Brother Ride

Autumn road construction is a common thorn in the side of our annual Abbott brother ride.

My road construction luck is especially poor today. This is the second long wait.

There was a third road construction delay above Lapwai but finally the day’s end is in sight.

I awake with my brothers Jeremy and Joel (and nephew Avery) to a hardy huckleberry pancake breakfast from our mom. Soon we ride. It’s going to be a good day!

Jeremy readies the trusty TW while Joel tries to fix the visor latch on his helmet.

Leaves on the ground belie continued summer temperatures.

We head from our mom’s over Moscow Mountain, as we’ve done many times before.

Our mom warned of recent logging on the mountain. It’s sad to see shadowy forests reduced to dusty thickets that won’t be forests again in our lives but we’re grateful for passage through the mountain’s private lands.

Stretches of road have been ground into inches of powder. I ride slowly so my brothers behind aren’t lost in a dust cloud.

We see smoke obscuring the horizon beyond Potlatch as we summit the mountain

We connect across hills to Palouse River Road that will take us to Clarkia and beyond. Signs warn of an unexpected closure but with motorcycle confidence we continue on until stopped at an excavator and missing bridge.

We scout a moment and find an easy way around.

“I don’t think you should wear a mask in there,” I suggest to Jeremy as I see him start to pull one on. “They might kick you out.”

We have stopped at J&E in Clarkia for final snacks and strap checks before heading into the mountains.

Our first destination is the Lines Creek Historical Trail, a place we noticed while riding home one year. The three mile, ATV-sized trail runs through thick forest by various decrepit rail artifacts.

The trains here were part of a Weyerhaeuser operation to log large timber in the rugged, steep terrain.

We stop a minute to examine what’s left of an old logging locomotive, a Climax two-truck, number 103.

A trail isn’t complete without deadfall to cross over or under.

We all have handsaws but in this case it’s easier to squeeze under.

The nice campsite along Bissel Creek is occupied so we grudgingly rumble around until we find a gravel work area a bit off the road to set up camp. Joel and I are equally amused and intrigued, as usual these recent years, to see Jeremy set up under a simple tarp. We hope to encourage him by discussing the bugs likely to crawl over him in the night.

We while away the day’s remaining hours in typical fashion, reminiscing and discussing ventures, looking forward and back as branches crackle in the fire and strong drinks take hold.

Jeremy survived in his tarp. We’re greeted by a morning that is dry and warm (quite different from some other years) but no less needful of a fire to center the day.

We weren’t able to get a campsite by it but we can filter water from the nearby creek.

Jeremy thinks it’s time for a new motorcycle. He’s probably right.

We depart camp and connect with other ATV-sized trails we’ve never ridden before. We find ourselves ensconced in the smell and shade of cedars like a hidden space.

A berm across the trail triggers the wrong reflex. Without thinking, my wrist whacks the throttle like I’m on my small dirt bike, ready to launch. I find myself much higher in the air than desirable and canting forward onto a large branch lying in the trail.

It is over before I have time for any thought or regret. The bike lands fully upside down and I’m launched into the ground.

I am glad I’ve had the wind knocked out of me before so I know there’s no reason for panic as I initially struggle to breath.

“Get a picture,” I whisper as soon as I’m able.

Joel puts his EMT experience to use, checking that I can move my limbs then carefully pressing around my torso. None of that hurts.

Jeremy is kind to donate some peanut butter and health drink when I start to get sweaty and shaky from adrenaline, I guess. Other than that, we crack jokes about it, as brothers do.

My motorcycle has a lot of damage but is surprisingly ridable. The windscreen is gone, the forks are askew and the steel luggage box and pannier mounting bars are twisted. It was a good tumble.

I don’t want the trip to end, let alone with a medevac. After 45 minutes or more, I felt ready to stand. My brothers helped me get on my motorcycle so we could detour into the tiny town of Avery for whatever we might need to carry on.

Ibuprofen and snacks were about all we could find of use in Avery. I’m still not able to breath right and I have pains that are hard to ignore so we decide we should cut our trip short.

It is now later in the day and we’re a ways from home so we decide we’ll camp one more night. We head along Fishhook Creek back into the mountains.

Smoke has grown thicker and is now pouring over the mountain in visible rivers. It seems fitting for this post-apocalyptic, pandemic ride.

It is too late and I’m too slow now to try to find a way out of the smoke so we set up in an otherwise premium spot for our unexpected last night of 2020.

Setting up my tent and getting myself situated within is uncomfortable. Jeremy sees my slow movements and comes to help. I make a mental note of how to have Jeremy set up my tent every year.

“Hope you don’t have a punctured lung,” he says.

Smoke the next morning is even thicker. Maybe it’s good this ride is ending early.

Rain or shine, smoke or smash-up, we need the group photo. We pull on our special “quarantine” shirts and put on our best smiles.

I ride with my brothers out of the mountains but then we part ways as I head the remaining 350 miles home to Boise. The day heats up as I arrive back at the central Idaho road construction, now even worse. It isn’t my favorite time.

After another day of discomfort I’m persuaded to visit the nearby drop-in care place, where I get an x-ray. The doctor calls shortly after to say I need to go to the emergency department.

At the hospital I get a CT scan which finds “fractures of the right fourth and fifth ribs,” “a right-sided pneumothorax with maximum pleural separation of 1.5 cm,” and “extensive subcutaneous gas overlying the right chest wall.”

There isn’t much to be done for the ribs and punctured lung except take it easy and suck a tube thing everyday to get the lung back in shape. I think I also tore muscles in my lower back since that’s what makes sleeping hardest but nothing much to do about that either.

Oh, and the motorcycle: the most expensive damage is that the subframe bent a good bit. Fortunately, it’s fully covered by insurance so both it and I will be as good as new soon enough, ready to ride hard.