Long Ride 2016 - Day 15

April 22, 2016

Laverton, WA to ... somewhere on the Great Central Road

April 22 started like any other day on the Long Ride 2016.  The morning sun was warm and it brought an air of excitement as we prepared for the Great Central Road, a 1200km stretch of desert track that would take us across the Great Victoria Desert to Uluru (Ayers Rock).

 

The day got even better as we packed the bikes, our accommodation, at the Desert Inn Hotel was surprisingly good.  I'd been told that we would be in Donga's, a portable cabin normally used for workers in these parts of the world.  From the outside they weren't anything special, on the inside they were modern, clean and spacious.  It was a pleasant surprise and very cheap at just $50 per room.  As I packed I noticed a small cry coming from the end of the cabin, underneath it.  A small kitten, perhaps a week or so old, was looking for its mother, no doubt a feral.

 

I'm not a cat person, in fact it's probably fair to say that I hate them and the destruction they do to both native flora and fauna but this little fellow was adorable.  We quickly befriended each other.  The day was getting better.

 

The Desert Inn Hotel, a must in Laverton.  They helped play
a major role in getting me home safe.

Once packed and fuelled we headed to the small delicatessen that adjoined the pub.  The food was simple, but fresh and very well cooked.  I had a toasted sandwich and a tub of fruit salad, delicious.  We ate at the front of the pub, in the warming sun, discussing how we would tackle the dirt road across the desert, agreeing that we'd stop every 50 kilometres unless something took our interest, in which we would all stop if in agreance.  Watching the town awaken in the sun, the day was getting better.

 

Bidding farewell to our hosts at the Desert Inn we headed north-east to begin the journey across the desert.  We rode around 2 kilometres on sealed road and then there was the dirt.  A roadtrain, a truck with 4 trailers, was preparing to take the same journey, as was a Toyota Landcruiser and caravan, the occupants dropping their tyre pressures in readiness for the sand and rocks.

 

Despite recent heavy rains, the road was in reasonably good condition.  It was certainly corrugated in places but nothing too drastic.  The riding was good, we slowed at one stage to let another traveller pass, we continued on.

 

Our first stop, Cosmo Newberry, was just 90 kilometres along the Great Central Road, easy going, I was looking forward to getting there and seeing the first of many places we'd see that a lot of others don't.

 

Suddenly one of group stopped, pulling off the road, it was clear that the rider in the lead was unaware and kept going.  The rider that pulled off the track informed us that he needed to use the toilet.  I was flabbergasted, what grown man can only ride for 40 kilometres, perhaps 45 minutes, before needed to take a shit?  Couldn't he wait a little longer? Why didn't he go before we left town?

 

Annoyed, I informed everyone I  would continue on and catch up with the unaware rider.  The riding was still good, the corrugations were a little worse but at a steady pace they were manageable, in fact I was enjoying the riding over the bumps, the constant juddering wasn''t that bad.  I looked forward, the day was getting better ...

 

Shit! Why is there an immense pain down the right side of my body?  Where the hell am I? I hear a vehicle coming, it slows, it passes.  The bike is on top of me ...

 

There's voices, swearing, panicked.  The bike is still on top of me.  There's still pain. The pain in my right shoulder is familiar.  I'll take a little nap ...

 

I'm sitting up, the bike no longer on top of me.  The pain in my shoulder is now intense, it doesn't matter, my chest is beginning to go numb, as is my neck despite a slight underlying ache.  The voices are still present, still slightly panicked yet now more decisive.  They're discussing whether the emergency beacon on the Spot Gen3 should be activated.  Where are we?  How long until we get to Broken Hill?  The emergency beacon is pushed.  I'll close my eyes and have another little sleep ...

 

Angels.  A couple from Taiwan, on an adventure, stopped to
help.  I would  really like to know who they are so that I can
personally thank the.

"Shit, he's bleeding!" Someone's removed my helmet.  Did I ask them to?  Do they know not to remove a helmet unless the rider is having trouble breathing?  Surely they do, most of us have done first aid training.  It doesn''t matter.  Will we be in Broken Hill soon?  Why are the instruments hanging off my bike? Strange.  I'll just close my eyes a little ...

 

Voices talking, away from me.  An Asian accent.  What's happening?  The voice tells me they will be cutting my gloves to remove them, I'm fine with that, just don't cut my jacket.  Oh, it's already been done.  I'm prodded and poked, pulse taken, spoken to about things that seem unimportant.  I'm pretty sure we'll be in Broken Hill soon, but why are the instruments hanging from my bike? It doesn't matter, I'm exhausted.  I'll take another sleep ...

 

"Leigh, Leigh, how are you going? My name is ... ", the voice trails off, there's a four wheel drive with us now.  The police from Laverton have arrived.  Have I done something wrong?  Aren't they a long way from home, we are on our way to Broken Hill.  I'm glad they're here, they might be able to help with the pain.  I feel ill.  Vomit can't be too far away.  If I close my eyes it will pass ...

 

"G'day mate!  How are you feeling?  My name is Eleanor, you can call me Elle.  Do you know your name?"  This voice is comforting.  An ambulance is here.  A light is being shone in my eyes.  My left arm is being constricted, my blood pressure taken.  I'm conversing with the voices, not really taking anything in. The pain is still intense, I inhale through a tube, it tastes "like arse".  The pain is easing.  Oh wow, I have to take another sleep, this day is very tiring ...

 

"Leigh! Leigh! Mate, don't close your eyes.  Stay awake," it's Eleanor.  In a soothing way she's being quite forceful.  The voices seen muffled, I'm no longer on the ground, in the dirt.  I'm lying down, on a bed, in an ambulance.  Wow! This must be serious.  I have tubes from my arm.  There's wires attached to my chest.  The pain is almost non-existent, I guess we are on our way to Broken Hill.  I wonder if someone will put the instruments back on my bike.  It doesn't matter, I'll have a little sleep ...

 

"OK Leigh, time to wake up mate," why do these people keep waking me up?  "We're back in town."

 

Strangely I feel underwhelmed, there were no bells and whistles.  In fact it was quite a slow ride into town, I'm strapped to some sort of inflated bed, I can't move. 

 

I'm pushed through a small waiting room, an aboriginal lady looks at me from above, she smiles but looks concerned.  I'm pushed into a room, a pretty doctor smiles and asks how I am.  The paramedics start talking with the hospital staff.  There's talk about a motorcycle accident.  I hope the poor bugger is OK.  They shave my right arm and insert a needle, tubes are now pumping fluid into my left arm and two tubes are attached to my right arm, something is being injected into it.

 

The people in the room are talking about a broken clavicle, I know what that's like.  They also speak in hushed tones about fractures to the ribs and neck, and possible paralysis.  Wait!  They are talking about me.  I must looked worried, the pretty doctor smiles again and tells me not to worry, they will call the Royal Flying Doctor Service to take me to Perth so that tests and scans can be done.  This is serious.  Suddenly I'm jolted back to reality, the pain is intense, I feel sick ... I'm scared.

 

As the doctor explains that she needs to put a cafeter in my penis, it starts to dawn on me how serious this is.  I have indeed had another accident, much worse than the one 18 months earlier.  So serious that I don't seem to care what has happened to the bike.  Bits and pieces start to make some sense.  It's all very tiring, and for the first time the medical professionals let me have some sleep.

 

I'm woken some time later, being told that the aircraft has landed.  The RFDS are here to take me to Perth.  I'm wheeled out to the ambulance then driven the short distance to where the aeroplane is waiting for me.  It's a horrible feeling having all this happen while you lay flat on your back, you know you are moving but have no idea where you are going.  I'm greeted by three ladies, the pilot, a doctor and a nurse.  They reassure me that everything will be alright.  I'm desperately trying to get a look at the aircraft, terrified that it will be one of the GAF Nomads that I worked on as a young apprentice - they were the aircraft of choice for the RFDS not that long ago.

 

Aboard the plane, my initial carers wish me well, I mumble something about seeing them again.  The pilot explains something about the flight, it's a direct flight and should take around 90 minutes, the weather is good but there could be some rough stuff.  The doctor tells me she will give me more morphine, it should make me sleep for most of the flight.  I'm thankful.  We take off, I close my eyes, and drift away ...

 

I'm woken and we land in the Western Australia capital city.  The RFDS crew wish me well as I am loaded aboard ambulance for a 20 minute ride to Royal Perth Hospital.  I'm in pain, lots of pain, I feel pain in my feet and hands, I'm thankful. 

 

I'm wheeled into RPH, a rush of faces and names, it's overwhelming.  I'm exhausted, every time I close my eyes, someone asks if I am with them.  Come on, please, let me sleep.  More fluids are pumped into both my arms, the pain is no longer there, I feel nauseous.  I'm xrayed laying down, on my back and on my side.  The staff seem satisfied, I'm wheeled into a room.  I'm left alone. 

 

I have a serious urge to pee. 

 

I fall asleep ...