Running from the pack

Combat Edge, Sept, 2005 by Bill Malec

The big "101 Critical Days of Summer" clock had barely started ticking when I became an early statistic. As is my custom, I had read the summer safety articles and messages from the senior leaders, cautioning on the dangers of summer and encouraging one and all to "be safe." Somewhere in the back of my mind I probably thought, "... but not me!"

Admittedly, 101 Critical Days was not the first thing on my mind, as I set out for an early Sunday morning bike ride on the largely deserted streets and roads around O'Fallon, Illinois. A long bike ride is a great way to clear your head and contemplate the day and week ahead.

Fortunately for me, over the years I've picked up some of the planning and organizing skills that are key to effective operational risk management. I didn't actually pull out and run my ORM checklist during my pre-departure phase, but I did run down a mental list of what to take on my ride.

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I had figured out long before the Air Force and the DoD mandated it, that a bicycle helmet was absolutely essential to any bike ride. I added biker gloves and safety glasses to keep dirt and bugs out of the eyes. The mouth tends to get pretty parched out there so I took along a bottle of my favorite sports drink and a wash cloth for occasional brow wipes. Last but not least, I hooked my cell phone to my waist band just in case I needed comm connectivity while out and about.

As I pedaled away I had no inkling of the unexpected adventure that waited just ahead. It's funny how stuff can happen so quickly and have such a potential long-term impact.

One minute I was pedaling contently down a quiet paved country road and the next ..." trouble." Trouble appeared in the form of three dogs that came running through an open area off to the right headed toward me. This was quite unexpected since I had been down this same road the day and week before with no dogs sighted.

"Danger Will Robinson!" Personal risk management kicked in and the acronym A-C-T with it: Assess your environment for hazards; Consider your options; and Take action to live.

As I said, it was a pretty tranquil environment until Fido and his pals showed up. The trio consisted of one large Lab-like mutt and two smaller white and black bundles of fur still headed my way, barking as they came. I immediately reviewed my options.

I never considered stopping, as I wasn't feeling the love, and figured I had the superior speed and agility necessary to make a successful escape. I shifted into overdrive and pedaled my old Schwinn for all she was worth. The dogs gave chase! As I transitioned into super drive I must have looked like a modern-day Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow fame.

Once I reached warp speed, I never saw two of the dogs again but one of the white and black mutts was persistent and kept up an impressive pace. He positioned himself just forward off my left handlebar in the center of the road, periodically glancing back and yapping as he raced all out.

Even at this point I thought I was home free, thinking I was just seconds away from leaving the pooch in my dust. What happened next still causes me to wake up at night with cold sweats. Instead of breaking off the chase, Bowser abruptly angled right and slid up under my front tire in a canine "hara-kiri."

SPLAT! One second I was cruising along in getaway mode like Bonnie and Clyde and the next I was sitting in an ugly heap. "Take action to live" kicked right in. Bowser beat feet back where he came from and left me screaming like a banshee in front of his neighbor's farmhouse.

It happened so fast that I still can't replay the tape in my mind with any detail. I must have landed pretty hard on my left shoulder 'cause when I stood up my whole left side seemed to be compressed down about 6 inches lower. Even with adrenaline pumping my breathing was labored and my left side, from ankle to shoulder, was reminiscent of the old Beatles' tune, Strawberry Fields Forever.

My "brain bucket" had done its job ... it shattered into pieces but there was nary a scratch on my cranium.

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It was obvious that I needed to get to a hospital real soon and wasn't going to be riding my bike there. Despite my loud wailing, no one ever emerged from the farmhouse to see what was the clatter or call 9-1-1. Fortunately my wife was just a cell phone call away.

Bless her heart, within a few long minutes she swooped down on me like Florence Nightingale in our Ford Explorer turned "Jolly Green." She quickly loaded bike and me, and hustled without delay to Scott Air Force Base Hospital ER.

My left lung was collapsed, probably pierced by one of my two broken ribs. The left clavicle was broken right through in two places, necessitating two surgically inserted stainless steel screws to get the shoulder lined back up. They put a drain tube in my chest cavity that stayed in place 3 days, and a brace around my neck that hampered my movement and vision for 2 weeks. No skull damage was found, a testament to helmet wearing. Five days post-accident I went home.