I was pretty satisfied with my performance at the Rob Kells Memorial Competition at the Florida Ridge. My body was sore and tired from 4 hour-plus flights, but no troubles with my back, and I was sleeping well in the pop-up. 3 of 4 days at goal, and the landing out was my best finish! The first day of the Rally sucked for me however, but days 2 and 3 proved to me that I could still finish fairly strong. I am not a fast pilot, but I had been making good decisions to leave areas when they were unproductive, and on Day 4 of the Rally, I left the Moultrie airport after dicking around with bullshit lift in the start circle for too long. Day 3’s task had provided me with my lowest, most outrageous save ever, so on my glide out of there, Overconfidence might have been my copilot…. and Complacency my back seat driver…. I saw Charlie out front and below me, and another pilot turning pretty well, until I arrived. Then the lift disappeared and we scrambled to find a core. Charlie went right, the other glider went upwind, and I headed downwind to a golf course at around 1300’. No luck, try the junkyard…. Nope, 800’, there’s a cell tower, no luck, …. 500’ I can make that plowed field over there…. And when I turned onto base leg for a landing along the downwind tree line, I didn’t get the glider to turn left 90 degrees. Instead, I got kicked right, over the narrow tree line to a smaller, but acceptable landing field behind. I hit a piece of ridge lift off the tree line, or maybe a thermal, but I was low and needed to turn left almost 180 degrees into the wind to land. But I only got around 90 degrees, and had to level out and flare. The ground was screaming by and I thought I’d get away with a crappy skidding roll-out landing. But not in the freshly plowed and planted peanut field… the base bar dug in and end-over I went. Fast and hard and violent. I came to rest on top of the underside of my sail and when I pulled my limbs into a fetal position, I knew I had a broken right arm. I removed my helmet with my left hand after calling for help on the radio and got not response. My teeth and eyes had gritty dirt in them and I was glad to be atop my sail. I couldn’t move around much nor see a lot of my surroundings, but the wind was blowing harder than I anticipated and there was a small house 50 yds away. A road was in the direction of the top of my head, 75 yds away where I could make out only trucks going by while really craning my neck. My broken arm rested on my right hip and felt like five other people’s arms laying on me. Crunching, a lot. I had to think everything through since I couldn’t move too much. I called out for help a few times, but my voice competing with the diesel engine noise in the background sounded so pathetic and I didn’t want to start crying. I tried my PTT again, shouting into my helmet. No answer. I was lying on my radio/phone pocket and I’d have to prevent my broken arm from falling off my body to get at it. Slowly I rolled to expose the zipper behind which my cell phone was stowed. My Blackberry Storm, the buggiest, most frustrating phone I ever paid a ton of money for…. my only link to much-needed medical help…I picked that zipper open, one tooth at a time, balancing my arm, blinking sweat and dirt out of my eyes, choking back the sobbing I desperately wanted to lose myself in. Almost an hour had passed since my crash when I finally freed my phone. I brought it out to place a call to Bill Schell, driver extraordinaire, and saw it was in ‘camera mode’ partially, then it went snowy white screen and stayed that way. Oh god, now I have to reboot? I can barely get the battery out with two hands- now I gotta do it with ONE??? WITHOUT DROPPING ANYTHING??? I did get the battery out, using my teeth, and told the vultures circling overhead that I wasn’t quite ready for them yet. As the little clock timer thing spun around while the stupid phone did a soft-boot, I laughed inside thinking about the coroner having to pry a perfectly working phone out of my cold dead hands. Ten minutes later I was able to call Bill, and try to guide Mark, who thought I bled out hours ago, to the place where I was laying. I could only describe what I knew from the air, and they were near the junkyard I flew over. But frustration set in and I started bawling so I had a 911 operator get a GPS fix on me and relay it to them- and an ambulance. I had dropped the battery cover off the back of my phone into the dirt, and when the first-responders started running across the field towards me, I remembered to ask them to grab it before it got lost. I was so relieved to have help, it was 90+ out there and I was worried about shock and heat stroke and my arm falling off, but I immediately shifted to salvage mode. I remembered Tom Lanning’s account of his equipment being taken by the tide while his broken arm was tended to, and other stories of harnesses being cut off…. And then I told the first guy there not to cut a thing- if he couldn’t figure out how to get me out – then we’d wait for Mark. The EMT started arguing with me about time, and I told him I’d been lying there for more than an hour and I’d wait one more if it meant not cutting my harness… and by the way you’re standing on my SAIL, buddy!!!!! I was singing a way different tune, however, as Mark and the EMT tried to stabilize my arm while getting me upright. I was able to walk to the ambulance and they got me on an IV and morphine push really quickly. I don’t think they liked my new tune so I kept getting more morphine after every pothole they hit on the way to the ED. I’ve never broken anything big before, but the orthopedic guy they got off of the golf course to fix me had seen it a million times. Surgery the next day (Thursday, May 7th) was 2 plates, 16 screws, and around 20 staples to put 6 long slivers of humerus back together. Morphine, Percocet- everyone keeps asking me how can I wipe my own ass left-handed- but with those drugs I might never have to find out at all…..
Than you, Ben, for hearing my first call for help. And Mark and Alex for landing to come find me when he relayed it to them. And Rhett and Bobby for aerial searching. And Bill for driving and reassuring Meesha and breaking down my glider. And Jack and Nicole and Alexia and who else was there 20 minutes out of recovery???? I was sooooo loopy. And the guys at the Moultrie airport. The whole hospital staff (especially the nurses bearing Percocet!) Mark gave up the end of his meet to wash up my glider and get me back home. Bill left my car and my dog in better shape than he found them. And now all these people on Facebook and the internet that have said a prayer, given advice or just shared my pain some…. Wow. When the drugs wear off and the real mental healing begins, I’ll be drawing from all of you. I’ll need you. Complacency and overconfidence almost killed me. I hope someone learns something from me. Because if you can’t be a good example…. At least be a horrible warning……