Broken femur, or how I went from rebooting a company, to 8200' in the aspens, to the hospital bed in two days

The week of June 23-27, 2014 was a crazy one for me. We were preparing to reboot our software company, doing a lot of work to re-route networks, update vendor relationships, extract code and documentation from another company, and be ready to go live and make our customers happy on "zero-day". I was working hard, not sleeping much. Riding bikes was out the window. Coincidentally, on the Friday of that week I was to fly out to the NICA 2014 Conference. Vanessa Hauswald had asked me to come to Utah, take skills training from Lee McCormack of Lee Likes Bikes, using his NICA curriculum, so that I could come back to my home League, NorCal, and train other coaches and kids. I was excited about this, because it meant a trip to Park City, UT, a chance to learn some cool skills, a chance to meet and hang out with a lot of coaches from around the USA, and also League Directors from all the state leagues.

I was solo dad for most of the week, my wife Lauren left on Tuesday, and between some crazy work load, and getting two teenagers up, fed, to their camp counselor jobs, home, fed, and in bed before dawn, it was just a gnarly week. Our zero-day ended up being the Monday after my Friday departure, and I was up until past midnight Thursday night, working, then up again Friday at 5AM, working until the kid morning routine, and then a very desperate race to the airport, where I barely made my flight to UT.

Sleep-deprived, I arrived with shoes, pedals and helmet, some bike clothes. I quickly met some other coaches, was handed a demo bike, and got ready to ride. We did a loop up from town on Armstrong to mid-mountain to CMG to Eagle to Spiro, I think. I didn't know the trails. I rode up Armstrong with a really stoked new coach from Wisconsin, Aristotle. He was half my age, quite a bit fitter, and he wanted to talk! He was so stoked, and he was asking me questions and talking about stuff, but I was at the level of effort where all I could manage were one-syllable responses. I did give up some sentences, but I couldn't really hold up my end of the conversation. At mid-mountain our group had morphed, and Austin McInerny, Executive Director of NICA had joined us. Austin knew where he was going. We did a traverse across Mid-Mountain, then some really fun stuff down to town. I decided that my sea-level, sleep-deprived slog up the hill was worth it! Park City is beautiful. We rode in the aspens most of the time. I want to go back and ride those trails.

We had a nice dinner, I met Dylan from Idaho and talked bikepacking trips with him, then left to hear Scott Mercier talk about his cycling career, doping, US Postal, Lance and the future of cycling in America. He's a good speaker, and if you get a chance to hear him, take it.

We stayed at a mansion in the hills above Park City. This was someone's "ski cabin". I can't tell you how grand it was. I was up late, but sadly never fell asleep. Awake until 5AM. Altitude (8000'), strange bed, hectic week, I dunno. I was sure to be rough for the next day's skills training and subsequent "big ride", but I figured I'd get through it. That's why I was here. Being a life-long mountain biker, from first 'klunker' in 1982, to now, I unfortunately think I know everything about riding a mountain bike. Which means that I know that I don't know anything. "You know nothing, Jon Snow." It's important to have your eyes open, head up, elbows bent, and look past the next turn. That's true for learning just as it's true for riding.

We got to the training site with the same demo bikes as we rode the day before, some bikes from the Specialized and Scott demo fleets that had just returned from a demo run, but sadly at least for the Specialized bikes, hadn't had their follow-up maintenance and were a little rough. I was on a bike that my boy Sam would have been giddy to ride, an XL Specialized S-Works Stumpjumper 29er. It was pretty rad, but even a rad bike with a couple mechanical problems can be less than rad. I liked it on the the little loop the day we did before, and did a little tiny bit of work to it before skills.

We rolled up to a bike park in Park City. I could see wooden jumps, ramps and dirt rollers and lips up on the hill above us, but Kevin and Lee cautioned us that we'd focus on basics down below, in the parking lot, and have an early end so we could eat lunch and go do the big ride. Lee and Kevin talked about the theory of making riding safe, fun and successful for kids. We had a little talking session, which was good, and did some Q&A. Then we moved into some of the basics. I'd been through this the summer before at the NorCal Leaders Summit, where Miguel Crawford and Sara Starbird had schooled us in attack position, cornering, going up and down steeps, and putting it all together on a little dirt ride. This was the same curriculum, maybe even a little reduced. Still, Lee and Kevin are great teachers and we had fun going through the drills. The group was about 25 coaches and league directors. Every now and then we'd have to make a channel down the center as cars came and went, but it worked out pretty well. Since I had been through this before, and I "know everything" (haha) I had fun showing my form, and I felt like I might have even helped another coach out, tall Tyler from Texas, who was having leg-dominance problems (could only put one good foot forward on tech, couldn't corner well both left and right). I recommended he overcompensate by switching good foot and bad foot on each technical obstacle, practice putting his "bad foot" forward while we paired up and reviewing each others attack-to-hard-breaking stance change. We practiced the emergency stop with exaggerated backward rotation, which I really enjoy doing, and I was kind of showing off as we slowly rotated in a counter-clockwise oval, doing and showing. Then we moved onto cornering. Lee, Kevin (as Miguel, and Sara had, last summer) demonstrated moving from the attack position to the exaggerated bike lean, tire way over on the cornering knobs, with rider upright, outside foot down, belly button pointing through the turn, the kind of technique that can help a rider clean a dirt turn with a minimum of braking, and a maximum of fun and speed and style. These were fun, and I remember how much the light bulb was popping over my head last summer as we did these in a figure eight, riding in a school playground in Folsom, CA. We did these in the same counter-clockwise fashion, but with twenty five coaches, it was bogging down, and some did not seem comfortable with the technique, so it was fast and slow. Everyone was trying to show the teachers their form at the downhill "first corner", where it was easiest to demo. We were all supposed to try this "brakes off", with just the yoke between thumb and forefinger on the bars, fingers extended, committed to the turn. I was doing it, feeling good, showing off a little. I really liked doing these last summer. But it was hard to do them with so many people bogging up in the turns. On one revolution, near the downhill "first turn", with a lot of people going slowly through the turn I took the inside line, letting my speed and a tighter arc and no brakes whip me through on the inside.

Both tires slid out from underneath me at the same time. I think my rear might have touched someone else's tire as it slid out. I went down hard on my hip and elbow, and also my shoulder. I wasn't moving fast, but with the exaggerated angle, hard radius and full commitment, I hit the ground with enough force and at the perfect angle. I don't remember disconnecting from the bike. I found myself in a seated position, hands flat on the ground behind me, legs stretched out before me on the asphalt, and I saw something about my left foot that made me sick to my stomach.

Twenty four years ago, I'd been riding my road bike home from my bike shop job at Sausalito Cyclery, in Marin County, California. I was riding on the bike path northbound towards Corte Madera, crossing a wooden bridge over the wetlands and marshes behind the community center. It was dusk, becoming dark, but I had a handlebar light (they were not bright in 1989) and I was using the lights of East Blithedale Drive ahead, to guide me. What I didn't see was that there was a very big, new hole in the bridge. I later found out that a horse had punched through a few boards, earlier in the day. My road bike's front wheel found the hole, and I was over the bars, then landing hard on the asphalt on the far side of the bridge. I don't know how long I lay there, but I was in agony, and couldn't move. I tried scraping myself off the bikepath with the back of my helmet, but that didn't work. I didn't want another cyclist hitting me in the dark as I lay there. After some time, which seemed like hours, a lady found me. I asked her to move my bike out of the way, but told her I couldn't move. She called 911, which brought an ambulance to me, and then me to Marin General Hospital. I had broken the greater trochanter of my left femur, cleanly across at a 45º angle. While I lay in that hospital bed, I remember the weird way my left foot lay flat on its side, while the right was at its usual attitude of about 25º from vertical. I had to wait a day for someone to fix it surgically, opening my left thigh, drilling big and little holes in my femur, then bolting it all together with a plate. I was young, foolish and fast then. I healed quickly and was riding and then racing again two months later. The metal made running and jumping uncomfortable, and when I pedaled I could feel the muscles rub across it. I chose to take it out a year later, and again recovered quickly. The doctor told me the holes would fill and be as strong as ever. Over the last quarter century I've fallen on it plenty of times, plenty hard, but on that Saturday, June 28, 2014 I fell in just the right way, at just the right speed and angle to break it again.

Kevin was well-prepared for emergency. At first we talked about charlie horses, and getting back up, but I knew this was bad. I just didn't want to admit it to myself. I could see the day, the weekend, the trip, the summer of rides and vacations and faraway plans and Downieville and Tahoe come sliding down off my calendar, like rotten fruit thrown at a plate of glass. It was a sickening feeling. I had come to a position that looked like I was taking a casual rest. I just didn't get up. The oval of turners was still slowly circling me, with me roughly inside of the exit of the lower apex. They looked at me, but also didn't. I saw a few more go down in similar, luckier ways. They smiled, wiped bruised palms or bruised butt cheeks, got up and got back on their bikes again. Kevin routed the group further up the parking lot, away from me, and I could hear the Wilderness First Aid training in his voice. He started calling me "sir" a lot. :) He did all the right things, stabilizing me, asking to see the bruise (hard to do with slip-on baggy shorts) so I dragged them down with a shirt to cover me, and he had a look before we slowly dragged the shorts back on. We both agreed I wasn't getting up, and he called the EMTs to come get me. I was resigned to my fate at this point. Holding Kaiser Permanente insurance from California, I wasn't sure how much coverage I had in Utah, and I worried about that. But I was broken.

The EMTs were good, and careful, and kind, and capable. Sadly my Fox shorts got cut off me, and they transported me safely to the hospital in Park City. My wife Lauren and our friend Suzette had arrived by then. They were cheering me up, giving me hero kisses and playing silly games with me to pass the time. We memorized all the differently colored outfits of the various hospital staff. Navy Blue is registered nurse. Dark green is surgeon. I got x-rays.

This time it broke at the femoral neck, the thinner section between the greater trochanter, where the upper leg bone makes its 90º bend to approach the hip socket in the pelvis, and the ball. Mine broke completely, and the femur was rotated.

"What color is a radiologist?" "Is there life after death?" We played the name game. After a few hours the doctor who was handling my case came back to tell me that their dedicated "hip guy" was on vacation, riding a horse somewhere. Whoops.  So the same ambulance crew trundled me back into their van, and I got a ride to a bigger hospital in Salt Lake City, Intermountain Medical Center. Lauren and Suzette followed me. We joked about them being my two Mormon wives. That really cheered me up.

After more x-rays, it was determined that I'd definitely need surgery, but the doctor who would do it was already deep into a surgical rotation which had started that morning, and he had four more surgeries stacked up through the night before he could get to me. I might get operated on that night, or the next day, after he'd had some sleep. I've worked around the clock, and I know what it's done to my skills and brain power, so I secretly hoped it'd be after he'd had some sleep, but I also didn't want to wait too long. I remembered the story of Bo Jackson's femur, of how he'd developed necrosis (death) in the bone, and had to retire from an amazing career at his peak, playing both professional football and baseball at the same time. Late that night, totally buzzed on a mix of drugs and bleary from lack of sleep and pain, I watched a documentary about him on one of the ESPN channels. These look-back programs are presented in a very heroic style. Bo was amazing. I thought about bones dying as I lay there, wondering what would happen to me. The ladies had retired to a nearby hotel for the night, and I lay still while a dizzying series of nurses, nurse's aids, surgical techs, doctors, pharmacists, floor cleaners and phlebotomists came and went like shooting stars through my night. There is no sleeping in a hospital bed, drugs or no drugs. I'd catch dozes. I watched terrible tv. I wish I could share some of the bad tv with you. Go to Salt Lake City and watch basic broadcast and cable in the wee hours. Hoo wee. Around 3AM someone told me that Dr. Hawes would be operating on me next. I asked if he was still capable and awake enough to work on me, after such a grueling day, but I was assured that he was.

This is all outside of my control. I'm a piece of bark floating down a river. Whatever will be, will be. These were the thoughts in my head.

I briefly met Dr. Hawes, and he seemed well put-together, clear-minded, young and capable. I didn't have any choice either, and I was grateful that I was getting care in this far-away place. The anesthesiologist gave me a run-down of how the drugs would go, how the operation would go, announced that he was giving me some gas and that I wouldn't feel anything after that. And that's the last thing I remember. Next I was awake, alone but for a nurse in a very big room full of empty ICU-type beds. It was very cold. I was very disoriented! The drugs used for surgery had left me really detached from reality. If I closed my eyes, I thought I was at home, late for work, and that I had to get up and go! If I opened them, I was in a hospital, but it just didn't make sense. Where were my kids? I should go for a bike ride. The nurse asked me some questions of the "Is your brain working?" sort, and I heard myself answer them lucidly. Weird. It was 5:30 in the morning. Surgery had taken two or two and a half hours. I was told that it went well.

I spoke with surgical staff and the surgeon himself, Dr Justin Hawes. All recommended that this hardware stay in, if possible. Because I'd be leaving, I'd have to pick up care with a new orthopedist in California. The catch is that my insurance provider changed while I was in Utah; my new employer's insurance is Blue Cross. So I'll find someone and start over. Dr. Hawes also clarified that the necrosis Bo Jackson suffered was due to a dislocated hip, which I didn't suffer. He said it was less likely, but not an impossibility, with a broken femoral neck. That made me feel better.

Recovery was slow. Sunday was a blur of pain and meds and visits from staff, with Lauren and Suzette keeping me company during the daytime. And long nights with not much sleep and too many visits all night from staff. I don't remember all the nurses names, but Susan and Sheena were very good, and Susan was a great protector and advocate! Monday was more of the same. I thought I might go home, but just trying to go to get out of bed and walk to the bathroom was really hard.

Lauren got a message from Julie Bates, that Paule had had a premonition about me, that something bad would happen to me, the night before I broke my hip. Weird! He told Julie about it. Then he heard that I'd been hurt. He sent me some flowers and a note. Paule, tell me next time! :) Just kidding. Kinda.

Tuesday I rallied, checked out, and Lauren and Suzette drove me to the hotel where they'd been staying. Seeing downtown Salt Lake City through a haze of drugs is perhaps how it's best seen. Lots of homeless, kind of an empty place. We had some shenanigans on the way to the hotel, but I honestly had tunnel vision from the drugs and pain. Wednesday we flew home. Lauren arranged for a wheelchair to the plane, I got a bulkhead seat, solved a crossworld puzzle Suzette had cut out for me, and tried to read a magazine. Once we were home, I got to practice stairs on crutches, up the twenty one to our front door. It was a long day, and I had the worst discomfort yet on that first night at home. A flat bed at home is in some ways less comfortable than the angled beds in hospitals. I've been recovering ever since. It's Friday now, and I mostly just crutch around the house, but last night I slept most of the night, and I was able to sleep on my side for the first time. That was my closest thing to a full night's sleep in almost two weeks. I'm pretty happy about that.

Lisa and Rover

We've had some visitors since I got home, Suzette and her friend Lisa stopped by on a road ride today, and Megan Tracey-Cook came by too. That was nice. I'm gonna be house-bound for a while. Come by and say hi. I'll post an update as I get better.