Let's Try This Again, Shall We?

 Last year's adventure and my attempt to run US Route 66 came to a rather abrupt and unanticipated end July 19th, only five days after hitting the road. I was planning to spend the weekend at a little mom and pop campground in Flippin, Arkansas, riding Arkansas' Ozarks for a weekend, before heading to Oklahoma. After wandering around for awhile trying to, first, locate Flippin, then struggling to find my way to the campground, I finally made it there. I set up my tent and unloaded the Road Queen. By then, I was sweaty and hungry and decided to ride into town to grab something to eat and bring it back to camp. I made my way to the main drag of Flippin, where it seemed like a convenient place to grab some munchies. At the three way stop in town, I let the other two vehicles make their way through the intersection before starting to turn left. I didn't notice that the pick up truck behind one of those vehicles failed to stop and yield the right of way. And I had a close encounter with a 1965 Chevy pick up. He hit me on my left saddle bag, pushing my bike over. In the process, he broke six of my ribs and my spleen didn't fare so well. Because I was sweaty from setting up camp, for the first time on the trip, I had ridden into town without my helmet. My head apparently hit the pavement hard enough to knock me out.

Nine days later, I woke up in a hospital in Springfield, Missouri. My Kid, Shani, her fiance, Kevin, my granddaughter Janae, Janae's husband, Justin, and their girls were all there. I had no recollection of the accident, the ambulance ride, the Life Flight in the helicopter or anything to do with the surgeries that put me back together. 

Two weeks after the accident, the Kid, who spent every single day with me at the hospital, drove me to her place in Illinois and the next day I checked into a rehab hospital nearby. I spent awhile getting my bearings back and yearning to see my bike, which was sitting in a towing garage back in Arkansas. 

My sister, Bonnie, flew to St. Louis from SoCal, rented a car and picked me up to drive me home after I was discharged from the rehab hospital. I spent a couple of months doing out patient rehab and getting my strength back.

By then, I had a legal team on board to help me navigate the nightmare. They got my bike back to Ohio for me and worked with my insurance company to get me the funds to repair my girl. Her and I spent the winter getting back to where we were before our Chevy encounter. 

And now, I am ready to ride. I am heading back to the Kid's house on May 12th in anticipation of giving her away at her wedding to Kevin on Saturday, May 17th. I wish her Dad could be there but since he can't, she asked me to give her away. I still need another surgery when I get home so I am not sure how long I can ride this trip. My surgeon asked me if I was going to ride again. My response was, "I'm not getting any younger!" My second visit to her, she ask it I could ride. My response was, "I rode my bike to this appointment today."  What a 200, 300 or 400 mile day might be for me after the accident, I don't know. But I am not going to let the accident define me moving forward. I plan to make the best of every day.

Peace all. See you on the road.

Bobbi