The Idabel Incident…

Little did I know that I would soon be doing a little “farming” of my own…

Oklahoma was the 12th State of my 25 State Ride. Almost halfway there…

I had arranged to spend the evening of the 30th of June with Doug’s parents in Arkansas, which was a shortish ride of only 450 km away from the Tex Inn in New Boston. The Oklahoma state line was an hours ride to the northwest, and from there I had chosen to ride parallel to the Arkansas border to a point due west of Little Rock and then head east on the final stint.

I left New Boston at 9.00 am after a quick breakfast at the little diner attached to the motel, and an hour later had passed through the sleep town of De Kalb, and crossed the Red River into Oklahoma.

On this Sunday morning there was little traffic about, the sun was shining brightly, with not a cloud in sight. We cruised through the countryside, seeing fields of maize and alfalfa, and small herds of cattle grazing contentedly behind well maintained fences and paddocks.

“Little Pink houses, for you and me…”

My GPS advised that our ETA would be a little after 2.00 pm, so we had plenty of time to spare, and no need to ride hard. After stopping on the state line to take a photo, we headed due north to Idabel.

I had planned to stop for a short break in the town of Broken Bow, which lay a further 25 km north of Idabel,  intrigued by the name and hoping to find out more about the “Bow”…

I had just passed one of many “Little Pink Houses” that I had been seeing in the rural areas of Louisiana, Texas, and now Oklahoma, and was humming the tune of the same name by John Mellancamp, when I saw a large black Dodge pick-up truck coming towards me…

“Houston…. We are not that far away this time…!!”

I was traveling at about 55 mph, and the truck seemed to be slowing down, but did not have an indicator on to show if he was turning off or not…

I was about 20 metres away from him, when the driver swung the steering and began to make a turn to his left, directly in front of me !! The next few seconds will forever be filed away under the heading of “Scary Memories”, somewhere in my brain.

I saw his eyes widen just before the impact; his right hand drop to the steering; then felt the brush of his front bumper as it kissed the material of my riding pants just next to my left knee…

A split second before that I had yanked the handlebars to the right, hoping to avoid contact, and this instinctive reaction probably saved my life, otherwise I would have hit his grill dead centre.

The bike lurched violently to the right as my left pannier was ripped off, shedding 25 kilograms from that side and making the bike wildly unbalanced. I wrenched it back into an upright position, grabbing a big handful of front brakes and watched in horror as I ran out of tarmac and headed for a deep gulley on the side of the road.

After flirting with the shrubbery, I was able to get the bike back into the gulley before losing my balance.

My left pannier had been ripped off the bike and it’s contents strewn across the road… The fuel bottle will no longer serve any purpose apart from reminding me that I now can only carry 6 litres of extra fuel !!

The left fender of the Dodge pick-up had been peeled off..

I am not sure how I managed to keep the whole package under control, but I rode down into the gulley, losing all grip in the dank grass that grew there. The bike was slowing quickly now, and just as I was thinking that I might hold onto it until it stopped, a large mound appeared in front of me… I just missed the water pipe that it covered, and the next instant was launched clear into the air…

I saw blue sky above, then trees ahead, as we landed with a huge thump, my arms, neck and spine absorbing the shock of the impact. We bounced once before  the front end reared again, and then our momentum took us into the edge of a small forest… We smashed through a few saplings, a branch hitting me in the chest and then riding up over my helmet, as I instinctively tucked my chin onto my chest.

I yanked the handlebars to the left to get back into the gulley, just as the bike was coming to a stop. I tried to put my foot down to catch us before we fell over, but the slope of the ground and the slippery grass defeated my efforts, and with a loud bellow reminiscent of a bull buffalo, the Big Fella crashed over on his left side, trapping me beneath him…

The culprit, one Terrance I thought I’d killed y’all King…

During all this time, I had not let go of the steering, and this is what probably saved us both from serious damage. I had shut off the throttle as soon as we left the tarmac, using the wight of the bike and what little braking was available on the grass, to slow us down. By staying on, I was able to hold the bike upright as we hit the berm and took off for parts unknown…

All this took place in a few seconds, but felt like an eternity. I lay under the bike, my hands still on the handlebars, shook my head a few times, trying to figure out what had just happened. The engine was still growling, and I remember flicking thee kill-switch with my thumb to turn it off.

I could not understand why I was trapped under the bike, until I looked under my right arm and saw that my left pannier was missing !! Just then a large black butterfly with wings delicately edged in bright green, landed on my tank bag, just inches away from my nose. It flapped it’s wings lazily a few times before flying off again… I idly wondered if this was another omen of some kind…

I wriggled free of the bike, rolled over onto my knees and in that position looked back towards the place where I had made contact with the truck. I was surprised to see how far away it was. We later measured the distance and found it to be just over 140 metres away from where we had come to “rest”…

I got groggily to my feet and began walking back towards the truck. A black guy came running towards me, shouting as he came…

“Oh my God !! I thought I had killed y’all !! Are you alright, sir ??”

“Are you blind ??” I shouted back, brushing off his inquiries… “You could have killed me, for f**k sake !!”

I tore my helmet off and took a good look at him foe the first time… I saw the anguish written clearly on his face and in his eyes, and I immediately felt sorry for him. He seemed to be in a greater state of shock than I was. In fact, I can’t say that I was ever in shock… My hands weren’t shaking; I was speaking and thinking clearly; and my brain was already asking questions like, “Is the Big Fella OK?” and, “Will I still be able to ride ?”…

I swallowed back on the disappointment that threatened to overwhelm me, considering instead how lucky I was to be up and walking around…

The driver of the truck seemed dumbstruck that I was conscious and stared at me with big eyes and open mouth.

“I saw you hit that mound and take off through the air…!” he stammered, pointing back at the berm. “I thought for sure I’d find you dead on the other side…!” He held a hand over his face and closed his eyes, then opened them again to make sure I was still standing there in front of him…

“I never saw you…” he said, and then repeated the sentence another three or four times… “I am 35 years old and this is my first accident ever !!”

“Well, there’s always a first time for everything,” was all I could think of saying, now that he had admitted that he was at fault…

Claydus Gaines, resident of Idabel, and State Trooper Brad Dansby.

The next two hours went by in a bit of a blur… A law enforcement officer from Idabel arrived and then called for a state trooper to deal with the accident; the driver’s wife arrived on the scene (I think they lived just a short distance away from where he had hit me) and was more concerned about my welfare that anything else, which I found very touching. She spent the next half hour gathering up my belongings that were scattered over a wide area of the road and the grassy verge, and packing them into a pile in the shade of a tree.

My i-Pad and external hard-drives; the sleeves of my jacket; a small packet of my shirts; a plastic folder that contained my important documents; a yellow soap-dish and scrubbing-brush; my spare GPS; the lid of the pannier; and many other bits and pieces, were all stacked neatly in a pile, by the time the state trooper arrived.

Two guys on Harley’s roared by and then made a u-turn and came back to help me. They walked back with me towards where the Big Fella still lay mumbling to himself; helped me get him back onto his side-stand; checked to see if there was any fuel or oil leaking from the engine; then watched in fascination as I pushed the starter button, got into the saddle and rode the bike about 20 metres away, up onto the driveway of a homestead that bordered the forest we had flirted briefly with.

Claydus Gaines stands on the berm which launched us into the air, turning us briefly into a fighter pilot in his super-sonic jet…

Then they came over and both hugged me and shook my hand, saying that I was lucky to be alive and that the Good Lord had his eye on me…

“You must have a team of Guardian Angels riding with you, man !! I can’t believe that both you and the bike seem to be OK.. Maybe you outta get yourself checked out at a hospital…!!”

“Well, the bike is a BMW after all, and I am from South Africa, where they make them tough…!!” I joked with a grin…

After wishing me well again, they rode off with their children riding pillion. I never did get their names but if they are reading this, your help and concern was much appreciated, guys…

The first officer offered to load my damaged pannier onto his pick-up and drive it to the spot where I had parked the Big Fella. (“Too darn far to carry it all by hand…” I think he mumbled.) The state trooper set about gathering our insurance details; giving the driver, Terrance King, a ticket for negligent driving, after accepting his statement that he was at fault; and then sat in his car to type all the info into his computer.

Things got a bit festive from there on in… I asked if I could take photos of the officers and the Terrance together, which they all agreed to; I joked about having Terrance handcuffed and locked away to save other bikers; I asked about all the amazing gear that the state troopers car was equipped with and was given a short explanation of how everything worked… I sat in the air-conditioned car while he typed his report onto his on-board computer, and watched fascinated as he printed out the accident report a few minutes later…

Terrance’s wife offered to Fedex any of the stuff that would not fit onto the bike, which was very sweet of her. I asked her to give Terrance a clip alongside his head instead, which made us all laugh…

Not pretty, but it’ll have to do until Pennsylvania, 3000 km away…

Then, together with Claydus Gaines, the owner of the driveway I had parked in, we set about trying to get the pannier repacked and all my gear strapped back onto the bike. He graciously offered to give me some of his own ratchet straps to hold everything together, but I already had a few sets that I was able to use.

Trooper Dansby came over to check on me again, offering one last time to call an ambulance to give me the “once over”… “Are you sure that you’re OK to ride ??” he queried. “I still can’t believe how calm you are after that !”

I assured him that I was in reasonable shape all things considered, and that apart from a stiff neck and shoulders, I was OK to ride. We shook hands and he left to resume his Sunday morning duties…

Terrance hung around and helped us get everything tied down before saying goodbye; apologizing profusely over and over; and wishing me well before walking back towards his truck. He was back a few minutes later, holding out my bottle of Gatorade that he had found in the bushes next to the road…

“Ah… Thank you… That will knock $3.00 off my claim against your insurance !!” I said to him… He just laughed and shook his head, still amazed that I was cracking jokes after the accident.

Claydus offered me a cold drink before I set off again, which I gladly accepted, and while we stood in the shade of a small tree on his sidewalk, chatting about bikes that he had owned and ridden over the ‘years, I looked over at the Big Fella standing out in the bright sun, seemingly none the worse for wear after his recent adventure…

“That’s a helluva bike you got there. I can’t believe that it’s still in one piece after what you’ve been through… A Harley would have been scattered all along this here road !!”

“Yeah, it’s a helluva bike, alright !!” I replied proudly, “And we’ve still got some ways to go together before we call this ride quits !!”

We shook hands, exchanged contact details and then I got stiffly into the saddle, punched the starter button, kicked the bike into gear and said loudly enough for Claydus to hear…

“Now where were we…?? Ah, yes… On our way to Arkansas…!!”

I left Claydus shaking his head and laughing, as we rode away towards Idabel…

Riding north towards Beaver Bend on some of the best roads I had encountered since setting out from Pennsylvania a few weeks ago.

Idabel was just a few kilometres away, so I didn’t get to properly test the balance of the bike until I reached the open section of road that led up to Broken Bow. I noted that the accident had cost me two hours, and that my ETA was now after 4.30 pm. I decided not to stop in Broken Bow after all, leaving that mystery for another time, and headed for Beaver Bend, where I stopped to refuel.

I thought the one on the left looked familiar…

The Big Fella felt fine under me, and I took my hands off the bars to check if the balance of the bike had been affected. It sailed straight on, never wavering at all, and satisfied that all seemed to be well, I concentrated on the road unwinding before us.

It led up into the mountains along the border with Arkansas and was a stretch of road built for bikers. It twisted and turned through forests of tall trees, alongside cool blue lakes, and over deep gorges where gushing rivers had cut gullies between the mountain slopes.

Most of the traffic I encountered were groups of bikers, cruising up and down the road that led towards Smithville and further north towards Hogden. The US 259 is a great road to ride on and I was not surprised to see so many bikers using it.

At the junction of US 259 and US 59, we turned east and a short while later crossed into Arkansas.

Lucky Number 13…??

The state line was in the middle of a large forested area and for the next hour we rode through some of the prettiest scenery and wildest corner of the state.

I rode well within my limits, taking the wide sweeping bends at speeds far lower than I normally would. I used this section of the ride to rid myself of any negative mental after-effects from the accident, confirming to myself that not only was the bike in good shape and needn’t be worried about, but that I too was in mentally good shape…

I quietly congratulated myself for the way I had handled myself at the scene, and the determination I had displayed to keep on riding, and remain positive. I acknowledged that I had been “lucky” rather than dwell on the “bad luck” aspect of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I was thankful that the experience that I had gained over the last few years had stood me in good stead at the time of the accident, and that my reflexes were still sharp enough to have got me away from what might have been a far greater impact with the truck…

From the state line, the US 270 ran east towards Pencil Bluff, past Iron Fork Lake and then south-east to Mount Ida. This was the first time I had managed to get cell phone reception since the accident, where I had used the state troopers phone, and later Claydus’s, to call Doug and ask him to try to make contact with Patricia to let her know I was OK…

This was one of many classic cars I saw out on the roads today.

At Mt. Ida, I saw that there was a flurry of missed calls and text messages, and tried to answer them all before I rode on to Alexandria where Doug’s dad lived. He had been notified that I would be later than expected, so that aspect had been taken care of…

Rode with this guy for half an hour on the way to Mount Ida.

She was a very long way down the road as far as I knew!!

Came close to spending some time here today !!

We rode along the southern banks of the massive Lake Ouachita, all the way to the town of Royal, and then on to Hot Springs.

This is a favourite recreational area for locals and tourists alike, and I passed many cars towing boats or jet-skis, all out for their Sunday picnics at one or other of the many lakes in this area.

My back and shoulders were now beginning to stiffen up more than they usually did after a long ride and I suddenly found myself wanting the ride to be over and done with.

By this time, only a few mils from my destination, my neck, back and shoulders were aching…

We passed Lonsdale and then hooked up with the I-30, riding north-east towards Benton and Little Rock. My destination lay somewhere between these two towns and after following the GPS much further off the beaten track than I had expected, I finally rode down into the driveway of Don McIllwain’s home, where he was waving to attract my attention…

His home was nestled in amongst a grove of huge old trees, under which grew an immaculately trimmed lawn.

One look at Don and I could see he was Doug’s father, no introductions required !! I met Don’s wife Lillie, who was watering the garden as I rode up and after recounting my adventures of earlier that morning, I parked the Big Fella in Don’s workshop and we retired to the house to chat further.

Don McIllwain, Doug’s father, surveys the damage to the Big Fella.

This delightful couple made me feel at home immediately, even their dog took a liking to me and followed me to the bedroom I was allocated to, jumped up on the bed and lay there wagging her tail…

Don and Lillie stand next to Don’s new Harley.

On the way through their garage, I noticed a spanking new Harley parked there and discovered that Don had bought it just a few months ago. We talked a long time about bikes and how Don had bought Doug his first motorbike when Doug was about 8 years old…

“Any wonder Doug is such a steady and dependable rider..” I thought to m myself… The man has been at it for over 40 years !!

Don must have thought I was looking a bit lean, because he dished up a bear-sized plate of spaghetti and meat for me, and then watched as I manfully struggled to finish it all. We went out to look at his vegetable garden which he had protected from deer and other animals by erecting a six-foot mesh fence around, and he told me that thy produced enough beans and the like to last them a winter or two, but picking beans was no longer something he enjoyed doing, and doubted whether he would bother again in the future.

I enjoyed the company of this quietly spoken man and his charming wife Lillie, and smiled at the twinkle in his eye when we called Doug to let him know I had arrived. I could see that there was a very close bond between father and son…

It was during this conversation that Doug advised that Thursday the 4th of July was a public holiday, and that there was little chance of getting anything fixed on that day.

This meant that I would have to ride the almost 2 600 km to Doug’s home in Pennsylvania in just two days !! I would have to get there by Tuesday night or very early Wednesday morning if I wanted to get the bike in better shape than it was.

I had also discovered that both my laptop screen and my I-Pad had been damaged and bent in the accident and would not switch on… This was another thing that I would have to sort out rather quickly, and I went to bed trying to remember the route I had planned and how I needed to change it in order to make it to Pennsylvania in two days, and to Caley’s wedding a day later…

New Boston, Texas, to Alexander, Arkansas, via Oklahoma.

I was determined to do whatever it took to make it all happen, and resigned myself to some very long rides in the next few days…

©GBWT 2013