An interesting happenstance: while attending a BRASS meeting (Baton Rouge Advocates for Safe Streets), we got word that the Governor has signed the Dr. Colin Goodier Bicycle Protection Act into law. It requires motorists to pass cyclists at a safe distance. Very important provisions for promoting public- awareness and education of cyclists and motorists are also included.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
Louisiana Bike Fest
What a mix of weird and wonderful! Bikes of all sorts were at Abita Springs for the Louisiana Bicycle Festival. Maybe I can get over there sometime, and ride on the Tammany Trace. I got a glimpse of it when we crossed; it's one of those Rails- to- Trails projects. The Trace runs from Slidell to Covington.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Bud’s Big Adventure: revisited by popular demand
Well, the big day finally came. Friday, October 1, 2004 was the opener for the archery deer season. I had arranged leave on Friday and Monday, for a 4- day weekend of hunting. I camped the Thursday night, then left my gear in the truck and headed out at first light, to hunt on foot. I would pick out a campsite in the woods and scout a new spot for my treestand. I hadn’t moved my stand since the previous year; it was in a poor location for early season; and I was frustrated that I hadn’t had time to move it. I chose a likely- looking place which would be easy to enter and leave in the dark, and only a few hundred yards from the truck. I picked a tree and set the stand. When finally satisfied with the arrangement, I shook the ladder and stomped the bottom rung. When I was convinced that the stand was not wobbly, I went up to check the view and lock the cable to the tree. The ladder rolled to the left and I could not grasp the tree to hold it upright, so I rode the ladder down, entangled with it, and on top of it.
I knew immediately that I was hurt, and commented aloud to myself that “I’m gettin’ too old for this”. It was midday Friday and I wasn’t expected home until Monday night. Moving carefully, I felt around for twisted appendages or protruding bones before untangling myself from the ladder. The only problem I noticed was with my right hip. I tried crawling, but couldn’t: my left side was hurting, too. I had trouble standing, and figured that something must be broken or dislocated in that right hip. I pulled myself upright on a sapling, found a limb on the ground nearby to use as a walking staff, and locked the ladder to a convenient tree. I had emergency supplies in my pack and the weather was mild, but I needed a medical checkup and was in a poor location to expect success at signaling for help. I knew I must get as far as I could before I stiffened up, so I started hobbling back toward the truck. According to my watch, it was 12:30 pm when I started back.
My hip hurt with every step, and I could only shuffle along a few inches per stride. Although I resisted the urge to stop, I had to rest and drink water several times. I soon finished my canteen of water and must wait until reaching the truck for more. I only remember falling one time; it was a little ditch where I turned off the main trail. I’m not sure how long I stayed on the ground there; I was pretty tired. At the creek bed, it was a long climb down. I had to sit down and slide along, but I had gravity to help me.
Down in the creek, the sand made the going harder, but I just kept hobbling with my staff and made it across. Thank goodness it was shallow and there was no quicksand! My hobbling had been downhill to this point, but now I must get up out of the creek bed.
I went to the trail I had broken through the briars that morning; it would be the most direct route. I tied my bow to my backpack and dragged that along by a strap. I couldn’t crawl and couldn’t climb, so I backed up against the briars and scooted my way up the bank, crawfishing up a few inches at a time. It was hard going, the briars were scratching and poking me, I was getting mighty tired, and I surely wanted a drink of water. Back on my feet (foot and staff), I hobbled and shuffled across the bottomlad. That uneven ground, cut by small drainages, was particularly difficult.
I knew that my last climb up, up to the camp yard, would be the longest and steepest, and the greatest challenge yet: sure enough, it was. It was steep and I was tired. But I was thirsty, too; and there was a fresh canteen of water in the truck. I had come too far to give up now, and it was getting late… I mostly kept thinking of that canteen of cool water. When I finally reached the top, I lay back and my truck was in sight, only about 75 yards, now. But I couldn’t get myself up; couldn’t walk anymore. I had to make it to the truck; I needed some water, and I must not rest long enough to stiffen up. I raised to a sitting position and tried butt- scooting, as I had used to climb the hills. I was miffed that I had bothered to drag my improvised staff up that last hill, only to find it of no help here, and so I abandoned it. My progress across the flat ground was better than uphill, but not much better. The pack was easier to drag—significantly so.
Finally, I reached the truck; it was nearly dark and my watch showed 7:39. That 300 yard hike out had taken 7 hours! Dumping my gear in the truck, I found my spare canteen and had the best drink of water I can ever remember. I closed the back of the truck and, pausing several times to drink and fight mosquitoes; I scooted to the truck door and struggled into the seat. What to do next?
One step at a time! I must learn whether I can drive; good thing I bought automatic transmission with power steering and brakes this time. I could go to a neighbor or a cousin; they could call an ambulance. I seemed to be alright with driving; I could maybe go to Angola or even Saint Francisville. Angola could only transport me, and there was the issue of my weapons and gear at the prison. After my long ordeal, immediacy did not seem an issue: serious medical problems should have already showed themselves. So I wheeled out and headed toward Saint Francisville. It made me think of my Dad’s final trip down that road, one Friday night. As I neared Saint Francisville and the hospital, I was still doing alright, so I kept on toward Baton Rouge. I could go directly to an emergency room, but I worried about my truck full of gear… I went on home. Wife and son showed up within a few minutes; so she drove me to the hospital and I was glad to lock my truck up in the driveway.
The emergency room ordeal was almost as tough as the things I had endured during the day. I had stopped drinking water at 8:00 pm, not knowing what I was in for, and my 11:30 Vienna- sausage lunch had long since expired. I was tired, and hungry, and thirsty, and hurting, and I had to wait 3 hours in that uncomfortable wheel chair, before getting into an exam room. Then there were X- rays and CAT- scans. “Unbuckle your belt; lower your pants; turn over; move this way; get yourself over on this table; can’t hit the vein, someone else will try, we’ll try a different vein….” Eventually, they got in an i. v. and put something in it that made me feel MUCH BETTER.
My injuries were such that no surgical intervention was needed; the fractures were stable. All I needed was to keep the weight off the injuries and manage the pain.
The ER guys said I was their first hunting- stand casualty this season, a dubious honor, I must say. They admitted a second hunter that Friday night. They deserted me for a while, and it must have been the helicopter arrival that they had to scramble for. The other guy is paralyzed from the waist down. “There but for the grace of God go I”. Neighbor told my wife that a severed spine is the norm for that type of accident; I was the exception.
The rest of the story is not so entertaining, just tedium and trials. I switched from pain pills to Tylenol, and talked them into letting me return to work 4 hours per day (in a wheelchair) on October 11. I was getting around pretty well on a walker, and went back to full- time on November 1. I made my first trip back to the woods on the weekend of November 16. I camped and didn’t get far from the truck, but I sure was glad to get out of the house. My first walk in the woods was a trip to take this picture with my ladder- stand on New Years Eve. I was able to get around with a cane by then. Years later, I’m back to my old self (minus some depreciation for age and mileage). The only lingering reminder of my adventure is that my busted hip “forecasts” cold fronts and hurricanes.
I knew immediately that I was hurt, and commented aloud to myself that “I’m gettin’ too old for this”. It was midday Friday and I wasn’t expected home until Monday night. Moving carefully, I felt around for twisted appendages or protruding bones before untangling myself from the ladder. The only problem I noticed was with my right hip. I tried crawling, but couldn’t: my left side was hurting, too. I had trouble standing, and figured that something must be broken or dislocated in that right hip. I pulled myself upright on a sapling, found a limb on the ground nearby to use as a walking staff, and locked the ladder to a convenient tree. I had emergency supplies in my pack and the weather was mild, but I needed a medical checkup and was in a poor location to expect success at signaling for help. I knew I must get as far as I could before I stiffened up, so I started hobbling back toward the truck. According to my watch, it was 12:30 pm when I started back.
My hip hurt with every step, and I could only shuffle along a few inches per stride. Although I resisted the urge to stop, I had to rest and drink water several times. I soon finished my canteen of water and must wait until reaching the truck for more. I only remember falling one time; it was a little ditch where I turned off the main trail. I’m not sure how long I stayed on the ground there; I was pretty tired. At the creek bed, it was a long climb down. I had to sit down and slide along, but I had gravity to help me.
Down in the creek, the sand made the going harder, but I just kept hobbling with my staff and made it across. Thank goodness it was shallow and there was no quicksand! My hobbling had been downhill to this point, but now I must get up out of the creek bed.
I went to the trail I had broken through the briars that morning; it would be the most direct route. I tied my bow to my backpack and dragged that along by a strap. I couldn’t crawl and couldn’t climb, so I backed up against the briars and scooted my way up the bank, crawfishing up a few inches at a time. It was hard going, the briars were scratching and poking me, I was getting mighty tired, and I surely wanted a drink of water. Back on my feet (foot and staff), I hobbled and shuffled across the bottomlad. That uneven ground, cut by small drainages, was particularly difficult.
I knew that my last climb up, up to the camp yard, would be the longest and steepest, and the greatest challenge yet: sure enough, it was. It was steep and I was tired. But I was thirsty, too; and there was a fresh canteen of water in the truck. I had come too far to give up now, and it was getting late… I mostly kept thinking of that canteen of cool water. When I finally reached the top, I lay back and my truck was in sight, only about 75 yards, now. But I couldn’t get myself up; couldn’t walk anymore. I had to make it to the truck; I needed some water, and I must not rest long enough to stiffen up. I raised to a sitting position and tried butt- scooting, as I had used to climb the hills. I was miffed that I had bothered to drag my improvised staff up that last hill, only to find it of no help here, and so I abandoned it. My progress across the flat ground was better than uphill, but not much better. The pack was easier to drag—significantly so.
Finally, I reached the truck; it was nearly dark and my watch showed 7:39. That 300 yard hike out had taken 7 hours! Dumping my gear in the truck, I found my spare canteen and had the best drink of water I can ever remember. I closed the back of the truck and, pausing several times to drink and fight mosquitoes; I scooted to the truck door and struggled into the seat. What to do next?
One step at a time! I must learn whether I can drive; good thing I bought automatic transmission with power steering and brakes this time. I could go to a neighbor or a cousin; they could call an ambulance. I seemed to be alright with driving; I could maybe go to Angola or even Saint Francisville. Angola could only transport me, and there was the issue of my weapons and gear at the prison. After my long ordeal, immediacy did not seem an issue: serious medical problems should have already showed themselves. So I wheeled out and headed toward Saint Francisville. It made me think of my Dad’s final trip down that road, one Friday night. As I neared Saint Francisville and the hospital, I was still doing alright, so I kept on toward Baton Rouge. I could go directly to an emergency room, but I worried about my truck full of gear… I went on home. Wife and son showed up within a few minutes; so she drove me to the hospital and I was glad to lock my truck up in the driveway.
The emergency room ordeal was almost as tough as the things I had endured during the day. I had stopped drinking water at 8:00 pm, not knowing what I was in for, and my 11:30 Vienna- sausage lunch had long since expired. I was tired, and hungry, and thirsty, and hurting, and I had to wait 3 hours in that uncomfortable wheel chair, before getting into an exam room. Then there were X- rays and CAT- scans. “Unbuckle your belt; lower your pants; turn over; move this way; get yourself over on this table; can’t hit the vein, someone else will try, we’ll try a different vein….” Eventually, they got in an i. v. and put something in it that made me feel MUCH BETTER.
My injuries were such that no surgical intervention was needed; the fractures were stable. All I needed was to keep the weight off the injuries and manage the pain.
The ER guys said I was their first hunting- stand casualty this season, a dubious honor, I must say. They admitted a second hunter that Friday night. They deserted me for a while, and it must have been the helicopter arrival that they had to scramble for. The other guy is paralyzed from the waist down. “There but for the grace of God go I”. Neighbor told my wife that a severed spine is the norm for that type of accident; I was the exception.
The rest of the story is not so entertaining, just tedium and trials. I switched from pain pills to Tylenol, and talked them into letting me return to work 4 hours per day (in a wheelchair) on October 11. I was getting around pretty well on a walker, and went back to full- time on November 1. I made my first trip back to the woods on the weekend of November 16. I camped and didn’t get far from the truck, but I sure was glad to get out of the house. My first walk in the woods was a trip to take this picture with my ladder- stand on New Years Eve. I was able to get around with a cane by then. Years later, I’m back to my old self (minus some depreciation for age and mileage). The only lingering reminder of my adventure is that my busted hip “forecasts” cold fronts and hurricanes.
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