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Brush with Death
By Tom Briede
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On a warm, sunny midweek June
day in the Catskill Mountains of New York State I witnessed a
brush with death. It was to be a fun filled, challenging day of
mountain biking with a most respected friend and fellow cyclist.
What ensued was a wilderness cycling misfortune. An accident,
which gave me a life changing respect for the dangers associated
with the vast outdoors and almost cost my friend Scott his life.
Scott and I met on the mountain's racing mountain
bikes, camping out with our mountain bikes, and on this occasion,
hiking with our mountain bikes. We decided one day to explore
the Catskill Mountains in a park called The North Lake State Campground
in Tannersville, NY. The trail we were following was part of the
Escarpment Trail and runs along the Hudson Valley. Most of the
trails on this mountain were hiking trails, but we decided we
would hike where necessary with the bikes on our backs, and ride
wherever possible. We rode along countless cliffs and saw some
of the most fantastic views that I had ever seen. Although my
stomach became very uneasy along some of the drops it was invigorating
as long as I remembered to keep my distance from the edge. Scott
on the other hand, had no problem dangling his feet some 300 feet
above the valley floor and showed no fear of the jagged rocks
or cliffs around us.
After several scenic views overlooking the Hudson
Valley, the trail turned back into the forest and began to climb
some small rock formations. We came to a part of the trail, which
demanded we climb 40 feet straight up rocks before continuing.
We barely managed to get ourselves up the climb, let alone our
25 lb bicycles. By the time we got to the top of the climb, I
was pleased to see that, although the trail had a 40 ft drop to
the right, it was very ride-able. I jumped on my bike and began
to navigate down the trail making sure not to come any where near
the edge of the drop. While riding I heard Scott calmly say "oh,
oh OOOOOOPS" followed by an eerie sound of breaking tree
branch's. When I looked back, my heart jumped into my throat because
Scott was no longer on the trail.
The next thing I heard was the most frightening
sound ever; a long, deep, loud gasp for air. I scanned the sloped
terrain below and finally saw Scott wedged under a large fallen
tree some 70 ft down from where I was standing. I quickly sprinted
back down the trail, trying to navigate back to the part of the
mountain I thought he had fallen to. I climbed back down the cliff
face and started walking along the bottom of the hill looking
for Scott. I remember feeling incredible anxiety over the fact
I could no longer hear him making any noise and I feared the worst.
I yelled his name many times before I heard him weakly reply,
"over hear, I'm here." Scott was completely paralyzed,
his body was lying there lifeless; his helmet stuck to the fallen
tree and the strap was strangling him. I unhooked his strap, which
turned out to be a bad idea; his head snapped back like it was
detaching from his shoulders. I worried he had neck trauma. Luckily,
he was able to move his head and I used his helmet to prop his
head up before we began to assess his damage.
Scott could not breath normally, he could not feel his legs and
there was incredible pain in his back and shoulder. Scott stayed
amazingly calm and suggested we wait a few minutes to see if he
might begin to feel better. Within a few minutes, he began to
move his arms and hands. He kept pinching his legs to test the
feeling in them until finally he seemed to be getting all of his
feeling back. After a long and anxious 15 minutes, Scott stood
up on his own power. One of his arms was in excruciating pain,
so we decided to make a sling from a spare inner tube and bind
it so it would not move. As we began to walk back out to the trail,
Scott complained of severe dizziness and a dramatically decreased
breathing capacity.
We talked about what our game plan would
be. Neither of us knew how bad Scott really was and he insisted
I not use my cell phone to call for help. He was determined to
make it out of the woods on his own. We were at least 5 miles
from our car on some of the most rugged hiking trails in the Catskill
Mountains but he was determined to walk out on his own power.
I gave Scott a big drink of water, coated his skin with bug repellant
to keep the bugs off of his bloody body, grabbed our two bikes,
helmets and hydration packs and began to slowly lead Scott out
of the woods. For the first three hours, Scott was walking at
a snail's pace, about 6 inches per step. He told me he tasted
some blood, but he was not spitting out any large amounts. He
complained of right side numbness and impaired vision in his right
eye. Now I was really getting nervous, it was near 3PM and I was
worried that nightfall was approaching faster then we could get
out of the woods. Just then, Scott looked up at me and his face
went from pale green to a much brighter flesh color. He said,
"I think my lungs just re-inflated." I said, "I
didn't know they were deflated." With his better breathing
capacity, Scott started moving out of the woods. I could no longer
keep up with him carrying all the gear. Within a half hour we
were out to a road, I left Scott with some hikers we found to
help us at the roadside and rode my bicycle as fast as possible
back to my car.
As I flew down the road to the nearest hospital
I called his family and the hospital to inform them he was coming
in with some injuries that needed immediate attention. Scott walked
slowly into the emergency room, sat in a wheelchair exhausted
and was rushed away. The Doctor who examined him just before he
lost consciousness came out to talk to me. She said, "I'm
confused. Scott says he fell off a 20 foot cliff onto rocks, but
I just saw him walk in here with hardly any problem." My
reply was to examine him thoroughly because what Scott did not
realize was he had fallen off a 40 ft cliff onto rocks and there
was probably more damage to his inside then he was showing. He
was somehow able to suppress the incredible pain he was feeling
while hiking out of the woods. The doctors could not believe that
he had fallen that far and survived let alone walk out on his
own two feet.
The tests and x-rays came back and we found out that Scott had
ripped one lung, fractured and separated his scapula, broken three
ribs, badly bruised his back and quad muscles and was left with
some big gashes in his back. The fracture in his scapula was 10"
long and shaped like a big "C". It took him two months
to recover full feeling in his right side from the nerve damage
he suffered. The Doctor also commented that while hiking out,
the ripped lung was able to clot and refilled itself back up with
air. Scott underwent shoulder surgery and was riding his road
bike with one arm a week later. He is now enjoying a full recovery
and the two of us now stick to more ride-able terrain to mountain
bike on. I often reflect on how lucky we both were that day and
how Scott's stubbornness and my limited survival skills almost
cost Scott his life.
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