Hello, I've Been Hit by a Truck

So, I removed my cell phone from my pocket and dialed my wife who was at home with the children and said to her when she answered her cell phone, “Hello honey, I’ve been hit by a truck.”

Needless to say, her reaction was quite shocked at my statement.

“Hit by a truck?  Where are you?” She asked, sounding quite distressed.

“I’m at the corner of Ray and Lindsay.  I was in the crosswalk riding my bicycle when a truck hit me as the light changed.”

When we moved to Gilbert, Arizona from Alaska in 2004, I bought a bicycle to ride the canals.  In a place that averages less than four inches of rain, water must be channeled in from more reliable sources.  Riding the canals, I avoided traffic since riding in Arizona, motorists often aim for the bike riders or at least that’s the way it felt.  It was as if there was a bounty on us when we rode in the streets with all the traffic.

Another feature was the roads were laid out in a grid system where the main streets crossed each other at intersections approximately one mile apart.  These Cross streets made it easy to find locations if you knew the names of them.  Our nearest was Ray and Lindsay where like every major intersection there was a signal light.

I needed to cross through this intersection before turning on the paved trails that followed the canals.  Riding these paths was safe and scenic in places with large fish in the water, big white storks checking out the fish in the canal and horse and ostrich farms along these paths. 

You would have to cross main streets every mile, but crossing a suburban four lane road was not difficult if you stayed alert.  The speed limit was 45 mph, but most drivers went a little bit faster than the posted speed limit, so you just had to be aware.  For ten months, I was aware of the traffic as I crossed. Never once did I have any difficulty. 

One of my favorite parts of my daily rides was riding through the Riparian Park near the Gilbert Library.  The main feature was the large pond in back of the library surrounded by a cement walkway where people would bring their fishing gear and some portable chairs and spend the afternoon fishing.  Ducks would float in the green water without a care in the world.  There were turtles and snakes in the reeds near the shore. 

Through the park would be paths and marshy places where some of the ducks would frolic.  There was also a population of cats that had been abandoned by their owners left in the weedier areas to fend for themselves.  A few of them would be brave enough to come out of their hiding places to see what was going on.  I would have taken them all if I could, but these cats were feral and just trying to survive.

After riding through the park, I would find my way back to the canal and ride until I got to Mesa.  There was more traffic in Mesa and less bike lanes.  The paved paths ended in Mesa, but as long as you didn’t mind a more rugged trail, you could just keep following the canal.  The canals went all the way past Fountain Hills and the Fort McDowell Casino.  I never went that far as it was about twenty miles from my house. My average ride was a twelve-mile round trip.  Any further in triple digit heat could cause a hat related illness. You want to avoid this at all costs.

After three months, I began to feel like I was getting in shape. I did run into a haboob once which made the ride more challenging with the dust blowing in my face making breathing more difficult. 

If the haboob was the worst thing that happened to me, I was not in peril, but on the morning of August 16, 2006, everything changed. My carefree, freewheeling days came to an abrupt halt. Leaving my garage, there was nothing to hint or foreshadow the disaster that was to follow.

 I left my house at my usual time, before the sunrise that would turn the day into triple digit heat.  I was still not used to this melting heat that could cook an egg on the sidewalk or make you drive a car with just two fingers on the steering wheel.  Every driver had a blanket to put over the metal part of the seatbelt, because if you did not do this, the metal would give you a second degree burn if it touched bare skin.

I glided out of my drive on my touring bike.  If you do not know what a touring bike is, it is a bike you buy at Wal-Mart, because you can't afford a two grand mountain bike at REI.  I was happy with my Wal-Mart touring bike; it was sturdy and could tour long distances on the trails along the canals away from the traffic most of the time. 

I did have to cross Lindsay at the traffic light.  I had my MP3 player blasting my favorite rock 'n' roll as I prepared to do a twelve-mile run through Riparian Park and skirt Mesa for a couple miles before turning back home.  A one-hour excursion that had become my early morning routine.

Ever since I was in the military, I learned the value of regular exercise and remained astringent with my regiment.  Exercise was something people did in air-conditioned gyms, but if I had my bike, I did not see the sense of spending the money on a gym membership.

I came to the intersection of Ray and Lindsay like I had for the past few months. As I approached the crosswalk, I saw the light was red to the oncoming traffic on Lindsay where I needed to cross, but having just arrived, I had no idea if this was a stale green light for Ray.  I decided to take a chance.  Little did I know that the light was indeed stale.  Half was through the crosswalk, the light for Ray changed to red. Much to my dismay the oncoming traffic on Lindsay now had a green light.  Little did I know as I pedaled through the intersection in the crosswalk, my life was about to change, and I would not make it to the other side of Ray. 

Fearing that someone would speed up and hit me on my bike, I began to pedal hard to avoid this happening.

I was halfway through the intersection when a truck pulled out into the crosswalk and hit me. So sudden was the contact that I had no time to prepare for the impact.

Before I could react to what had just happened, I rolled on the hood of the truck, stopping as soon as I hit the windshield. I am a large person and seeing me sprawled across the windshield, the driver, a woman, screamed.  Her scream alarmed me even more than the initial impact.  I’m not sure, but I think I may have screamed, a reaction to her surprise at hitting me in the first place.

Her initial response to the shock of what was taking place was she hit the brake.  Following the laws of physics at that point meant that I was jettisoned toward the middle of the intersection. 

Now in flight like Superman, gravity was no longer my friend.

Since the oncoming traffic would now be oncoming, I feared I would be struck by another vehicle simply following the traffic light. 

As it turned out, I landed a few feet from my touring bike which was in the middle of the intersection.  It surprised me when I saw it.  Despite the violent collision, my bike was in good shape. The cruel irony remained that my bicycle seemed to have fared better than I did after I landed.

At first, I was afraid to move in case my bones were broken and would protrude from my skin as soon as I moved.

 The oncoming traffic was not a concern since the drivers seeing what happened did not want to use me like a speed bump and had come to a stop. 

My wrist hurt, which was no surprise since my hand was the first thing that contacted the pavement when I landed, but I could move my finger.  I figured by the grace of God; I managed minimal physical damage. I was able to get to my feet and retrieve my bicycle.

"Are you alright?" The driver was walking toward me, quite shaken by what had just happened. Even as I fought off shock, I saw she had been driving a City of Gilbert maintenance truck and had a coworker in the passenger seat.

"I think I'm alright." I assured her as I flexed my hand. "I need to call my wife and let her know what happened."

"Better take your earbuds out. Cops could write you up." She pointed a crooked finger at my ears.  I did as she said and removed the earbuds. “I am so sorry; I did not see you.”

Considering my size, I am hard to miss.  Since I seemed to have survived this encounter seemingly unscathed, I was not going to contest her claim of not seeing me in the crosswalk.

“I seem to be alright.” I pulled my bicycle over to the sidewalk on Ray.  As I did, my wife pulled up to the curb in our van.  I could hear sirens as the police arrived.  The traffic had come to a standstill in the Ray and Lindsay intersection.

“Oh my God, are you alright?” Amy, my wife, rushed over to me to look me over.  She scanned me head to toe and was relieved that I had all my limbs and body parts. 

“Believe it or not, I am fine.” I assured her even though my wrist began to throb. We embraced.

“Are you Mr. Frost?” A Gilbert policeman asked me.

“Yes, I am.” I nodded.

“Here’s a ticket.” He handed me a citation. I held it as if it was some squirmy creature I did not care to touch.

“What is this for?” I held the citation between two fingers, confused and befuddled by this unusual procedure.  Still quite shaken from the accident, I felt as though I was innocent of any wrongdoing.

“We are citing you for illegal use of the crosswalk.” He answered.

“I don’t understand.” I shrugged, completely caught by surprise by this unlikely delivery of justice.

“Simple, law states you are not supposed to ride your bicycle while you are in a crosswalk.” He gave me a look as though I was completely ignorant of the Arizona justice procedures.

“Why did he get a ticket?” Amy asked, as she too was caught completely unaware of this frontier justice.

“Somebody got hurt, so we have to charge someone who was breaking the law.” He explained, “And you broke the law, therefore you got the ticket.”

It was then I saw two officers talking to the driver of the truck that hit me.  On the side of the truck was prominently printed “City of Gilbert.” She would not get the ticket, because she was a member of the team.  You don’t give teammates tickets. It was beginning to make sense. 

“This is ridiculous!” Amy complained, but the officer just walked away as though she hadn’t said anything.

“Is there a problem?” Another officer asked after hearing Amy shout.

“Yes, my husband got hit by that truck over there.” She pointed at the truck that hit me, “And he got a ticket.”

“Well, he violated the law about riding a bicycle through a crosswalk.” He blinked and smiled as he returned to the rest of the officers gathered in the intersection.  One officer was directing traffic in the intersection.

“What was he supposed to do?” Amy asked with a fair amount of hostility in her voice.

“You’re supposed to walk the bicycle through the crosswalk.  There may be children in the crosswalk.” He explained, ending with a shrug.

“I need to sit down.” I replied as the truck began to continue on its way, but I noticed there was a big dent in the hood where I had landed after being struck. 

“Are you sure you are alright?” Amy asked me as she had me sit in our van.

“Yeah.” I exhaled, “Boy, I was scared.”

“I’ll bet.” She sat next to me on the bumper of our van.  The police cars began to disperse.  I still held the ticket in my hand.  Amy gently pulled it from my hand. “We’ll deal with this later.”

“Alright.” I gulped.

“Maybe we should see a doctor.” She suggested.

I nodded.

The doctor walked into the patient room of the local Urgent Care. He was tall, bald and had a trimmed beard.  Carrying a clipboard, he smiled and said, “So, I’ve heard you have been hit by a truck.”

“Yup,” I shook my head.

“You are lucky to be here then.” He chuckled,

“So, I’ve been told.” I sighed.

“Where do you have pain?” He asked.

“My wrist.” I held my wrist up.

“We will need an x-ray.” He raised his chin as he held my injured wing.

The nurse took me into the x-ray room.

“Hold still.” she instructed as she put my arm on a table with a big ominous machine anchored into the ceiling hanging over my wrist.

“Alright.” I swallowed as I heard the monster come to life with an unsettling hum. 

The nurse took me back to the exam room where Amy was flipping through a magazine. 

“The doctor will be back after he has a look.” The nurse informed me as she left the room.

The doctor came back after five minutes.

“Your wrist has a tiny bony that has been fractured.” He nodded as he put the x-ray photograph on a lighted board hanging on the wall.  Looking at this photograph, I could not figure out what I was looking at, but the doctor pointed to a black part of the x-ray. “This bone right here.”

He pointed, but I'd be darned if I could see any fracture.

“You will need to wear this brace.” He held up the brace he wanted me to wear that wrapped around my wrist and arm fastening with Velcro. 

“For how long?” Amy asked.

“About two weeks.” He answered.

“That’s not too bad.” I concluded.

“How so?” He asked, removing my x-ray from the lit screen.

“Well, I saw the truck that hit me.” I put my finger to my chin, “There was a big dent in it where it hit me.”

“So?” He smiled.

“And all I have is a fracture in a small bone in my wrist.” I held up my arm with the new wrap in place.

“Yeah.”

“Well, with all things considered, it seems to me like I won.”