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My Skidoo Suit
In early 1974, while living in Halifax, on a beautiful winter day, I took my motorbike out for a ride. I was cruising along somewhere near top speed, 125 miles per hour, when a wide crack in the road suddenly appeared in my path. It spanned the whole width of the road and was only at a small angle to my line of travel. I had to make a split second decision of risking to wipeout on the pavement if one of my wheels got caught in the rut or wipeout on the softer dirt shoulder. I immediately eased off on the gas and opted for a shoulder wipeout in response to a directing voice.
As soon as I hit the slippery dirt shoulder my bike started going out of control but I managed to hang on just long enough to redirect my trajectory so that I flew over the handlebars and parallel to the road. My bike slipped out from beneath me. Had I not been able to do that I would most likely have killed myself by colliding into a snow bank that was hiding a guardrail.
I presumed that the snow bank was hiding a guardrail because my bike flew up the bank and chopped off the top of a guardrail post with its rear wheel that simultaneously bent the rim onto the hub. The bike then slid or tumbled back down onto the shoulder.
Meanwhile I was flying under the radar at breakneck speed, head first. I tucked and rolled upon contact with the ground. I was spinning very fast but I was very conscious and aware and my senses seemed to be heightened. I was able to control my tumbling to turn my body to spin along the length of the spine rather than across the spine at a back breaking angle and also to avoid the bank and pavement.
I could see that my skidoo suit was coming apart at the seams as my sleeves and pant legs were flying around me in every direction. During the tumbling I also lost my helmet and glasses. As I slowed down near the end of my tumbling run I did a turn or two on my elbows and knees then on my hands and feet with extended arms and legs, cartwheels, and ended up standing facing my bike which was now lying on the shoulder.
I began picking up the pieces. I found my glasses in my first few steps. One lens was missing but the frame was not bent and the lens was not scratched or barely noticeable. I put them on and proceeded carefully to look for my missing lens.
A pickup truck showed up on the opposite shoulder and a man came across the two lane highway to check up on me and see if he could be of some assistance. I asked him to be careful and to watch for my missing lens. He found it right away. It also was barely scratched and surprisingly clean. I was able to snap it back into the frame in just a few seconds.
He offered me a lift back to Halifax and we loaded up my bike in the back of his truck. I also got in the box as his wife was in the passenger seat. He drove me right to my residence and helped me put my bike in the garage.
My helmet indicated that I had hit my head at least seven times as there were scratches in seven different directions on it. My skidoo suit hood also showed scratches in different directions. My skidoo suit was hanging on me like a hole(y) rag. I felt somewhere between being shattered and being the recipient and witness of a miracle.
My ankle was slightly sore but otherwise I felt no pain. I had a slight scratch on my forehead. I walked over to the hospital to get checked out just in case. A nurse gave me a tetanus shot, the needle almost broke, she checked me out and sent me home. I lived close to the hospital.
I was abuzz, for three days. I didn't sleep for three days. I must have been full of adrenalin. In my head it was like daylight both night and day. I was wide awake the whole time.
Someone in the residence told me there was a seamstress across the street who could mend my suit. I brought it to her and she fixed it up with patches, resewn zippers, pockets and sleeves. I was very pleased and surprised and also grateful and doubly so as her fee was surprisingly low.
I still have that old skidoo suit. I took some photos of it. If you zoom in you can see the direction of some of the scratches and the stitching on the sleeves, pockets and zippers.
I consider this a close call with death or severe injury. I've had others.
Jacques Gauvin
September 13, 2020.
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