A friend of mine sent me this.  His cousin is a motorcycle racer.  He sent this to my friend not long ago:


Warning: Graphic Content…
It's official: I suck and blow!
My ex wife, Janice, was a large animal veterinarian. Many years ago we lived in London Ontario and she practiced from a small clinic west of the city. When she was on call I would sometimes go with her. Especially late at night in the winter when the roads where bad. I had this ability to get up in the middle of the night and go back to sleep rather easily. In fact I sort of liked waking and sleeping. I don’t know why. One night around 3am she was called to a farm for a dog attack on some goats. It was a farm she had never been to and it was cold and blowing outside so she asked me to go with her. South western Ontario can be quite desolate at times. It was February and deep into the night with high winds and drifting on the roads. And, it was cold. To my recollection the common directions from the farmer were. “Meet me at the barn by the light”. That single light bulb over the door was the only light I could see, save for the glow around the door frame coming from inside. Snow blowing around the door in tiny drifts.
The barn was old and the basement stalls low, tight and confined. It was not too comforting to see the suspect dog in the stall beside us, still rather intent on getting at that goats. We were safe but it made for an intense hour or so. It was so cold the instruments were freezing to the tray. Most of the goats were okay but for a few cuts and gashes that could easily be fixed up. There was one goat however that had a few large deep cuts running down the length and sides of its spine. Blood was bubbling up and around the wounds. The dog had grabbed the goat by the back and went at him.
I remember Janice telling me that the biggest concern was a punctured lung. The lung could collapse or pump up the chest cavity with air and prevent the lung from filling up. Suffocating the goat. Whenever you see bubbles it means something bad. In this case it turned out to be air getting sucked in the wound and pushed back out. The lungs were okay.
A road racing high side is a strange and beautiful thing. It is also violent and most times damaging, to man and machine. From the outside it looks rather chaotic and it is. But there is an elegance to it that can only be appreciated if you slow it down and stretch it out. The nearest I can describe it is like a bull whip. The large smooth arching flow of the end of the whip while all that energy is being coiled up and compressed. Serpentine silent circles through the air. Everything fighting and coiling in silence to that last moment when everything stops and all that energy is released. Bamm!
I had got my first pole of the year last weekend. Starting P1 with our group is not a huge advantage but it is mentally and I was excited to qualify fastest of all. The first race unfolded much like the previous race weekends. The lead being swapped by all of us and the finishing order being Matthias then me second and Gunter third. We were all within a second so the racing was close. There are a lot of places to pass here but few to stretch out a lead and provide a cushion. The second race I led into the first turn but was promptly passed by Gunter and Matthias. For some reason my new tires were chattering like crazy front and back. I decided to settle in and see what happened with the tires while keeping an eye on the guys at the front. It proved to be the best choice. My tires came in and I could manage the distance quite well. I crept up on Matze and Gunter and got within striking distance waiting for either of them to make a mistake and I would make my move.
Matze missed a shift and got blocked by some back markers and I passed. Within that lap I had caught Gunter and he went just wide enough on a turn for me to duck inside and make the pass. I knew they would be close to me so I wanted to really push and make a tiny cushion for the last few laps. It was mesmerizing and fun and crazy. We all lowered our lap times to some very impressive numbers. I felt great and the bike was perfect.
The last turn of the track, leading onto the main start finish straight is a tight decreasing radius, 90 degree turn that rises at the exit. The rise at the exit provides good wheelies down the straight but it also makes the rear of the bike quite light on exit. Right when you are on full throttle. It is notorious for kicking riders off and we had even discussed it previously that weekend. Gunter rather ominously telling me… All of the crashes at that turn are hard crashes…
I thought I could save it and almost did. It came back for a second but then… bamm! Sometimes in a crash you can hear and feel everything. Almost like you are on an amusement park ride. Then sometimes it happens so fast that when you stop sliding you think…. what happened? This time it was super silent and I could feel the back going… Like in Quadraphenia when Daltry is singing… “Can you see the real me? Can you? Can YOU!? Then all hell breaks loose. Then the crunching of metal on asphalt and grinding noises. I flew through the air and landed with one of the hardest hits I have ever had. Square on my lower back. When I stopped rolling I could see the bike on its side laying on the track. Which meant I was on the track. I knew Gunter and Matze would be right behind me so I cringed and tightened up thinking they were going to plow into me. When they didn’t I crawled over to the side of the track just then noticing I had knocked the wind out of myself. That was okay as it has happened to me before so I just waited on my hands a knees for it to come back to me. Through my visor the sun shone on the little round bits of gravel at the edge of the track. I remember it being quite bright. My first thought was man I am really sweating. But then I could see tiny red drops splattering on the gravel in the sun. Then more.
I still hadn’t quite figured it out but things moved quickly from there. I could feel and hear gurgling in my right lung and my lower right back hurt like crazy. I was coughing up blood in my helmet and finding it harder and harder to breath as my chest started to fill up. It was at that moment that I remembered the barn and the goats and the dog. Funny that. Looking at the gravel on my hands and knees, in Germany… Little bubbles on the back of a goat.
I motioned for the corner worker to come over, I sat up on my knees and tried to relax. I said to myself… okay, calm down and slow down your breathing. Then I thought if I pass out they better get here quick. Then I thought… okay just relax, calm down, slow breathing. I realized my left lung was okay but wasn’t sure exactly what would happen. Okay just relax, calm down, slow breathing.
At this point my helmet was off and I’m sure I looked like some crazy ass zombie as my face, chin and chest were covered in blood. They put me into a neck brace, strapped an inflatable cocoon around me and trucked me to the track medical centre. Track medical centres are cool places in a strange way. No one wants to go there but they are filled with passionate medical teams that love motorsport. So no pushback and sideways glances when you tell them… I fell off a motorcycle, while racing.
I remember thinking about the race and the last few laps. Then the laps after I crashed and what I could have done to keep the guys behind me. What I would do if they passed me and how to get the win. Maybe a little faster into the turns… yes that’s right. Faster in means you can be a little lighter on the exit and minimize the high side as your tires get worn out. Maybe, if I point a little more inside the apex and let the rear be a little more loose then I could… I could… I kind of laughed at myself. I was still thinking about how to and next time and what if while staring at the ceiling of the medical centre while five people clamoured around me.
Imagine, I'm strapped down and can barely move a finger. I have an oxygen mask on and I'm in my underwear. I'm laying in the inflatable cocoon in a metal basket and I can only move my eyes. In comes Stephan to see how I am. He starts talking to the doctor then stops, looks down at me and says. “I know this guy for 20 years”. Laughing away the two of them. Well I guess I’ll be okay… From my vantage point I vaguely make out Katrin standing at the door and my friends Wanda and Jeff. I think I did the obligatory wave… you know the one. When they stretcher the player off and he raises his hand to the crowd to say…”I’m good. I’ll be back” to the rapturous roar and delight of the fans… Ha, not quite but it was comforting to see them despite me worrying I had ruined their day.
From there it was to a nice local hospital and a few days in the ICU. Not as much damage as suspected but serious enough. No bones they said. The rib was okay. I went home, woke up the next day, coughed up blood and my rib popped. My body said enough is enough and I passed out on the bathroom floor naked. Jeff was the lucky guy to find me and I'm glad he speaks German. He was beside himself but managed to take care of it all and get me an ambulance. A new hospital and some more work… a little worse than we thought and yes.. the rib is now officially broken. Stephan made a few calls to our G-Team Doctor friends and I was transferred to a third hospital where I would see a lung specialist to determine what to do.
I often wonder if there are specific interior designers for hospital ceilings. It makes sense as it is the one place most patients look at in the hospital. To make them feel better perhaps? Or less scared? The metal tiles, the foam tiles, the perforated textures. Those nice stainless Philips countersunk screws and Torx screws. As you listen to the swishing of peoples pants and clip of shoes. Random anonymous voices in the distance. The slight vibration of and rhythmic soft thunk of the wheels on the floor. The ceiling lights coming and going. Bright and then not and then bright and then not. It's a quiet and lonely little world.
The prognosis is good. The lung was damaged only on the inside so no punctures. There was a lot of blood so - antibiotics - breathing exercises and rest. The rib and lung should be good to begin some training in two weeks. Apparently lungs heal quickly. Then we decide on the rest of the seasons races.
But man I’m sore and please don’t let me sneeze.
Want to add a heartfelt thanks to the super pro corner workers and medical crew. From start to finish they were awesome. Thanks to the track medical team as well.

Yes, sometimes we are just lucky to come out in one piece. I have had one more instance where everything seemed to be happening in slow motion.
Frank