The front wheel immediately was butted to the left by the impact of the hefty dog.  When the back wheel hit the body, it stopped the bike cold and I was catapulted forward over the handlebars.  Leading with my head, the right side of my helmet impacted the ground as my shoulder slammed into the mirror and bent over the windshield. My next memory is laying on my back in the street with the blue sky overhead and music still playing in my headphones. Reaching up with my right hand to turn it off, I noticed I couldn't get the hand up to the helmet. I reached down with the arm to lift myself up but had no support and a searing pain in my shoulder. OUCH!  I rolled forward and looked for traffic before notcing the two women who had been in the driveway running toward me in shock.

They helped me lift the bike up, something I quickly realized I could no longer do without the use of my right arm.  Lifting the bags from the roadway brought intense pain so I unzipped my Aerostich jacket and felt my collarbone.  Pointy and nearly sticking through the skin. Not good.

I knew I was in shock but I had to let that pass before I could assess the level of trauma and damage.  In the mean time I had a casual conversation with the two women while reattaching luggage and single-handedly repairing broken mounts with zip ties and gorilla tape. Ever try to tear Gorilla Tape with one hand? Ha! They suggested I go to the hosptial and not ride away on the bike so I assured them that was where I was going. 

The pitbull I hit was nowhere to be found.  When I questioned the home owner as to whose dog that was, she claimed she had never seen it before and didn't know where it belonged to. Maybe the neighbors up the hill?  I noted the house number, took a picture of the sign and intersection but without the dog around, there wasn't much else for me to do here.  I soon learned that riding with a broken collarbone is no walk in the park. Easier than riding with broken ribs but painful nonetheless.  It was somewhere around the city line that I realized I should head back to get the name and phone number of the home owner just in case. Returning, I knocked a few times before a younger woman answered the door, the grand daughter of the home owner who had helped me back to my feet earlier.  When asked about the pitbull, she seemed crestfallen and admitted that the dog was named Isis and it was her pitbull.   It hadn't returned yet and we all feared for the worse.  I handed her my journal full of travel stories and on a blank page she reluctantly wrote down her and her mother's name and number.  With great difficulty I remounted La Tortuga, found a level of blissful paint tolerance and cranked out another 2.5 hours of riding 55 miles to my friend Jay's house.  

The only text I had sent was to my buddy Matt to mention I had the wreck.  I'd wait to alert the folks once I knew how bad it was.  Pulling up at Jay's, he and his wife, Alli immedaitely came outside. It was clear Matt had texted them.  Once I stood up, my slumped right shoulder was an easy tell that I had broken my collarbone.  The bone nearly poking through the skin was the confirmation.  I slumped into the bolstered bucket seats of Jay's BMW 328is for a twisty ride to the E.R.  Alli's background in radiology meant I had another professional eye on the whole image but even a child could see that my clavicle was fractured.

I left La Tortuga in Jay's basement at his homestead and was fortunate my parents could drive down from VA the following day and snatch me up.  All this before an impending snow storm pressing down from the great lakes may blanket the region in snow.  Between snow events, I made it over to the UVA Medical Center in Charlottesville. On Mar 23 I underwent surgery to install a stainless steel plate and titanium screws into the bone and fragments to reposition and support the clavicle. An hour and half of surgery and 26 staples later, I came to from anesthesia and was released to go home.

Recovery time is approximately 3-6 months with no lifting and limited mobility of the right arm for the first month.  The return to Virginia was something I had been looking forward to for quite some time but this is not what I had imagined.  The next few months of recovery and healing will offer opportunity to visit with old friends and hike with my parents around the Shenandoah Valley.   The 2018 Ohio River -> Gulf kayak trip will be moved back to July sometime if my shoulder is ready.

Thank you for all the support and kindness over the course of my Ruckus travels. The bike will be taking a parked role for the upcoming year or so while I focus on kayaking more. There will be an update to the website bringing it into WordPress and I'm not sure what the future of this blog will be exactly.  I'll keep it interesting...stay tuned!

Heading out of Alabama into Georgia was a trip down memory lane.  The route chosen roughly followed my 2015 cycling trip along Hwy 276 and the Chief Ladiga Trail.  Intending to camp in the Talladega National Forest off a quiet fire road, I found myself there at the early hour of 3PM.  Warm breezes were blowing and the sun shining so it was easy to keep pressing on.  A campsite along the Silver Comet Trail known as Comet Camp was my new spot for the night.  The rolling foothills of the Appalachian Mountains offered high speed 48 mph cruising downhill and slowing to the teens climbing the steep valleys.   Soon reaching the Comet Camp, I found a beautiful site a short walk, or scoote ride, down the paved bike trail.  Updating the journal by the pond formed by the railroad across a swampland, I reflected on the scenic drive and colors of the fading day. In the distance the sound of Hwy 278 and the heavy trucks rumbled on to somewhere else.  A few touring cyclists showed up and I realized that this cycling camp should be theirs tonight, not mine.  I'll keep on scooting with nowhere in mind to camp now.  Off I rode into the dusky sunset, comforted by the brief warmth and knowing darkness would soon bring the cold.   Continuing on into the darkness on 55mph back roads, I rode another 40 miles until reaching a state gameland which allowed camping.  The stars sparkled in the sky but the fog in the field was quickly collecting on my jacket, helmet and gear.  About a quarter mile away in a clearing, rednecks gunned their V-8 trucks through mud puddles, the thump of heavy bass carries through the barren oak woods while the acrid scent of of burning plastic drifts up.

​In the morning after coffee and a short walk around the field, I set off east ahead of an approaching storm front.  With three days of solid rain and wind forecast, I better find a solid shelter to sit it out.  The Dawson State Forest is an Atlanta City forest managed for recreation along the Etowah River.  The 70 degree day and light winds carried the scent of dry pine needles through the awakening vernal forest.  By 1pm, the storm front was visible in the sky as a dark line as trees in that direction waved in the gusting winds.  On my left while heading down a steep hill to the river was the overhanging dark entrance to a cave.  A short walking trail led down to the creek and I parked the bike and went exploring just as the rain began to fall.  Seeking shelter in the cave, I set up my tent and smiled at the serendipity of it all.  After a brief inspection for other inhabitants, I felt relaxed and comforted knowing I'd have a dry place to read and spectate for a few days

 On the third day, the rain lessened and by noon it had grown 20 degrees cooler into the lower 40's.  It was as if winter decided to make a return.  A check of the weather map showed the low pressure system and cool northern bands of blue sinking to the deep south.  Winds were gusty but the sky turned blue while I stopped through the day to warm my fingers with cups of coffee.  The one saving grace was the tailwinds helped me along and returned 120mpg from the little engine that could.

By nightfall, I found myself nearing Taccoa, GA. A sign for Camp Toccoa - Currahee Mountain made me google the name and found that it was the WW-II training site for many paratroopers.  The HBO show Band of Brothers was set here and I have fond memories of watching that show with Dad as a youngster.  Turning off the forest road, I barely make it up the loose climb up steep leaves.  The oak forest crunches beneath my feet, the top layer dry yet underneath still soggy from days of rain. The scurry of squirrels unearthing acorns and swift breezes of changing season makes it feel like fall.

The following day after a pleasant but chilly ride through Upstate SC, I reach the Lake Joccassee gorges and wildlife management area.  The place is dead on the weekday, my tracks the only vehicle down this dead-end road in a long time. Up on a cleared knoll with a view of the Hanging Rock, I set up my tent and read for the remainder of the afternoon out of the high winds.  Gusts nearly blew me off the hill overnight with nearby towns registering 50+mph winds.  The nice thing about camping in an open field is the lack of widow-makers.

My beautiful Aunt Eileen lives near Spartanburg, SC so I stopped in to visit for a few days.  The weather was breezy and cold so I was quite happy to relax and enjoy her company beside the fireplace.  Her fresh salads and healthy lifestyle was easy to match and when the days cleared, made a trip to the nearby Campbell Covered Bridge (c.1909).  Before leaving, she loaded me up on homemade organic oatmeal raisin cookies. I promised to share some with my little brother.

The peach orchards were in full bloom through Gafney (home of the peach water tower) and Chesnee.  

It was a non-eventful ride from Spartanburg to Charlotte on a combination of country roads and 4-lane highways.  The warmer spring weather and sunny sky made it a breeze, sublime to be scooting through these familiar landscapes, smells and sights again.  St. Patrick's day celebrations over the weekend were fun as we rode the light rail to some local breweries where all the similarly dressed Millenials got drunk on overpriced booze. Ah the joys of being young.

On my way out of town the following day, I met up with the Making Slow Look Fast Scooter club at the Landmark Diner for brunch.  There were many different makes and models of scooters there from my touring rig down to Jay Moorman's two stroke Spree tuned for speed. He let me ride that lightweight high-revving two stroke and it was pure bliss once it got on the pipe.  A special thanks to Rick Cutchin for inspiring the event and getting everyone together. 

This past weekend was the Alabama Cup Whitewater Race on the Mulberry Fork of the Black Warrior River. It was sorta on my way so I stopped in to check out the festivities. The water was up and the course looked technical but doable. After my bit of paddling back in California, I felt like I could probably ferry and climb eddies within this course. Folks were nestled along the steep bank to grab a view of the single and tandam racers.

Later that afternoon, I made it back to my friends at Common Ground in Royal, AL. It was a warm welcome from everyone and a Sunday night potluck saw 36 people come out to greet me and celebrate Darryl's 68th birthday. While visiting I had opportunity to go on hikes, plant potatoes with Martha, weed the garden, spread mulch and work on mowers. It was a constant schedule to meet friends and share meals around the community. It has been enjoyable watching things shift and grow as more younger people are attrqcted to the land and it's value for the future. There is a special warmth here and care that is shared and spread among the characters of Hamilton Mountain.

Over at Trickle Creek where I spent 6 months, nature had taken over and was in charge. Privet hedges grow quickly and much of my work has returned. My old jeans however are still hung on the garden line.

I had the thought a few days ago to clean up the trashed Royal Cut-Off Rd. In an hour of work, Nancy and I picked up 6 or 7 bags of recycling, many glass jugs and a christmas tree (fake). Here she is caught red-handed.

It was a short but momentus visit but I plan to paddle back here for the Land Party in July. I imagine it will be a much needed break from my journey to reset, repack ans relax among friends.

After a memorable visit with family, I felt ready to continue on in the northeasterly direction toward friends in north Alabama. The southerly Gulf winds blew warm and humid to drive me back to the pine forests and river campsites of central Alabama.

The US Army Corps of Engineers has built major dams and lakes along the rivers in this region. Part of their management are the many recreation sites and boat ramps for access. Each day was an easy 100 mi scoot from one camp to another. Wildlife refuges harbor migratory birdlife and create a buffer between some of the gas and oil operations.

An old log church in a bend on Watermellon Rd outside Tuscaloosa catches my attention. The dove-tailed oak logs and wavy glass windows speak to another time and level of craftsmanship.

The winds shifted to the NW and blew a cold wind down the Tombigbee valley. I was foolish to believe March would be so docile and warm. Fortunately the day would be warm on my way to friends for the next few days.