oops!
In December of 2005, Sarah and I did one of our quick snowboarding day trips to Sugar Mountain NC. The day was cold and at one point Sarah went in for a cup of coffee while I took another run. I was riding down Lower Flying Mile when I launched off a gradual ledge and flew in the air. I had done this a couple of times already and was getting admittedly cocky. This jump, the last jump I would ever make on a snowboard, landed with me digging my downhill rail. I tumbled and bounced until my dumb ass stuck out my left arm. I was trying to correct myself. My elbow dislocated immediately. I felt it go limp.
I laid in the snow thinking someone would stop to check on me, but no one did. People passed by like I was taking a moment to rest. I tried to move my left hand to my chest but it would not budge. I reached over with my right hand to help lift my left arm when immediately I felt the two bones once joined at the elbow grind. The pain soared through my neck, down my spine, and all the way to my toes. I started to ask passers by for help but no one heard me until I screamed, "I NEED ASSISTANCE PLEASE!"
By the time Ski Patrol got to me my arm was numb. They braced and packed me up and skied me down the hill. Then they carried me into the medical center. Sarah had come out after warming up and saw her name on the chairlift's blackboard; "Sarah Paul to medical center," it said.
"So now the child gets called to the medical center for the adult eh? What a strange turn of events." Sarah said laughing as she walked into the room. By this time they had given me Morphine. "What did you do?" she asked. I told her about the jump. She sarcastically scolded me, reminding me that jumping, plus my age, doesn't equal negative gravity skills. I hate when my kids are right. One time Sarah pointed out how dangerous riding a motorcycle is in shorts. "But it's so hot riding in the Summer," I'd reply. "I'm just saying," she'd say. That was two days before I laid my duel sport down in the sand and burned the Second Degree deep partial hell, out of my right shin...twice!
We watched the Paramedics cut a seam up the sleeve of my snowboarding jacket and layers of clothes exposing the elbow separation. Being thin it was easy to see the bone poking out. "Wow, that's cool looking." I remember saying. Truth is I'm so fascinated with Anatomy that when I see my body with a dislocation I can't help being more curious about the visual deformity then the physical pain its causing me.
"We need to get you to the hospital." the Paramedic said. She turned to Sarah, "you can follow us in your car." The second this statement came out of the Paramedic's mouth Sarah turned white as a fresh floating snowflake. "Mom I can't drive your G! It's a stick shift!" she said in a panic. The place went silent.
"What kind of car?" the Paramedic responded.
"My Mom has a manual Infinity G35," Sarah said, "and I don't know how to drive a manual."
"I can drive a manual" said the other Paramedic, "I'll drive you and it to the hospital."
Sarah told me later that he had a good time driving down the mountain in my sporty black 6 speed. Sharing toys with responsible people is cool. Truth is, I've always enjoyed when others shared with me. And knowing someone got a thrill driving my car as much as I do makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside.
Once at the hospital I was given more Morphine while they snapped my Humerus back into my Ulna. Everything was braced up tight and I was released only to be faced with the same problem of how to get Sarah, myself, and my car home. This was when I witnessed an act of selflessness that I will never forget.
C had a couple of Rugby friends who lived in Boone. She called them and they came to help. One girl drove her car with me in the back seat, asleep. Her girlfriend drove Sarah and the Baby G. They drove us all the way to Greensboro (2 hours one way). C had another friend drive her to Greensboro from KB to meet us (a 4 hour drive one way). Sarah cooked all of us dinner before the girls drove back to Boone. C's friend from KB drove to Raleigh (which is in between Greensboro and Wilmington) to hang out with another buddy. C drove me home in the G. I paid for everyone's time and gas. It was the least I could do. From then on, Sarah drove her car on our little boarding excursions.
"You damaged your Ulnar Collateral Ligament," my Orthopedic said, "you'll have a lot of play in your elbow and the Humorous can pop out again. At some point you'll need to have that ligament repaired. Possibly with a Tommy John Surgery," he said. I didn't want to be laid up in a cast during the surfing season so I decided to postpone getting under the knife. "Well then," my Doc replied, "you need to brace up when you do something strenuous. And I suggest you take easy." Every Doc's famous last words.
What I did was step up my yoga. I took the route of strengthening my arm muscles and keeping things flexible while I was gimp. When we went to Snowshoe in March, I snowboarded in a brace that looked like a mechanical bionic arm. I spent my runs carving, as if surfing the mountain on a longboard. The extra weight to sling around on my lead arm (I'm regular foot) acted like an end-loaded softball bat on the turns. It added momentum.
Shangrila Retreat, South Boston, Virginia
In January C, Sarah, and I took a weekend trip to ride horses on some trails in the hills of Virginia. With my arm in it's bionic brace I somehow managed to steer my horse down river banks and across wide open fields. C had a better ride then the one she had in Panama. In fact, she proved to be very good with horses. Sarah had ridden quite a bit in California with my sister-in-law. She too, was very confident in the saddle.
Our guide decided we were qualified for the deep woods and he lead us through trails that he was still working on. At one point we concluded we had veered off the trail completely and were riding through virgin bushes, branches, and briers. We spent the next two hours trying to get back on the main trail. In the mean time we loaded ourselves up with all kinds of creepy-crawlers, scrapes, and incredible memories. It was exciting knowing that the guide considered us crazy enough for such an adventure. In fact, we had so much fun we went back the next year to do it all over again.
Nascar again!
That Spring C and I went to drive a Nascar car. I had done it once before (See: 2002: Indonesia, Idaho, Nascar, & The Tipping Point, 6/30/11) but this time I had met my driving match. At the end of the session C ended up with a faster time. I had driven more technically. As much as I liked driving around Rockingham I prefer street driving.
To me, getting to the front of the line at a red light is the name of the street driving game. For highway driving, it's all about maneuvering out of a pack and into the open so cruse control can be engaged. I'm not an obnoxious driver, I always use my blinker. I simply pass because being at the back of the line in a slow moving pack sucks, and, its difficult to see potential hazards behind a large SUV or a mini van. I pass to see more of the road ahead.
Amongst the other activities I was enjoying, driving was always one of my favorite hobbies. I get that from my Mom (thanks Mom :) She's the one who taught me the value of a good road trip. When I was young we took lots of them, and I got hooked.
One of Mom's Mustangs
By this time I had been behind the wheel of lots of kinds of cars, and I was in the habit of driving them to their limits when conditions were favorable. I have been pulled over quite a few times for speeding but never called out for reckless driving. However, I got pulled once for driving 130mph down I40 in my first G35.
"Why were you driving so fast?" the officer asked.
"I got new tires?" I told him. It was true. I had. The car was driving so smoothly and changing lanes like a champ. Apparently I lost track of the speedometer.
"Well, now those new tires can drive you to court. Sign right here." He tapped his pen on my sixth speeding violation since I moved to NC, (I also have three warning tickets from Highway Patrol). I was grateful the officer didn't take my license.
A month (and $300 later) I had to attend my fourth driving school and my insurance went up. However, when the class was over, I was now a Driving School Graduate from three counties and two states. Some might concider me and expert driver after so much schooling...some would not.
During the summer of 2006 I jumped out of a plane again. The first time I did this I savored every second of the decent. This time however, I almost puked on the way down. The first time I jumped I floated smoothly and I had time to look around and enjoy the view. This time it wasn't so relaxing.
The exit from the plan was cool. Like the first time, the moment we leaned out of the open door we spun around so I could see the belly of the big flying machine. Then we rotated to see the ground, unfortunately the fun stopped there.
This time my guide decided he wanted to step up my experience. After the 7 second free fall I pulled the ripcord. My guide then proceeded to spin me around and around like a Bamboo Chinese-Top. My stomach got nauseated and my mouth started to get that tangy thick saliva taste that lingers around the gag reflexes. After, what seemed like a hundred spins (but was probably only six), we stopped and floated. My head felt like I drank a whole damn bottle of cheap Tequila. I visualized what barf would look like falling. I wondered if I would fall faster, and possibly through it. Where would I aim it? I took the biggest breath I could and focused on the clouds.
By the time I stopped my head from spinning and got my nauseation down with gut sucking inhales, I heard, "Now I'll show you how to spin in the other direction" from my tandem partner, and off we went. This time I felt my stomach doing those small convulsions. I tried to focus on a spot on the ground like a pirouetting dancer, but all I could do was pray for the rotations to stop. When we quit the damage was done. I spent the rest of the decent holding in the inevitable, and the second we landed I quickly jumped out of the tandem hold and fell to the grass upchucking.
"Man, that was fantastic!" C said running up after she landed. "Um, annnnd, how was your jump?" she asked when saw my face in the grass.
"Oh marvelous." I lied with an eye roll.
"You look shity."
"No I'm peachy thanks." Truth was I was nauseated all day. Next time I jump out of a perfectly good plane all I want to do is float down. No more spinning.
Ramona
Considering my latest injury (and the old ones now arthritic) I decided to sell Ramona and get a 4wheeler. I figured that way I wouldn't be at such a risk to injure something else. True to my nature, it didn't take me long to start racing and jumping the 4wheeler. I didn't do any fancy stuff, just enough to give me a rush. I gotta say, 4wheeling is a great way to spend an afternoon. And when there's mud, it's even better! C's Mom has a lot of woods around her house and we'd go explore them when we'd visit. It was an important game to keep out of the way of hunters. Hunters hate 2 strokes.
Whenever we saw a hunter's deer stand on the trail we had to slow down and proceed with caution. It's like the civil war between fishermen and surfers. Both believe they own the geographical space they are using. I've been hit with casting weights before for being too close to where a fisherman wanted to catch fish. The last thing I ever wanted was to be hit with a bullet from a drunk hunter bored in a deer stand that hated 2strokes. Eventually C and I stopped Pirate Rides all together during hunting season due to this possibility.
Mud is fun!
From the divorce I got the KB house and the adjacent property. I didn't need both high taxed items so, this year I built a house on the property and put the last house Mark and I lived in up for sale. Earlier in the year I had telephoned a contractor friend from my church days who had a son that went to school with Sarah. He, C, and I together built my final house to date.
KB in a rare snow
In years past Mark and I built two houses and a business building. We had also redecorated three condos and four business relocations. This new house was a good way of realizing that I was now qualified to participate in large construction projects with a different team. With the help of C and her confidence in me, we were able to modify operations when issues came up. And there were quite a few. As far as aesthetics, C pick out all the lighting which is one of the house's highlights. I picked the artistic floor plan.
When the house was finished my builder told me I was a good customer. He said I was practical with the changes, not elaborate nor nit picky about functionality. I also kept the construction site clean. I told him the success of the house was a collaborated project powered by a team of visionaries. I thanked him for all he did to make, what would be dubbed Camp CrockATam, a highly complimented on structure.
Before our first year in the house was up, Camp CrockATam became a Summer weekend retreat for friends in need of R&R living in Raleigh, Greensboro, Boone, and New york, just to name a few places. It got to the point friends needed to make reservations between Memorial Day and Labor Day. C and I had to monitor guest combinations too. The wrong combo was a 6beer disaster, usually because there was a dog or two accompanying each person. Yep, in 2006 the party was always on.
After Thanksgiving I got a phone call...
"Hi Tamara. This is your half brother from Washington State. I'm calling to tell you that our Dad is dying, and if you ever want to meet him you might want to do it now."
I was intrigued with the idea of meeting my Dad after all these years, so I started making plans to fly out to Seattle before Christmas.
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