Cycling Across America #10
Part 10 of the solo Cycle-Across-America series relayed day by day, albeit exactly ten years later. (You can read from the start in Boston)
In yesterday’s section I was knocked down in Virginia Beach just after crossing the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel. This happened next:
I knew I’d been hit and it was very bad. After going through the air flipping backwards, I landed with a thump and waited for the next vehicle to run over me. As car lights sped past I realised my face was on grass - I wasn’t on the road. Although I stopped worrying about another vehicle running over me, I still thought I was about to die.Curled up on my right side I could see a vehicle stop and two or three blokes walk nervously towards me in the dark. They seemed embarrassed and stood back ten or fifteen feet. I was in agony not moving a muscle. Was I okay? No, call an ambulance, I said. They were discussing the vehicle that hit me.
I didn’t know where the bike was. Two women ran and knelt down by me. They said they were doctors and introduced themselves. They examined me and kept me talking. Don’t move, one said. I’d decided the moment I landed not to move my head or back.
Another woman appeared and said she was a nurse. They turned and said they were physicians, pulling rank like in a comedy sketch. Someone asked had anyone called 911. They all said no. They were trying to think of the vehicle that hit me.
Then there was a policeman. I told him where my passport was and where my insurance policy certificate was. As I lay on the ground waiting for an ambulance they were discussing who I was and what I was doing. I told them there was no group - I was doing this alone. They didn’t believe me.
Could they ring somebody? As I was alone and told them I hadn’t lost any consciousness I saw no need to ring home in Dublin - yet. My aunt is in a town a hundred miles away, about thirteen miles south of Richmond, I said.Rescue Service arrived and put a collar on, and me on a board and then onto a stretcher.
-Where does it hurt?
-My left hip.
-Anywhere else?
-I don’t think so.
-How do you feel?
-Confused.
-What date is it?
-I don’t know - but I’ve been cycling alone for days. I didn’t know the date anyway.
-Okay, fair enough, they said, Who’s the president of the United States?
I realised I’d no idea any more, but didn’t want to admit defeat.
-That’s not fair, it’s not my country, I protested. They weren’t accepting this answer, and as I stalled for more time Clinton’s name came to me.The two doctors who stopped told the policeman that they witnessed it and they thought I was dead. As I was being carried into the ambulance I was asked if I knew where I was. Horribly near the road, I said. I was getting frightened again, panicked even. Police and ambulance lights were flashing. There was lots of people around. I didn’t want to be anywhere near the road and the traffic.
I told the policeman I had lights on. He said he knew, they were still on now - he’d go and turn them off to save the batteries. Did I see what hit me? No, it came from behind and I finished up on the grass. The officer told me not to worry about my bike and my stuff - he would look after it all.
They found money in my sock. I told them how much, adding there’s none in the other sock. They ignored me and took my other sock off to look for more money. The officer said he’d keep my valuables including passport, all safe. I told him where my travellers cheques were. Then I remembered my credit cards. I described the saddle bag. It’s okay, he said - he rode a mountain bike and was familiar with bikes.
Rescue Service said everything they would do in the ambulance was precautionary so don’t worry. Somebody held my hand as I was put into the ambulance and told me I was going to be OK. I think it was one of those two doctors.
They put an I.V. in me. They could stick needles in me forever if it saved my life or at least eased the pain. They checked me over completely twice. It was a very bumpy ride and hurt a whole lot.
They kept asking me questions. They had difficulty with my name and my home address. I was adamant they spelt it all correctly. They were writing it on my pillow. One of the three or four staff was new. They introduced themselves. I almost said “Hi, my name is…”
When they rushed me through the hospital door they asked me if I had a number - I didn’t but somebody called out one. Then I had three doctors examining me again all over. Where do you hurt? What about your neck? your back? your stomach? When was your last tetanus? - it’s important. August 1992, I said. Did I hit my head? I don’t know, I said, I was wearing a helmet. Oh well that’s good, said the pretty Asian doctor.
Another doctor exclaimed that I’d been riding a bike all the way from Boston - no wonder I’d a sore bum.
The policeman was here. He had all my stuff. Still couldn’t find my aunt’s number. I explained thoroughly again. They removed the brace/collar and board. My neck and back were fine. The officer found the number. What did I want him to tell her? Not to alarm her, I said, and don’t let her ring my parents.
I signed lots of forms in among all this. Lots of people around me in the ER. The officer explained the hit-and-run was a felony - but they wouldn’t catch him. Nobody saw the licence plate of the dark pick-up truck because they were all watching me flip through the air. He showed me a diagram. Said he could see the point on the road where I’d been hit, that I was thrown sixty feet.
He rang my aunt before the x-rays. When they showed nothing broken he rang her back to tell her I could be collected in the morning. He told me it’d be fine - she had a blazer. This confused me and I pictured her dressed in a blazer. They discussed releasing me. I was nauseous, light-headed. The senior doctor said I could stay, that I’d probably survived because I was in such good shape. I wanted to cry.
I was put in a room by myself - Isolation and Decontamination. I was given painkillers. The x-rays had been awfully painful but even motionless on my right cheek, it was agony. The doctors all thought it was my hip sticking out of my shorts.
When the painkiller took effect my mind worked overtime. I almost cried but held back again. I wasn’t sure for what reason I was crying - I think because I couldn’t understand how after all that I was going to be okay.
Did I want anything? Well, I’d just cycled ninety five / ninety six miles today and had no dinner. I was brought a sandwich and a dessert. And a can of coke. A urine sample showed up some blood - more tests and an I.V.P. internal x-ray.
Another drip - in my hand, the back of. It was now almost five in the morning. The hospital seemed quiet. I appeared to be the star patient. The I.V.P. was slow and sore but gave me the all-clear.
I went through three shifts of doctors, nurses and others. They all said good-bye when they finished their shift. I had visitors from all the staff who wanted to meet this Irish guy cycling cross-country. They were all very sorry what had happened. It wasn’t typical Southern hospitality. I explained I knew, and how much I had enjoyed the Eastern Shore earlier that day.
My left cheek was enormous. There was a swelling the size of a cereal bowl there - eight inches in diameter and sticking out three. And it hurt. I was on my second ice bag.
After breakfast my aunt appeared and I managed a hug. I declined the wheelchair and, with crutches and help, hobbled to the car.
Straight to McDonalds for tea and breakfast. My aunt thought it would be a shame to be so close to the beach and not see it. I agreed.
We finally got parking very close and moving very slowly I made it through the pain to the water. Barefoot, in my torn cycling clothes, unwashed and straight from the ER, I was in the Atlantic. Now all I had to do was get another bike and cycle to the Pacific.
Read from the beginning of the Cycle Across America
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