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THE RIDE THAT CHANGED MY LIFE

Courtesy of The Michigan Mountain Biking Assosiaction's Bent Rim Bugle Story by H. David Haddock

This is the story of what happened to a fellow mountain biker and how it changed my life. I wrote this Sunday evening after the incident and wanted to share it with all my fellow riders at MMBA but was torn between what could seem like tooting my own horn and what ever value it might offer. I am now at the point where it has been long enough that I would like to share the details with all my new MTB family here in Michigan.

I was riding Maybury this morning, July 1st, the usual light crowd for a Sunday morning. I passed a couple of German speaking guys on my way in and watched them pass me as I stopped to adjust the seat on my new Kona creation. After saying hi to a large group just coming out ("watch out for the downed tree near the end") I set my stop watch and took off.

I passed the German dudes at about mile 1 and then at mile 2 I stopped to have a drink and catch my breath. They passed me again, as we passed good mornings and "beautiful day" observations between us.

I once more passed them on another climb and pretty much left them behind as I hit the fast section just before the split for the Winter loop.

As I got to that split off where the main takes a left and the Winter loop goes up hill I stopped again to get my heartrate down and have a drink. I noted a new rider coming down the Winter loop in the wrong direction and said good morning to him as he looked at the next section (heading towards the main loop in the correct direction) and said to himself "oh boy..." in a serious voice…

I didn't really think on it then but ever since this morning the details have rushed in to fill in the whole story. He was riding a decent entry level bike but his helmet was one of those bargain brand types, or so it appeared to me and I thought him to be a beginner like me or maybe even newer to the sport. As I was ready to hit it when he arrived, I decided to allow him a two minute lead as I know the next short section before the last rock garden was going to be fast and fun.

After two minutes I took off and had a blast letting my new fully rigid Kona take the bumps as I flew down to the rock garden and took the easy route (fully rigid... remember?) around the rocks and there on the ground was the guy I just saw, still tangled up in his red bike.

I'll never forget his face and his voice, so small and meek a voice coming out of such a large man... "Please help me. It's serious. I can't feel anything..."

I got off my bike and noted his helmet was laying next to him. Completely crushed right down the middle, with a split in the remainder of the rear styrofoam, I knew he hit hard. I untangled his legs from the bike, shoved it out of the way and straightened out his torso with emphasis on his neck and head. As he was wearing a backpack, I used the mangled helmet as a prop to neutralize his neck until someone else could come along.

He told me his name but could not answer basic questions I was taught to use back in Tennessee when I was a Volunteer firefighter and medical first responder. I took my eyes off of him to get out my cell phone and dial 911. I lost them the first call but then my phone went into roam and I locked on for what turned into a 17 minute call. As I was giving them the info one of the two German dudes rode up. "Nuno". Pronounced like Juneau Alaska...Anyways, as I was answering a question to the 911 tech, I saw Matt go out. Just like a switch shutting off. His eyes were still open but I realized he wasn't breathing. Zero pulse and when I listened, no heart beat at all. His eyes dilated and fixed, then his body started primal breathing like I learned a long time ago where the brain still reads the high CO2 levels and tells the diaphragm to move to inhale fresh air. I measured them for 15 seconds... 2 and a half breaths. Ok, 10 per minute. Ouch. Nuno helped me unprop his head and do a body roll so we could get his pack off his back. I start chest compressions but didn’t mess with his airway since getting the blood moving was more important at that point. The machine was breathing a little bit on it's own. Do no more harm. Do no more harm. That kept repeating itself like a mantra in my head…

I did 4 sets of compressions and his heart started beating somewhere in those last sets. 40 bpm. I don't mean to get all factual but these memories are just flooding out of me and since I am not a diary keeper I gotta type it out somewhere. Might as well be here so we can all learn from it.

The human things, the life items that were happening are what I remember most. His fingers going from cold and blue to warm and red. His hands before the fingers going from yellow and cold to pink and warm again. Next thing I know Nuno is telling me he is looking at me... I look into his eyes and he is responding to the voices. Great sign!

By now Chuck on a white Specialized pulls up and Nuno's partner "Paolo" and our crash-friend is almost lucid again. We get his phone number out of him after a few attempts of scrambled numbers and Chuck calls his wife for him. The 911 tech tells me they are almost there...

This is all in like.... minutes. Maybe even seconds…

The wait for the medics is long and excruciating for me. I keep thinking of the "golden hour" that I was taught for trauma victims to receive advanced care but our new freind actually helps lighten the mood with his kind voice and obviously big heart. As he becomes more lucid, he keeps asking us to touch various parts of his body so he can see if he feels anything. At each failed attempt he says "that's not good" but he is so upbeat and likable. I teased him a bit and really felt a loss when the real medics arrived and took over. Does that sound weird? I wanted to give him a hug and tell him all would be well.

The trip out the last mile of trail was an epic in itself with 7 or 8 riders and 6 medics all taking turns carrying the backboarded fellow out. Man is he big. Must be 6 foot 6 and 250 pounds.

We used our bikes as pack mules for all the medical gear and bags and finally made it out one hour and 17 minutes or so from the time I found him.

I still don't know what caused the crash. Maybe he hit that big rock where the easy and hard trails converge after the rock garden and did an endo. He must have been going fast the way that helmet was destroyed. I felt a sort of shock afterwards myself. Saying goodbye to all the great folks that helped. Watching the chopper lift off and what must have been Matt’s wife leave in her minivan.

Driving home. Telling my wife about it. Working on my little boat. It all keeps coming back in a warm and weird way. I feel so small tonight. Like a tiny spark among millions of tiny sparks. I'm so glad we were all there together to help him out of there. Maybe it's best to ride with others? Or at least have a working cell phone with you when going solo? I thank the gods of fate that I learned the things I learned back in the 90's down in Tennessee. What a rush of panic it was! What a feeling of warmth tonight!

Mountain bikers are a special bunch. That's what I learned today for sure. I remember at least two of the guys actually giving me reassurances that I was doing fine when all was happening and I would look up at the faces of those around us. Paolo and others riding ahead to guide in the medics. Chucks kind look. The elite racer that flew in and then took off to help guide.

I could type all night not knowing how to wrap this up but I won't. I'll just end with a big thanks to my fellow riders and hope that our new friend will be all right.

Post Script:

Matt is paralyzed from the upper chest down but remarkable things are happening. He can flex his hand muscles and move his fingers a fractional amount. When he attempts to curl his toes they can feel the muscles slightly moving. These are miraculous signs for someone that crushed C3 through C5… Matt extended his thanks to me for all those that helped him that day and to all those who pray or meditate or just wish healing thoughts his way.

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