Extreme Road Rash: Cause, Effect, and Lesson Learned
Written by Brittany Morrow

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One Year Has Passed



It's hard to look in the mirror and think that my scars are already an entire year old. Touching my stomach and rib cage, I can't imagine looking this way and feeling this pain for the rest of my life. I still feel as if at any moment I will wake up from this terrible dream and be comfortable in my own skin once again. Knowing that it's real, that there is nothing I can do to change it, I am reminded of my mistakes every minute of everyday. I am also reminded how lucky I am to be alive as I close my eyes and remember why I still feel pain after an entire year of healing. Imagining that if I had not survived the accident, I wouldn't have anything to touch at all, I smile when my fingers run over a thick layer of scar tissue in place of my once soft skin. I know my life has a purpose, and I strive everyday to live up to the task that has been placed at my feet.



The Accident



It was a beautiful Sunday morning even through my blurred vision. I was on the back of my friend Shaun's GSXR 750 and was excited to be on a sport bike, even if it was as a passenger, after a long streak of no riding whatsoever. I had shed my prescription glasses for a pair of sunglasses, my cowboy hat for an oversized helmet, and quickly thrown on a pair of capri jeans, tennis shoes, and a sweatshirt over my bikini. I thought nothing of the fact that I had practically no protection against the asphalt if anything were to happen. I figured that we couldn't get into a wreck; it simply wouldn't happen to me. It's amazing how fast life came at me that day.

Approaching mile marker seven on highway 550, I noticed that I had to start fighting the wind to stay behind Shaun without pulling on him too much. I placed my hands on the gas tank and pushed myself into him as much as possible without crowding him. As we came around to the right and went down the hill, we kept accelerating. I was scared, but thought I could handle the force of the wind as it suddenly picked up much more than in the moments before. I started to slide back on the seat and felt the cool air fill the small space between my chest and Shaun's back.

I felt a rush of wind hit my face like a brick and our bodies separated in an instant; my visor had come completely open. The force pulled on my face and helmet so hard that it sent my head up and backwards, ripping my entire body off the back seat with it. I remember thinking that if I grabbed Sean's t-shirt I would pull him down with me, but it was already too late to try and grab a hold of him. I was only in the air for a spilt second, but an eternity of thoughts ran through my mind. I had no idea what excessive speed I was about to hit the ground at or the damage it would do to my body, I just thought about how my life had led to that point. I remembered the basics of surviving a fall from a horse without injury, which I had done a few times in the previous year, and simply let myself go. I knew there was nothing else I could do.

When I hit the ground, it was as if every breath I had ever taken rushed out of me in an instant. I could feel every inch of my body hitting the road; tumbling, sliding and grinding into the unforgiving surface. In my helmet, which seemed so small and yet completely empty, I could hear my whimpers as I fought to breath and my prayer to God as I gave into the asphalt. In a matter of seconds, I had come to the conclusion that I was going to die, and I was ok with it. I knew this was far worse than anything I had ever gone through and I was convinced I would not live to see the next day. My eyes were closed as I finished my 522 foot tumble down highway 550. I never lost consciousness, but I remember wishing that I had.

At first I couldn't feel anything. A few moments passed before anyone was at my side, and I had the chance to try and move myself. Immediately, I could tell that I had lost my left shoe as my toes were burning on the hot road. My right foot felt stiff, completely unmovable, and I thought it was probably broken. I[B] noticed that my knees were uncovered when the little pieces of what I thought were gravel scraped against my skin, only to find out later that they were my actual kneecaps grinding against the pavement below them.[/B] My right arm was trapped underneath me and my shoulder felt hot. My left pinky was the most noticeable pain in those first few minutes, a throbbing and stabbing pain, as it bled profusely right in front of my face. I could smell my blood as it pooled beneath me on the road.

By the time the ambulance came and rolled me onto my back, removed my helmet, and called the helicopter, I felt as if I had been cooking on the street for hours. Every nerve ending in my body was on fire; tingling, scorching, and burning. I had not gone into shock, and the adrenaline had worn off almost instantly. Not being able to move was the worst of it. I wanted to pull my arm out from underneath me. I wanted to get off that hot road. I wanted the sun to stop shining so brightly on my naked back. I wanted everything to just go away. But it didn't. The people who sat on that road with me and came to my rescue saved my life. I wanted to die, but they wouldn't let me give up, they wouldn't let me close my eyes and go to sleep.

The helicopter ride was fast. The morphine had kicked in just around the time we landed at the hospital, and the rest is somewhat of a blur. I remember hearing a doctor saying I had lost my entire left breast. I remember another asking me if my family had been called. A third doctor asked if she could take pictures of my wounds for documentation. [B]When it came time to clean off my skin, the doctors decided that a surgical debreedment of the dead tissue was necessary, along with invasive repair to my pinky, right big toe, and left side from hip to armpit. [/B] I don't even remember being put under, and the rest is lost in the six hour surgery that followed.



The Hospital



I woke up wrapped like a mummy. I was on my back in an air bed, in a room I had never seen. Did I dream that Shaun had come and held my hand? Why were my parents here? I didn't know what was going on, so I tried to sit up. Then I felt the intense pain on my back, my side, my shins, my feet, my thigh, my hip, my forearms, my wrists, my shoulder, my fingertips, my ribcage, my stomach, and my chest. It all came at me in one large rush, and I knew exactly where I was and remembered what had happened. I spent the next three weeks waking up to the exact same confusion, rush of pain, and realization of my surroundings. My condition never seemed to change for the better, no matter how many times I went through the process of attempting to sleep it off. The worst part about the pain was that it never completely subsided unless I was sleeping, and I had nightmares of the accident every time I slept. I couldn't escape what had happened to me. On the rare good days, my Dad would brush my hair for hours; it was the only thing that helped me forget what I was going through.[IMG]http://www.backroadsusa.com/home.html/Brittanys_Story_files/shapeimage_3.png[/IMG]




My road rash was so severe that my skin was not going to grow back on its own. I had lost too much surface area for the doctors to simply suture me together and send me home. After the blood loss had been controlled, the skin loss needed to be addressed. I was to receive full thickness skin grafts. Literally, the doctors had only 2 places on my body to harvest healthy skin. My thighs were the only two places that had not received any abrasions. In order to help my open wounds heal, the doctors had to cut off a thick layer of healthy skin from my thighs and place it over my burns, surgically stapling the new skin in place. This was the only way to "fix" me, and I didn't even have enough skin to graft all of my wounds at once. The doctors had to choose which areas to graft first, and which ones would have to wait.

Wound vac: a slang medical term that will give me goose bumps for the rest of my life. When a patient receives a skin graft, a suction cup is placed over the completed surgery in order to increase blood flow from under the new skin. These devices are called wound vacuums, and they ensure that the burn tissue does not die, but rather joins with the new skin to create a layer of dermis where none would have grown without the graft surgery. It feels like a leech, a constant sucking on the most painful abrasion you've had in your entire life. Multiply your worst skinned knee as a kid by 50, add it to 55 percent of your body, and then let someone suck on it with a handheld vacuum for 24 hours a day; only then will you know what it is to experience a wound vacuum on a fresh skin graft. Each graft received a dose of the painful sucking and after three weeks I was free from the noisy machines.

The only thing worse than the wound vacuums were the dressing changes. Even thinking about the pain today makes me sick to my stomach. In the areas the doctors were not able to graft within the first three weeks: my back, chest, rib cage, side, and stomach, they did daily dressing changes to make sure the wounds we being kept clean. My bandages acted as my skin where the graft surgery had not yet taken place. Every time the doctors changed my dressings, it was as if they were ripping off my skin. The oxygen hitting the open burns was enough to make me scream. Cleaning the wounds with water would send me into a rage. It is safe to say I would have rather been lying on that road again than go through a daily dressing change. This lasted the entire two months I spent in the hospital.

Physical therapy, as motivating as it was supposed to be, was just as painful as anyone can imagine. Struggling to sit up in bed, hold myself up without help, and lay back down without hurting the open burns on my back proved itself to be a daunting task. Attempting to stretch my skin, which was tough and thick as leather, once the grafts were slightly healed, made me wince and fear that I would lose all motion in my wrists. I remember getting dizzy just from trying to stand up, blacking out and throwing up from a wheelchair ride down the hall, and crying at night because I couldn't get up to go to the bathroom on my own. All the abilities I took for granted in my everyday life had come back to haunt me, to teach me a lesson on why I should be thankful for every second I am breathing.

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Everyday I would dread the moment the doctors came into my room. Whether they were coming to do a conscious sedation for my daily dressing change, whisk me off to another surgery, or put me through physical therapy, my attitude worsened everyday towards the people who were trying to save my skin. It drove me to act bitter towards the people who cared about me the most; my parents were there every day and I know it must have been difficult for them to put up with me. The pain I went through pushed me into a deep depression, but I refused to be put on medication for anything of that nature. I was taking 20 pills with breakfast and dinner every day and I didn't need to add to that number. I was asked several times if I wanted to talk to a psychologist about the accident, talk about the nightmares my nurses always reported me having at night, but I denied the willing listener. In short, I made sure I paid for my mistakes dearly, not only physically, but emotionally as well, and everyone around me could see the old Brittany fading away.

After my final skin graft surgery on November 16th, I woke up feeling as if my back had been completely replaced. The noticeable difference between the open wound and the grafted burn was enough to lift my spirits. I was able to lie down comfortably for the first time in two months. I knew the time had come for me to get out of the hospital and start the real healing: returning to my normal life. I had to beg my doctors to let me go home. I couldn't stand the thought of returning to a physical rehabilitation hospital. With fresh donor sites on my left thigh and a throbbing pain worse than most I had felt, I walked down the hall on the fifth floor three days after surgery so I could go home. I cried with relief when they signed my release paperwork.



Going Home



I walked slowly into my house for the first time in over two months. The smell alone was enough to make me smile, as Thanksgiving dinner was being prepared for the next day. The warm air, the sound of my dog yelping at my return, the softness of my own bed sheets, and the glow of real sunlight pouring in through the bedroom windows gave me the most comfort I had experienced since the accident, and compared to the hospital, it was heaven. I was not on my own by any means; my Mom had to help me shower and give me my blood thinning shots twice a day in my stomach. Walking from my bedroom to the kitchen made me break a sweat, as my muscles had not been used in two months. I still had open wounds, was using a personal walker built for full body support to move around, and couldn't even dress myself, but I felt a happiness that seemed almost unfamiliar.

Coming home was the best thing that could have happened to me. The doctors gave me a month before I would be walking without the walker, but I threw it in the back of my closet after the third day. I ditched my bandages after a week and started wearing jeans ten days later. I was determined to feel normal again, or at last appear normal to the unknowing passerby. I began driving after only two weeks out of the hospital and started living my life as if I had never fallen off that motorcycle. My friends and family could see how quickly I was becoming myself again. I truly believe being around such wonderful support helped me heal as quickly as I did.

I was still attending physical therapy, but was improving at speeds that amazed even my own doctors. I was walking up stairs without a second thought and riding the stationary bike with ease. It still hurt to do normal things, even bending my knees to sit in a chair would send pain up my legs, but I learned to ignore it all. I was so used to the way my skin ached, including the itching and burning I would feel every second, that it was as if I never really felt it anymore. My mind had blocked it out and unless I stopped to notice it, the sensitivity and uncomfortable nature of the healing skin grafts wasn't even in my thoughts.

The morning my hair started to fall out I knew something was wrong. I had been out of the hospital for an entire month but the medication I was taking had just started to leave my system. The combination of chemicals that had kept me alive and comfortable in the hospital was now killing the living cells in my scalp and face. After a week of pulling chunks of my own hair out and watching my eyelashes and eyebrows fall to my cheeks, I felt like a cancer patient taking chemotherapy. I cut my long blonde hair short to try and save as much of it as I could, but it never stopped. You could see through the few thin strands left all the way to my scalp and I even had a couple completely bald spots. I finally had had enough and decided to simply shave my head and get it over with. I cried as the rest of my hair hit the bathroom floor that night.

After everything I had suffered as a direct result of the fall[B]: 55 percent body coverage of third degree burns, severed tendons in my left pinky finger, a severely dislocated right big toe, and a large amount of blood loss[/B]; what really slowed the healing process was what I experienced in the hospital. Indirect results of the accident due to a prolonged hospital stay: [B]pneumonia, urinary tract infection, pseudomonas infection, blood infection, a blood clot in my left leg, yeast infections, anemia, 3 blood transfusions with 1 adverse reaction, 8 surgeries, 31 conscious sedations, countless skin debreedments, and undiagnosed PTSD and depression[/B]. With these things in mind, the loss of my hair seemed minimal at most. My hair would grow back. I was alive, and thankful for that everyday. I knew that what I had gone through would give me the strength to survive anything else God had planned for me in the future. As long as I could walk, talk, and breathe, I was always happy to be on this earth and would never take the blessings in my life for granted again



Returning Home



My heart felt heaving knowing something I loved so much had almost cost me my life. I knew the mistakes I had made and the consequences I never wanted to face again. I couldn't imagine not riding because it was one of my few joys. I knew I would never again ride without my gear. Even on a hot day and a short trip, my helmet would always be on my head and I would make sure it was functioning properly. I was back on a motorcycle as a passenger a few times before I was rid of the fear I felt. Once I was able to go highway speeds, I knew I was ready and able to ride again. I wanted to feel the freedom that comes with being alone on the machine and rolling on the throttle, putting the rest of the world on hold.[IMG]http://www.backroadsusa.com/home.html/Brittanys_Story_files/RoadRash-sihouette-on-bike.jpg[/IMG]



I bought my 2006 Yamaha R6s on June 22nd from a local dealer. With help from a very close friend, I was reminded of the basics of riding every morning for a couple of weeks in free lessons that were tailored to my needs as a rider. I was taught the importance of knowing that while on a motorcycle, literally anything can happen at any time. Riding prepared for the worst possibilities will always protect you from injury in even the smallest wreck. I know I never want to feel the way I did in the hospital again, and anything I can do to keep that from happening, I will do every time I get on a bike. I learned some new skills in that first month back on the road, but I also learned some important things about myself as well. I learned how strong I really am, especially after returning to the sport that changed my life after almost claiming it.



The Final Outcome



My road rash will take several years to completely heal and will never look or feel normal again. I have conquered the only fear that kept me from riding and I will never put myself in the same position to receive such injuries as I have lived through this past year. I stress the importance of wearing full gear to each and every person I ride with, talk to, or even who happens to read my story. I believe that my experiences are a lesson to every type of rider or passenger. I would never wish the pain I felt and still feel today upon anyone in this world. It is completely avoidable with a few extra layers, and I can't say it enough: it is undeniably worth it to gear up. Everything I have gone through this past year will not be in vain if my testimony is enough to save someone's skin.

Copy and paste to CFOT. They love gristle and gore (and death too, so this might not make the cut).

But since there's PICS, they might relish the gore part.

Knew a bunch of two wheelers that are no longer with us. Sometimes the greatest protection against road rash is having 4 wheels and a cage. Glad to hear she's alive to talk about it.

Wow, that is a helluva story!

Personally, and I certainly don't say this to be mean, I think she's stupid to get back on one.
I haven't ridden a bike in over 25 years or since I became old enough to cease being immortal. I consider myself fortunate to have survived those days. In no way do I miss it or have any desire to ever get back on a motorcycle. Everyone makes mistakes whether it be you or the other guy. The margin for error is just way too thin for me.

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I agree w/ Tommy. I can count on two hands the friends I lost/got serious hurt on motorcycles. Were I live, many people have them, and people ask me why I don't get one. After what I have seen and been thru, I would never own one.

If you have a motorcycle, you will get hurt. Simple.

I've had bikes since I was about 12. I can't believe how stupid I was. I used to work as a lifeguard on the beach in NJ. I would go to work in my bathing suit on my bike. Serious...no shoes, no shirt, no nothin, a bathing suit, oh and a helmet.

I consider myself lucky I'm still alive. It was 9 miles each way from my beach to my house.

I got the Corvette in lieu of a motorcycle. I've had both for years. I figure the Vette was safer.

That's a great story. Should be required reading before getting on a bike.

That story has been around the block. The title of this thread should be "why you should not be an idiot".

It was basically a result of her own stupidity and inexperience. In fact, I would guess most motorcycle-related injuries are caused by that. You can spend all damn day on safety equipment, but it will never compensate for poor judgement. It's always the people that are least likely to have the right gear are the most likely to need it.

It's just as much the fault of the rider too. A passenger that doesn't have a clue can just as easily cause the rider to crash. Motorcycle riding is a passenger-participation activity, they don't just sit there and look at the scenery. I've ridden bitch before, and it's damn scary. I think every rider should do that just so they know exactly what their passengers are in for.

Quote:I disagree, if you ride DUMB you will get hurt. She rode dumb, she got hurt. My brother recently got into a accident and guess what, he tried to take a turn like you would on a sport bike but he was riding a cruser. The foot peg grabbed asphalt and he ate it. He also was not wearing anything to protect him. He was not that badly skinned up but it was still bad enough to total the bike.
I had 2 bikes in my past and never got hurt on either of them. I dont plan on getting hurt on mine either. And I know about the whole its not allways your fault thing but I figure this, I can just as easily die in a corvette then on a bike. Hell you can die in a volvo, if its your time its your time. I wont put myself in danger by riding dumb, pushing limits of my bike. Thats not me, I ride safe yet I catch all the BS because of the stupid riders. Because of them I have to take a motorcycle safty course, not a bad idea and I have no problem with that. The bigest thing I have a problem with is wearing a reflective belt and over the heel boots wither I leasure ride or ride on post. Why do I think thats dumb? Cause the reflective belt does not make you much more visable unless your strictly wearing black. The boots are dumb because if your wearing a tough shoe it will protect your feet just as well. Anyway, the army is allways stepping up its program for ridders adding more BS everyday. Next is a sport bike riders course that is MANDITORY for sport bike riders alone. The harley guys dont have to take the course. Its profiling, singling out what ever you want to call it IMO its wrong! If I got a few years experience and I have to go through the same crap as a guy who just started to ride just because we ride the same kind of bike while another guy who just started is riding a harley but can certainly ride just as bad as the other new rider. GRRRRRRR. Makes me mad!

Girls looks great riding in a bikini or tank top.

but if you actually care about her, you'll want her protected.

red, I do think the Army should do what it can to educate riders on safety, because I hate to think there's people out there that want to be safe but simply don't realize what that entails.

But it's stupid to think they can force these people to do what's best for themselves, and as you said, they don't always know what's best. I don't see the big deal with letting motorcycle riders be stupid, it's not as if they're killing a minivan full of kids when they crash.

I think helmet and seat belt laws are dumb too. But I still choose to wear em.

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Dumb assumes you're given the facts and do something stupid.

I chalk this up as a case of youthful ignorance.

Who among us hasn't participated in youthful ignorance. We all thought we were invincible at some point.

I know too many dead people who had bikes, if you think you'll never get hurt on one, you are exhibiting the same ignorance.

One guy I know was sitting at a light, got smacked and dragged blocks by a van.

Another put his daughter on the back, rode to the corner and back, no helmet. Idiot went through a stop sign.

I had the good fortune of having dirt bikes as a kid. When you hear your helmet scraping across the dirt, you realize what can happen in the street.

Still didn't keep me from being stupid. Helmet, and shorts isn't protection.

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I agree, it does sound like she didn't know any better, as amazing as that may seem. I guess she must have thought riders wore leathers just because it looks cool. The rider on the other hand, probably did know better, but he was wearing a t-shirt. Yeah, we're all hypocrites to an extent, and I don't think she's trying to justify her stupidity at all, just trying to help others learn from her mistake.

I'm way more likely to die on my bike than in a car, I won't argue that, I'm not strapped into a steel cage. But I still think the chances are relatively small and mostly dictated by how I choose to ride. It's a different mentality than driving a car, just obeying the rules of the road isn't good enough to keep you safe.

Quote:You obvoiusly did not read my post. I covered the other guys fault, if you were in a car and a dumbass ran a light you can get killed just as easy. You can substain more damage in a car but if its your time. Ignorance is when you dont know all the info, knowledge, education, or awareness. Anyone who has a licence to ride HAS the education or awareness. So they are just being dumb or stupid. I was stupid many times as a kid but thats part of learning by experience. I dont concider not having a accident on my bike being lucky though. I know many guys who have ridden for years without accident. Not trying to argue here cept for the fact that just because you ride does not mean you are going to get into a accident.

Here is the link to the full article.
http://www.webbikeworld.com/Motorcycl ... e-accident-statistics.htm

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It's not you, it's not the bike, it's the other idiots on the road.

Way too many people on the road here to have a bike anymore. It's all I drove for nearly 10 years...

Too many good people are dead through no fault of their own, and no fault of the bike.

I think if she can make an example of herself and someone listens, it's worth the story.

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Even less people die in plane crashes.

Quote:Very true. Dunno why the picture wont work here but if you go to that site it shows the rate of deaths. Most recent was 5 billion riders and 4,000 deaths.

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It says that about 50% of the fatalaties were not wearing a helmet. I wonder how many of them would have survived otherwise.

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the only part I disagreed with is that she was riding stupid.

I think it was riding ignorant, not stupid.

That's all I was saying.

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Riding a bike without a helmet is just stupid. I know, I know...blah blah blah

Darwinism isn't a bad thing. Some guy I used to work with tried to convince me that helmets were MORE dangerous than without one.

Where do people get this stuff?

well im sorry to hear about her misfortune. i my self have been riding on 2 wheels for 45 years. ive logged close to 200,000 miles with no wrecks. i had a couple of close calls due to either my not paying attention or some cager not paying attention. ive been all over the country on em and seen some beutiful sights. but after my last close call back in 70 on a kaw 500. i changed my style of thinking and paid more attention to riding and not trying to look cock. the rules are simple pay attention to every thing around you and you will survive. dont and you will get hurt. also respect the bike never think you have full control of it cause when you do it will get you. i always wear good boots that goe up over the ankle and levis and a leather jacket dont care how hot it is out

I take back that comment I made a while back about wanting a motorcycle.....

yuck.

The problem with riding a bike: no matter how hard you try to be safe, random selection is your worst enemy.

I hope she recovers ok... but it won't be an easy road.

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I was going to make a couple of points, but I think you already covered them. As I read your post I found myself agreeing with everything you said; well put might I add.

Unfortunately there is no way to control accidents... those that mentioned that they follow the rules of the road and as such will never find themselves on the pavement are ignorant. Accidents wouldn't be called accidents if they didn't happen by accident; they would be called "on purposes."

My father recently lost a friend. He was riding to work on his Harley, wearing a DOT approved helmet, full leather dress, and was doing 5 under the speed limit. He was murdered by a drunk that hit him, who them pulled over, dragged his lifeless body out of the road, and then left him to die (and drove away).

I gave the bike up after my first semester of college some years ago. After I realized that I had found a decent girl, and had made it far enough in life that I wanted to continue living I opted to give the bike up. I miss it from time to time; I had been riding since I was 9. We used to run for the cops on our little street bikes (mini-bikes); oh,.. good times.

Now I have the Impala, the Monte, and the Vette. No mistaking the fact that I could be killed in either at anytime, especially how I drive, and even moreso considering how people around me drive, but I keep my fingers crossed, and I feel comfort in knowing I may have reduced my chances, even if only slightly.

I was sick a couple months back as some of you may know. I was sick for a month, and off my feet for two. I had a really bad infection, and was swolen from head to toe. Lots of pain killers, lots of misery. I wanted to give up. Its amazing how she pulled through. I find the story very inspirational and gutzy that shes getting back on the bike.

DG

Again I have to disagree. MOST accidents can be avoided and they SHOULD be concidered on purpose. For instance butt holes on their cell phones, they are WORSE then drunk drivers!! Then you go into the texting feild and those people are like drunk drivers on crack! My point is alot of accidents can be avoided and if you pay attention to the road and around you 99% of the time you WILL be safe. Its IGNORANCE to think otherwise! Simply put, you dont have the education on accident avoidance and the stats to support your claims. I proved my claims and that people, is NOT ignorance. Yes there will be flukes but they are so rare its insane. Its like saying I have the same chances of getting hit by a falling peice of slate glass at a construction site. Ok, maybe not that extreme but I figure I have less than a 1% chance of getting into a accident that could kill. And I hate to say it but just because you know a guy who died does not mean that all riders are subject to the same fate even if you known several to die. It might have been how they road and their stupidity. I think I made my point and will leave it at that.

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That'll do it.

Damn, I want a bike again.

Every time I threw a leg over, I knew I was about to engage in a risky activity. Like I've said before, it's all about your level of acceptable risk. I personally feel more alive when I do something that scares me a little.

If you take the MSF course, ride sober, wear full gear, and pay close attention to the idiots around you, the only thing that will take you out is a freak accident. They do happen, but we've all seen the videos of the guy standing on the street corner being wiped out by a car.

Life is for living, brothers and sisters!


But motorcycles are not for everyone. If you don't think you can handle it, do us both a favor, and stay off. Nothing wrong with that.

Yeah what he said. Hope I did not offend anyone with my prior post.

If someone chooses not to ride, that's fine. But they need to stop trying to convince me that anyone who does ride is crazy.

I don't like mushrooms on my pizza, but if you do, more power to you.

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In that situation I would've took the MSF course with her and got her on a bike too!

In reading all this, I notice one thing that's keeps getting missed - this was the RIDER's fault, not the passengers.

Now, before I get flamed - it might be good to know that I've spent the last 30 years almost exclusively on bikes - I have a car, it's used for large grocery trips and trips to home depot. It's raining today, and I rode in (just like every other day). And over the years, I've clocked over 300k miles (all over the US, Canada and Mexico). So I know a bit about being on a bike, riding with a passenger and equipment usage.

This is NOT about her not wearing the correct gear. She could have been buttoned up in a suit of armor and she'd still be screwed (just not as bad) - it all about a rider that's trying to impress some chick by going to fast on a bike that has no reason to be on the street.

I have never owned (and never will own) a "sport" bike. If someone needs to go that fast, then leather up and hit the track - you don't need to be in traffic. Secondly, "sport" bikes aren't really made for a passenger - it's an afterthought at best. The aerodynamics of the bike negates the passenger. The rider is fine, but the passenger sits too damn high and the wind drag on the passenger causes problems like this.

Now, onto the real culprit - the idiot owner of the bike.

"Hey cutie, wanna ride?", the ultimate pickup line of the mentally challenged male with a bike that has far too much power for him to handle and nowhere near enough brains to know what to do with it.

As the rider, it's HIS responsibility to make sure that the ride is a safe and sane experience - he did not.

He should have realized that she was wearing a helmet that didn't fit and questionable clothing and made adjustments - he did not.

He should have realized that the passenger was having problems and stopped to find out what was up (she notes that she was shifting hand positions during the ride), he did not.

He should have felt the passenger slipping back and seperating from him (as she mentions in her text), he did not.

What did he do? Accelerated.

I realize that her being in Capri jeans, a sweatshirt and a loose helmet isn't much, but to do the damage documented she either landed on some of the worst asphalt in the US or he was hauling ass. A 40mph drop wouldn't have caused that much damage. Broken bones and a good scrape, but not the hide removal she went thru.

The unfortunate thing is that any kid that can pay for it can get any bike of any size and is not required to prove that they even know how to ride.

A lerners permit, proof of insurance and some cash and you get a bike.

Personally, I'd like to see laws that make sure and kid under 18 can't get a bike bigger than 350cc (they can get into enough trouble at that size).

For instance, here in Ca - you can but any bike you want - and size and when you want.

When you show up for your riding test, you can use a buddies 125, do the test and go home, all licencesed and legal, to your paper plate 9000000000cc anti-matter powered super bike (you know, the new one that bends space/time, but the color's look cool so that's why you got it) - you have NO idea the power, and you're more than likely to press the hyperspace button by accident and suddenly you and the busload of Nun's next to you are sucked off into a parallel universe. But you passed the driving test, right? You're licensed, right?

My point is that it's the responsibility of the rider to do his (or her) best to ensure the safety of their passenger.

Quote:

To tell you the truth, I miss it from time to time, but I like the vette 1000X better. Its like a drug addiction; I never really felt that way on a bike.

DG

I read the whole post, (I don't usually hang with long posts).

I admire this woman's spirit and courage. Taking shots at her for being dumb are cheap shots. She knows she was dumb. She's trying to help others, relating a very painful story.

If she wants to climb back on a bike, she's earned that right. It's her life, and she battled back from near death. I would never make that choice, but if that's what her desire is, where her passion lies, who can judge that?

A compelling story that deserves to be read.
God Bless her.