It Can Happen to You
Riding Again by Stacey“ Snoopy” Conly by Ginger Williams
March 14, 2015 will be embedded in my mind for the rest of my life. I would love to forget and pretend it never happened, but I can’ t forget and won’ t let it happen. My job in the biker world is to protect the back doors of friends, and believe me, I am extremely protective. A few of them, but especially my friend Ginger, have told me they always feel much safer when I’ m behind them. I have ridden behind Ginger multiple times, including all over the state of Louisiana behind Ginger and her husband, John. Saturday, March 14, 2015 is a day that has impacted both of our lives. I drove to Ginger’ s the night before to have some girl time and catch up as we hadn’ t had much time together in the last several months since she and John lived in Donaldsonville, but she was living back in the CenLa area putting her a lot closer to me. We had so much fun the night of Friday the 13th.. John was down south working so it was just the two of us. According to an app on Facebook, Ginger was supposed to die March 12th; we had a good laugh about that. Two sisters who hadn’ t been able to see each other in a while having a blast is the best way to describe the night. Arriving back at her house, we visited more before we finally went to bed. We had the A. B. A. T. E. of Louisiana, Inc State Board meeting Saturday Morning; I had finally talked her into going to a state meeting with me. We got up the next morning still laughing, drinking coffee, and being silly before we started getting ready. Ginger was excited to be riding her bike, a beautiful Sportster 883 she hadn’ t been able to ride in a while due to all of the heavy rains we had been having and the 14th was a beautiful day. continued on page 30
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I’ m sitting in my office, looking out the window at my bike. Today marks seven months since my accident and it has been a roller coaster of emotions. I’ ve had to deal with fear, insecurity, anger and self-doubt. For the first time in my life, I wasn’ t sure I’ d ride again. I wasn’ t sure if I even wanted to. It’ s funny, the accident was the easiest part to deal with. The pain, while intense, was manageable. My focus was on answering questions, giving contact numbers, checking on my friend, etc. It didn’ t take long before I was in an ambulance, had pain meds administered, and on my way to the hospital. I was even lucky enough to have a biker working on me in the ambulance and a biker nurse taking care of me in the hospital. Talk about feeling special! For me, the real pain began during the weeks and month after the accident. I relived the accident on a daily basis trying to figure out what I did wrong. Could I have done something to avoid this? Could I have done something different? I thought if I figured that out, I’ d feel better. You know, live and learn. It didn’ t quite work that way. Once I reached the decision that I hadn’ t made a mistake, that I’ d done what I was supposed to do and that I’ d made every effort to remain safe, I felt worse. I’ m a bit of a control freak. I like to think that I decide what I do and what happens to me. Because of the accident, I had to face the fact that I can’ t control everything. And that scared the hell out of me. I realized that despite anything I might do, riding my bike is dangerous because … well, shit happens. When I took up riding, I knew it was dangerous. I knew I might( probably would) lay my bike down and be injured. I thought I was mentally prepared for that. After the accident I learned I was most definitely not prepared. I did not expect my emotions to run amuck from one end of the spectrum to the other. During the first two months, you couldn’ t have paid me to get back on my bike. As far as I was concerned, you could sell it right then. It was more than the physical pain that made me feel that way. It was the pain of seeing my daughter’ s face as she stepped in the ambulance. It was the pain of thinking I might never have seen my grandchildren again. It was the pain of imagining the guilt I knew my fiancé felt over buying me the bike. I thought about how close I’ d come to not getting to live my dream of being his wife and growing old with him. As with all things, time moves on. I had to deal with the anger I felt over the situation. I was angry that I couldn’ t do the things I wanted to do. I was furious that everyone else could move on while I was looking at months( or longer) of healing. Even today, my leg is not 100 % healed. It infuriated me that, through no fault of my own, I was now over $ 50,000 in debt and we were struggling to make ends meet. I felt humiliated having to constantly ask for help, both physical and financial. I spent the entire summer sitting in a 30ft camper, hearing the bikes go by on the road outside. And something began to wear on me. continued on page 30