is that in some ways, I had a slight glimpse into the view afforded to Duvall's character from this exercise.

About a week ago, riding home, the realization that I very certainly could have been killed on June 18th struck me with a certainty that I hadn't fully felt before.  With the complete loss of short term memory that ailed me for the first two weeks, I in some ways was insulated from fully reckoning with what happened to me in the near term.  By the time I could remember enough to process, it was all stories, without the visceral  impact of experience.  Yes, my body had experienced the literal impact and was doing its best to mend, but my mind was padded by a wonderfully evolve forgetfulness.

But June 18th, you might note that yesterday was the six month anniversary of that date, and not only was I alive to experience it, in the evaluation of Adele my partner, the recovery my body has managed is "amazing".  Yes, I've lived a tremendously lucky life, and while I did experience a few seconds of extreme misfortune the morning of the 18th, my luck since has pretty much come back in spades.  Consider, before medical help arrived, I was conscious and moving on the side of the road for about an hour, with a broken neck.  I'm pretty darn lucking to be alive, not paralyzed, an even able to ride all day again now that my bum is retrained for time on a saddle.

So yesterday I did a ride, but it wasn't a memorial, and not just because I still have a slightly harder time remembering.  On a positive note to that now worse personal issue, half way though the ride, I did finally remember the last name of Greg Carpenter, a rider and racer I met when he was 15 at the USA Cycling Junior Regional National Camp, and sure, I do have some peace knowing that I bear no responsibility for the phrase "Regional National".  A few years ago, at a bicycle swap meet while visiting my mother in the Seattle area, I ran into Greg, by then in his late 20s.  I was on clean-up duty, my payment for free entry to the swap, when I heard my name called out, and Greg was overjoyed to reconnect with me by such chance on the opposite side of the country from what might be expected.  He'd seen me earlier and though, "maybe", which was confirmed "yes" once he heard my voice while on clean-up.

Once I confirmed myself, Greg gave me a huge hug in greeting, and that means a lot to me, and brings my circuitous path back to the idea that started this post.  After the accident, and after two weeks once I could remember more than two minutes, I had a glimpse of what I'd meant to the people I've met and who've known me.  The outpouring of support was amazing, and in my first couple days of processing what had happened, I took great strength from knowing I would not be facing the challenge of rebuilding myself and body alone.  That was huge.  In fact, that deserves repeating.  That was HUGE.  To everyone who came to the hospital, visited me once released, sent notes, or even just thought of me, thank you.  Again, THANK YOU.

It wasn't just that I was not alone.  It was to see how people interacted with me and the stories of their memories they told.  Forgive me any smugness, but I came to believe that those who supported me didn't do so just out of the onus of duty, the sense that being there was the right thing, but more so that I had become a person of genuine value to them and they wanted me and the person I was back.  The chances that I will be entirely unchanged from this accident are nearly nil, but I can report that my body and mind are once again familiar to me, and I am very much happy and lucky to be living the life I have.

Humans are social creatures, and I am very much human, so it means much that I have the support of others, but also, importantly, have somewhat reliably been there with and for the others I've known.  So, no memorial ride at this time, but a very, very, very big, THANK YOU!