The Tattoo

It was late October. Cold for Florida but easily ridable if you have a jacket and maybe some chaps. When it gets cold down here, the gators go to sleep and the dampness permeates your soul. We don't get snow, but do not be fooled into thinking that winter weather does not affect us here in the Sunshine State.

Spooks n' Scoots, the annual Halloween Bash, was closing down for the night when I rolled out on to the County Roads to head home. We had a nice time, saw some old friends and made some new ones. The event takes place in a pasture out in the county accessible through winding, tree lined country roads.

A light mist had begun to settle in the lower bowels of the surrounding darkened cow pastures. Thicker, more malevolent fog threatened to creep across the asphalt, thin and hazy at first, then going for a full blown white out in the hollows. You cannot predict when, but in a flash, cold dampness overwhelms reality. At first, the temperature drops precipitously. Then you seem to shiver for a moment, hoping it will pass quickly. Most times it does.

Rolling out of the dip likely resulted in feeling a slightly warmer climate, for a moment at least. The next bend in the road brings shots of cold air mixed with drizzle. You can sometimes smell the moisture coming up from the ground around the damp bases of the Cypress trees as you roll through the woods and meadows. Cagers, (people in cars) never feel this.

Spanish moss hangs from the ancient oaks above me clinging to darkness, as the boughs drape over the narrow two-lanes, dripping with the frigid humidity that envelopes all who traverse these roads tonight. I can see the gray bundles of moss hanging over the tightly shouldered roads on both sides. Gray tendrils of this moss thread downward, looking like rain soaked graybeards above me. I inadvertently shivered, knowing that it will be a damn sight cooler before it gets any warmer.

I down-shifted the big Road King as I kicked it along the dips and curves on the dark lonely roads. It was a beautiful night. Stars shone brightly above me as I traversed the back roads. Even the ground level precipitation did little to black out the glittering night sky.

A city man can forget how small he truly is, until he looks up at the country sky to see a million lights twinkling above him away from the interruption of urban sprawl and its grandiose overuse of street lights, billboards and their ilk. I pulled my coat a little closer and throttled into the next gentle turn.

Black Ice does not happen in Central Florida. Never gets cold enough down here. Never.

I hit the patch at fifty and slid without warning. I rolled, or slid to the outside edge of the road, without hitting my brakes. The grassy fringe stopped my wheels and I was launched off the scoot. I high-sided the bike which means that basically, I left the saddle ahead of the bike and the bike was going to flip right on top of me. Physics; mass, velocity and gravity are unforgiving teachers.

I awoke in the gulley by the road. It was dark and wet where I had come to rest. The big, black, scoot was lying across my legs. I believed that both were broken. I didn't know the details at the time, but at moments like this, you tend to get a sense of these things. I knew that I wasn't going to lift the Hog off of me without help. I could feel the injuries all the way down to my feet. Thank God for steel toed boots. The pain told me I was probably not paralyzed, at least not yet. I could feel my toes on both feet. There was plenty of blood as I took off my helmet and tried to find my cell phone.

The bike was quiet except for the tick, tick, tick and hissing of the Twin Cam cooling off. And I was not on fire. All in all, I will count this as a win, at least so far. Consciousness ebbing, I dreamed of sunny days with my daughters at the beach. Pain washed over me, waves hitting sand at the seashore. Back and forth I went. Reality; stars and fog, or sun splashed days with my kids.

I had no idea how long I was lying in the ditch, but when I came to, the stars were still out and the fog was getting thicker. I figured that I probably had some time before sunup. Someone would surely see me in the daylight.

I needed to find my phone. I did not think I was bleeding out, although I knew that broken legs can lead to a very nasty end if arteries were cut. You can go quietly and never realize it until the last few seconds. Remain calm.

I heard the bike before I saw the headlamp. It sounded like an old Iron Head Sportster, by the exhaust. Or maybe it was a vegetable truck, the mind can play tricks. I was lying in a ditch with an 800 pound Hog on my ass, so clear distinctions might not be my forte at this point.

She killed the engine and left the light on me. She threw out her kickstand and hurried over to the gulley where I was pinned. The fog was getting thicker. Layer upon layer cascaded across the verdant landscape. My face was soaked from the humidity and the blood.

"You Okay?" she hollered from the road, scrambling down the small embankment.

"That depends." I croaked, "I'm still breathing!"

She hustled down the road side to where I was pinned underneath my machine, into the mud.

"I think I can help" she said.

"Great, I have a cell phone but it was busted on impact" I hoped she was real. I did not know how long I had been lying there. My cell phone was definitely toast.

"Can you call somebody?"

She was looking down from the edge of the road, her headlight illuminating enough of the scene for her to get a good look. "Yes, I could call for help, but I don't think you have time. You're bleeding real bad from your head and that right leg doesn't look so good. I can help you, I think"

"Okay, what have you got in mind?" I figured her for about 120 - 130 pounds and that was counting the boots and riding gear. She likely could not lift her Sporty, much less my Road King. I assumed death was imminent.

She looked me dead in the eyes. "You have a choice: Right here, Right now. You may have guessed who I am, or maybe not. That is inconsequential. There is no such thing as coincidence in the universe. Why do you think I am the only one who saw you down here in this muck?" She smiled openly. I was not getting the joke. Her eyes were a beautiful green mixed with some other palette beyond my reach.

"I offer you a choice: lie here now and bleed out or maybe get saved by a passerby with a spare helicopter, or let me save you now. It is entirely up to you."

I have never been a betting man. Not really. Each and every one of us rolls the dice when we saddle up and ride. Buy the ticket - take the trip.

My head really hurt. Vision was not clear, blocked from concussion and a bucketful of blood across the face. Realizing a boot full of blood and a green eyed savior on a lonely country road, I figured I had little to lose.

"Okay. You have a deal. Please get me out of this and I will pay you what you want."

She smiled. "No payment today, but I assure you that I will be back. All debts will be collected. Do you agree?"

"Done."

With that she placed her hand on the center of my chest. The pain was excruciating. I passed back into the ephemeral reaches of my consciousness.

When I awoke the bike was lying near me. Both legs were broken. I did not bleed out. Emergency Medical Technicians were hoisting me into an ambulance, asking me questions about how I survived there for three days in a muddy ditch. I had few answers; none actually. I asked if the Sportster Chick had called them. Who?

A State Trooper had seen brake lights in the ditch and made the call. I survived. After multiple surgeries, I was put back together again. The police did not charge me and insurance picked up most of the billable damages. I limp now, but I am alive.

At the end of it all no one has been able to explain any part of it. However, if you have the gut for it, and an open mind, I can show you a tattoo that I did not pay for, at least not yet.

I have the perfect impression of a woman's hand burnished into my chest above my heart. It was not inked, carved, burned or otherwise implanted on my body. Small and detailed, you can see the delicate hand print of a female. Closer inspection reveals a detailed map of loops and whorls of all five fingers and her palm. It is perfect.

There is also the matter of a bill that is yet to be paid.