May 8th

May 8th is a day that will be forever be marked by the scars on my face, hand and thigh. One year ago this past weekend I was on my way to Beloit on my motorcycle when an older gentleman pulled out in front of me. I was lucky. Because I saw the accident coming I was able to slow down enough to be able to walk away. I was one of the lucky ones that weekend.

May 8th 2009, Mother's Day weekend 2009, there were 4 motorcycle accidents. only 2 of us lived to tell our stories.
April 8th 2010, 11 months to the day I buy a new bike. One more step in the healing process. My body is mostly healed, I will never be 100% but unless you knew, you would not guess that I had been in an accident. The hardest step of the healing process however is mental. Many people who are involved in a motorcycle accident do not ride again. The most common question I was asked after the fact was "Are you gonna ride again." To which I always answered, Yes. Deep in my subconscious however was a needle of doubt. I buried that needle when I bought my bike. I rode it home in the snow. I have taken 2 rides with friends, I have ridden to school twice. None of these short trips, however compare to this past weekend.May 8th, 2010. One year later. Jake has to work, but I need to continue to heal. I need to be on my bike. A friend and I take off around 7:45am and head south. We rode to Davenport to help support an injured Marine. It was a good day, but it was also a scary day.

The first stop was at the Greenville/Colona American Legion. We had been at the hall for about 20 minutes, standing outside in the parking lot just chatting. A group of bikes were coming down the road a block away, and started to make the turn to come our direction. I saw the lead bikes then heard the squealing tires. It happend so fast, yet in slow motion. I watched helplessly as a red bike tipped over spilling the rider. I watched him hit the ground and roll. When he came to a stop he didn't move. Some of us ran to the intersection while others went inside telling the people in the bar to dial 911.

As I went towards the intersection, I felt sick to my stomach, not today, why today. Then the shakes started as I relived my own accident.

After the cops and ambulance arrived we found out that everyone was fine. The rider who went down limped away, got on his bike and finished the run.

I did the same. I got on my bike and finished my run. I put over 250 miles on my bike. I am still not completely recovered. Even just driving down the road in a car, truck, jeep, and especially a motorcycle, if I come to an intersection where another vehicle is supposed to come to a stop, I cringe, I hesitate. Are they going to stop this time? Each time they do stop, but that doesn't stop my heart from jumping every time.

I will heal. I will not give up. I am stronger than that truck.