It was seven years ago that Johnny and I rode our motorcycles to Sturgis, South Dakota for Bike Week. Johnny has been a bellman for over 42 years at the hotel where I work. When I was hired in 1997, Johnny and I instantly became friends—partly because of our similar Irish last names and partly due to our love for motorcycles.
We referred to our trip as "2001: A Sturgis Odyssey." In addition to both of us being Irish and loving motorcycles, we're also fans of Stanley Kubrick films. If we go to Bike Week in Florida in a few years, no doubt our trip will be known as "2010: The Year We Make Daytona."
Some twenty-odd years ago Johnny was in a bad car accident. He had been camping in Utah and was driving his Jeep CJ5 down a winding mountain road late at night. The CJ5 was notoriously known for rolling-over with only the slightest over-correction from the driver—and that was something Johnny didn't know at the time. Approaching a curve too fast, the Jeep flipped. It went off the road and over the edge, throwing Johnny and all his camping gear down the hillside.
He broke his neck. And collar bone. And ribs. There was a lot of blood too.
The worse part, besides breaking his neck, was nobody saw the accident happen. He vanished from the road with barely a trace. While fading in and out of consciousness, Johnny could hear cars passing on the road above, driving by without a hint of someone stopping. He told me his worst fear was not dying—he had already accepted that as inevitable. No, his worst fear was having a coyote smell his blood and then find him. He feared, in his own words, "that a wild animal would chomp on my brain before I died." Egads.
But help did arrive. A man driving down the mountain saw Johnny's red Coleman cooler on the side of the road and thought it was rather peculiar. Pulling over, he saw freshly scattered gravel. Looking down the hillside he saw the wreck of the CJ5 and a lifeless body.
Johnny was air-lifted to a nearby hospital. The doctors took one look at him and said there was nothing they could do—he needed to be flown to Carson City. He spent months in traction at the hospital. Six-months after his release, he was still wearing a halo-brace mounted on his shoulders, the bolts screwed into his skull, keeping his neck straight.
Johnny did make a full recovery though—at least physically. The ordeal definitely changed Johnny's outlook on life however. He now tends to see beauty in everything, and he cherishes, questions and argues all that is around him. You can't rush him. He's soft spoken and very articulate. For those who knew him prior, they say he wasn't like this before the accident. He once told me, shortly after we met, "If you don't stop and smell the roses, the roses will end up on you." Very true my biker brother, very true.
Greg J., the man who found Johnny that late night on the mountain, now lives in Seattle. Johnny doesn't remember him from the night of the accident, but still makes it a priority to keep in touch with him. Over the years, he's talked with Greg on the phone—thanking him a hundred-times over. They exchange Christmas cards. Johnny has invited Greg and his wife to Las Vegas—to stay as his guest at Caesars—but Greg, although thankful, always declines.
So it was seven years ago, with these thoughts in mind, that we found ourselves leaving Sturgis a few days early to head back to Las Vegas—but not before taking a detour. It would be a detour that would take us 1000 miles out of our way and westward to Seattle. You see, Johnny had gotten word that Greg had accepted an overseas job offer, and would be in Abu Dhabi—in the United Arab Emirates, for the next three years. And Greg was leaving in 4 days.
We rode our bikes across Big Sky Country, also known as Montana. It's a strange phenomenon, but you really do feel closer to heaven in Montana. Between the cities of Great Falls and Missoula, we rambled along Highway 200, the most beautiful stretch of state highway I've ever been on. We crossed the panhandle of Idaho and wound down the Cascade Mountains toward the Pacific. We cruised through downtown Seattle and rode directly to the Marina on Puget Sound where we met Greg and his wife, Delanie, for lunch.
I don't remember much about that afternoon, I just know it was all about Johnny and Greg. We laughed a lot, even when talking about Johnny's accident. I'm glad they finally got to meet. I think it gave Johnny a sense of closure, and for Greg, well, I think he was surprised at how fabulously well he got along with a couple of road-rashed bikers from Las Vegas.
The next day Johnny and I left Seattle, and Greg for his new job in the Middle East. The events of September 11th were less than a month away, but at the time, as Johnny and I rode down the Pacific Coast Highway with Seattle in our rear view mirrors, everything was right with the world.
FiN.
