I’ve been at the scene of a handful of motorcycle accidents over the years — most long before I lost my arm. I got to see my fair share of broken bones, gravel rash, unconscious riders and bent or broken limbs. Fortunately, most of these accidents didn’t involve close friends, just people who happened to be riding the same stretch of road at the same time. Regardless, I got to be there for a few confronting moments when riders got it wrong. Typically, I’d stop and help where I could, steady whoever needed steadying, wait for the ambulances, and stand there, coming up with my own opinion as to the root cause of the accident. Then, continue riding my bike as I had been, obviously feeling those surface-level effects of being at an accident scene, but by the next day, there’d be nothing left. I’d be back to riding with minimal consideration as to how that could have been me in the accident.
This isn’t advice. This isn’t a warning. It’s simply me looking at how my mind worked back then, and how it works now. I’m curious about how riders think, and how I think when I was on the bike before and how I am now, after the accident.
Even though I’ve been involved in or have seen a few motorcycle accidents, I’ve never felt comfortable with blood and gore… when it's somebody telling me a story, or showing me a gruesome photo or video. But when it's happening in real-time, there’s an actual injured person, blood and guts, in front of me, I’m okay. I don’t understand that, but I’m glad it happens that way for me. In my own crashes – when I’ve managed to remain conscious – the first thing I do is focus on controlling my breathing and not moving unless I absolutely have to. I’ll then evaluate my situation before acting on anything. Remaining calm works. Humour works. Not elevating the panic in anybody around you helps a lot.
Risk normalisation (in psychology) – when you become desensitised to outcomes of risky behaviour.
I’d seen a few big accidents – other riders doing the same silly stuff I had been doing – they got it wrong, and I didn’t. And, when I did get it wrong, it wasn’t REALLY that bad.
Personal Invulnerability – the feeling of being immune to harm, danger or negative consequences.
I’d been in a few big accidents, and I survived with next to no permanent damage even though the damage was extensive. Excluding the arm accident… if you walk away, it’s a good one, right?
These two characteristics were there to help whatever identity I had (pre-accident) do whatever it needed to do to feel satisfied - “I didn’t die, therefore I must be really good at riding motorcycles”. You can’t tell me you don’t know, or knew of, a rider like that.
When I started designing the arm I use to ride, that same identity was at the front, leading the charge. Research is important, and part of my research was watching us riders crash. You only need to watch a few motorcycle crash videos before you start thinking – Am I the problem? It's pretty one-sided, the crash videos I mean, and not the best place to start research, but it fired up something in my brain, and I became very curious as to why we think and behave the way we do when we ride.
The only brain I have access to is mine, and it's different to yours. But I love riding bikes, like you do, I imagine, and you’d have to be a little bit curious about this as well, right?
Post accident, there was a shift during the research phase of designing the arm. A modest bump in self-realisation, but nothing significant because once I was licensed and could ride again, I found myself taking unnecessary risks. Again. Obviously, nothing to the extent that could lead to my other arm falling off, but I was leaking a lot of “stupid” early on in my post-accident riding career.
Fresh back into riding after the accident, I would have these unsettling pre-ride moments. I would be putting my boots or gloves on and be overcome by these very real feelings of being concussed or hit in the head. Like an intense pressure build up in my head, followed by vivid images of me crashing my bike that day. A true “whoa shit” moment. Like me, my brain doesn’t remember anything about the arm accident, but it knew at that point (getting ready to ride a bike) what I was doing was pretty similar to the last time I tried to take myself out.
I don’t want to draw conclusions, but the less stupid I let leak out back then, the less my brain would protest when I was getting on the bike. Risk reappraisal.
Group rides. Before my accident, group rides were not my thing. After my accident, I rode with any group of riders I could find. I’d turn up, everybody would be amazed – one arm, rides bikes. They’d ask how I lost the arm, I’d say “doing something stupid on a motorbike”…. And, then we’d all go do something stupid on our motorbikes. If motorcycles had those images on them like cigarette packaging does, I’d be one of the images. I’m the warning sign. Despite that, most riders in the groups I went riding with back then seemed to be in a hurry to lose an arm after they talked to me.
My ego is (was) dumber than your ego. Not often, but often enough for me to bring this point up, there were times I’d turn up for a group ride and be met with the type of rider/s who struggled with the fact I could do what they were doing (stupid stuff) with one arm. Sometimes better - the warning label (me) would ignore the warning label (also me).
Crazy times that early start to be post-accident riding life. In the background, I still had this drive to figure it all out – the “why” in why I/we let stupid leak out when on the bike. Meanwhile, almost immediately after doing something stupid on my bike, with one arm, I would be overcome with feelings of self-loathing and shame. I mean, not only would I have all of the standard issues to deal with had I crashed, but I would also have the “I told you so” people. There are still a few “I told you so people” on the perimeter of my life waiting for me to come undone.
I talk about group rides, but 99% of my riding after my accident early on was just me riding my bike alone. At best, I’d go riding with my Dad (the pensioner's discount hooligan) or my son. My son is a better rider than I am; I’m proud of that guy. Riding alone gave me a lot of time to think, practise and of course gently push my own new limits at my own pace. I think they call it riding your own ride, I’m not sure. Either way, over time, I started to notice more and more “near misses” in the groups I was riding with. The “nearly high-sided”, the “nearly overcooked that corner”, the stuff most of us laugh out loud about with our mates after. I started to become unsettled by the amount of drinking that went on – long group rides punctuated with a beer or two at the next pub.
Eventually, it happened, somebody had a big dust up on a group ride I was on. And, yeah, I struggled to drag myself over to the rider and do what I’d done many times before my accident. None of what had happened was funny to me, and while I was still calm, I was frustrated by the group trying to downplay the outcomes of this accident. The rider was “okay” in the same way a watermelon is “okay” after you roll it down a set of stairs. Bruised and dented, but you know, it still looks like a watermelon. Get that watermelon to the hospital FFS.
From that point on, I’d not ride with a group the moment somebody had a “near miss” or if their version of a “near miss” was remembering about a pub located between two other pubs. I just don’t have enough in the tank to keep myself together while I do my best to put somebody else back together. I’m back to riding by myself mostly.
I have had an accident since losing my arm. Everything worked out, obviously. But, I was riding with a woman I was (still am) deeply in love with - she was following on her own bike. And having to see her keep it together while I was the watermelon was what pushed out whatever was left of my old identity. Tough to talk about.
I love bikes, and I love the people who ride them, and I really don’t want to be a safety nerd about bikes. Because, how good does it feel to let even a little puff of stupid out once in a while when you’re on the bike? Time and a place. For me, as a retired warning label and now budding safety nerd, I have a place that makes it feel like you’re going fast even though you’re only doing the speed limit. And, I only ever go there by myself, and I’ll turn around if there are other riders there – because the time there needs to be all about my ride, not anybody else’s.