photo: Harookz www.harookz.com

          I have been riding mountain bikes for over ten years now. I first fell in love with the sport in the sixth grade, when i was eleven. Since then I have been very fortunate to only have three major injuries, and compared to most accounts they were minor. When I was seventeen, I landed with my foot out in a really awkward position. The force of the landing went straight up my leg and into my straightened left knee. My knee did not bend like it was supposed to, and it took all the force, instead of absorbing it. The pain was instantaneous, I knew I had done something terrible right away. Within ten minutes my knee had transformed from a boney structure into a gelatinous piece of flesh that extended from my calf all the way into my thigh. Flexing it was out of the question, if was seemingly locked in a straight position due to the swelling and whatever damage I had caused. I ended up at ER, and there, they could not for the life of them, figure out what I had done. The swelling was much too immense for them to determine anything. I was scheduled for an MRI immediately, seeing as our medical system is so backed up, that immediate MRI was three months away. After a month, my mother and I determined that a private MRI was relatively inexpensive, and quickly booked one. After forty five minutes of laying inside a tube with my unbendable leg, forced to a thirty degree angle, they decided that they had a good enough image. I met with a specialist the next day who informed me that I had somehow managed to bruise the end of my femur severely. He was surprised that all the essential bits and pieces of my knee were unscathed after such an impact. Fast forward two more months and twenty five physiotherapy sessions later, and I was back on my bike.

           In the next four years, not a single injury forced me off the bike, minus a couple weeks where I had mono. That Iron-man streak came to an end last June, where on a trip to Oregon, I dislocated my left elbow. Up until this point I had never experience a dislocation, or a broken bone. I had hit a small hip jump, where I got tossed awkwardly, and ended up washing out on the landing, I ended up sprawling on the ground, arms straight out, with my elbows locked. The force went through my arm, and into my elbow. This force was enough to rip the joint completely apart. Now at this point it did not hurt, there was just a dull feeling of uncomfortable strain in my arm, looking at it, on the other hand, was horrific, there was about two inches of arm on the wrong side of my elbow. Add to this, a “medic” lady barking in my ear that I need to sit still because I have apparently broken my collarbone, and I was stressing. The event organizer ( I was at a Jam fundraiser for some local trails ) decided he had had enough of the ill-informed medic who was incorrectly diagnosing my dislocated elbow, as a broken collarbone, and threw me into his truck, promptly dropping me off at the local clinic. At this point, the dull feeling in my elbow had turned to an throbbing ache as the shock wore off. My one friend who was comforting me, decided that he was a pussy and could not handle the sight of my mangled elbow, he quickly abandoned me for the waiting room. Next, came my first taste of morphine; that was certainly interesting. The pain had subsided, and was quickly replaced with a feeling of comfort. They then took some x-rays to make sure that I had not caused any internal damage to the bones, all of which came up negative at this point.

          This was good because it fast tracked me to the next step where the two elderly nurses treating me, tied my shoulder to the headboard of the bed, and proceeded to play tug-of-war on my arm until it clicked into place. When they were satisfied that It was back in place, they sent me back to radiology, where they had me straighten my arm, which had been at a right angle for the last fifteen minutes after they had put it in place. As i slowly straightened it, to my horror, I saw my elbow once again pop apart. Back to the room where the two nurses proceeded to punish my poor arm with tactics that Im sure any dominatrix would have been proud of. I on the other hand was not amused. This process of tug of war to x-ray to re-seperating my elbow was repeated twice more, until it was decided that the tendons were much to tense to allow my elbow to go back into place easily. To remedy the tension that my tendons were under, they hooked me up to an IV, in which they administered a muscle relaxant. Within fifteen minutes my whole left side was in a state of groggy-ness. At this point a much younger male Doctor came into the room to supervise the two elderly nurses. They went back to their standard tie my arm to the bed, as they pull on my arm. The doctor quickly stopped them and informed them that they were doing it incorrectly, and with one quick turn and tug of my wrist, popped my elbow back into place. I was much relieved, and with the next set of x-rays, came the joyous result of my elbow being in one piece once again. They stabilized my arm with a half cast, and wrapped it tightly, Informing me that I could not remove the wrap for 3 weeks. I then had to drive home from Bend Oregon with one hand, in my standard truck, due to my pussy friend being irresponsible and not getting his drivers license until he was twenty. My arm took about two months to get to about ninety percent, and then another two months to get one hundred percent. At this point I should have spent a lot more time in the gym, like I had after my knee injury.

          It has been about fifteen months since this happened, and this passed Tuesday I was shooting a video with Darcy and Jonathan from Ant Hill films for my main sponsor Knolly Bikes. I was feeling very confident, riding a line that I had created specifically for this web video. The line started out with a jump to a ladder, that actually was much older, and I had resurrected, this then lead into a squirrel catcher. This particular stunt is much easier then it looks, and is designed to scare off riders who are not as confident, thus potentially averting a much bigger crash on one of the harder stunts that awaits further down the line. I hit said stunt a couple times comfortably without much though. I went back up, and coasted in, at this point I was thinking about the stunt that was coming up next, and did not brake nearly enough going into my “squirrel catcher,” I ended up going over the bars at high speed, I was launched straight towards the ground with my arms extended in front of me. I bounced off my hands and all the way to my feet in what I thought must have looked somewhat intentional. The thought that I had somehow managed to escape such a high speed crash quickly escaped my mind as that familiar feeling of my elbow being in an uncomfortable position came back almost instantly. I looked down and of course to my horror, It had dislocated once again. This time though, I quickly moved my arm in the same fashion that the doctor in Oregon had moved my wrist, and to my surprise my elbow put itself back together. Although I knew that my shoot, and season, were both over, I was relieved that I was not going to spend another three hours at the hospital all drugged out with my arm being tugged on like a rope. I now sit here in a sling typing at ten words per minutes with my right hand only, reflecting on how fast something that is so fun can turn to pain and anguish instantaneously. I have a lot of friends who have done much worse, and more permanent damage then myself. These people are the people who motivate me, watching them work so hard to get back to doing something that they cannot let go. Im not looking forward to the next month or so, waiting for the swelling to leave, and the movement in my elbow to return, the rehab and the physio. Eventually though, I’ll be back on two wheels, doing what I love.

Shit happens. And I’m knocking on a piece of wood as I type this.