"No, no, no, no, nonononono! Shit."
It's today, but let's rewind the tape a bit.
Four days after returning from Nepal and California, I was feeling sort of, very out of sorts, which can happen after longer trips abroad. And given the blaze of mental tests that this one provided, I was in less than ideal headspace when, despite coming alive after a few putters, my bike Maisie would not return to engine purring after I topped off her oil. Puzzled, I thought it could be a symptom of too much oil (to all experienced motorbike enthusiasts, feel free to shake your head) and so became hellbent on checking and rechecking the oil sightglass. To do this, one must vertically stabilize the bike to see the oil level adjust, a test of balance if you're without a center or paddock stand.
On the second uprighting attempt, things went sideways (pun very sadly intended) and I found myself on the ground, left leg twisted under my parked, non-running bike. Yeah.
It took some work but I managed to get us both upright again, armed with newfound knowledge that no one in my complex can hear loud pleas for help (expectation setting, check). Aside from a stiff overstretched knee and a relatively cavernous cut above my ankle, things seemed reasonably catastrophe-free. Two weeks after the "timberrrrrrr!" my two pals Kate and Don (really smart mechanical humans) were able to diagnose the problem (dying battery and dirty clutch safety switch) but after the longish day on my feet, I felt a tiny ache in the left foot which I attributed to a still scarlet looking area around the cut. Out of concern for infection, I made a doc appointment for the morning, imagining nothing more than a pharmacy run for a round of drugs but, things took a slight turn.
Doc: (pointing to ankle) "Antibiotics are called in but, we should x-ray that."
Me: "Why?"
Doc: "Well, that bruising around it..."
Me: "Oh."
One x-ray session and two long hours later, MyChart broke the news: closed, stable fracture on the lateral aspect of the distal fibula. "But I mean, if you're gonna break anything, this is the way to do it," remarked Dr. Rick Street at the orthopedic after hours clinic that evening. A fellow rider, we joked a bit and he thought a brace would do since I'd been walking on it without much issue until he took another look at the x-ray and paused.
"Mmm, this looks suspicious," he said, pointing to a faint line above the noticeable fracture area. "I'm gonna put you in a boot."
My face made a face.
"So.. I shouldn't ride?" I asked, half jokingly, a tinge of petulance attached.
"Uh, no! And now I'm definitely putting you in a boot to protect you from yourself. It's just three weeks, Molly," he huffed, my sass already putting us on a first name basis.
And so it began, life in a walking boot which actually led to increased sitting or remaining prone since the unfortunate location of the cut kept rubbing against the boot and the overstretched knee was left confused as to how to negotiate an altered gait. It kept me in a period of stillness I've never really experienced and the irony was thunderous. I managed the Lower Mustang only to have this happen in my carport, which to be fair, is a better option. But c'mon, really? Eight weeks later, I can finally kind of laugh about all this, but not without residual cringe.
The stillness forced me to feel everything, including some deep stuff that still needed some excavation. It was irritating. It was oddly exhausting. It was bone deep self examination, truly. But ultimately, it was an ache-through that came with good lessons and sagacious clarity. I thought about why I got so determined (read: a tad OCD) in diagnosing the bike and didn't seek help in stabilizing her that day, realizing that my self confidence had been as vacant as an old Route 66 hotel, mental tumbleweeds aimlessly drifting around in confused worry. I was moving too fast, trying for a self sufficiency that is still a work in progress when it comes to all things motorcycling. I see now that my bike is a mirror, reflecting what I'm still working on: taking a beat when needed, remembering and appreciating my growing competency and most importantly, respecting the singular truth that asking for aid is not weakness, but strength.
“...you should know that all maps are drawn in hindsight. And hindsight, if interpreted with care, is what brings us wisdom.” - The Mapping of Love and Death
I named my bike after the main character Maisie in the Maisie Dobbs series by Jacqueline Winspear - well, really it was my mum's suggestion, she knew how much I loved the books and in particular, the lead character's journey which at my current age, echoes mine to a large degree. The books illuminate many unspoken aspects of the human condition (cleverly interlaced with very interesting pieces of history about the oft-forgotten first World War) and while reading each one, I found myself earmarking numerous pages and jotting down certain quotes that seem to just nail it when it comes to explaining such things. Like the quote to start this post, using the term "wayfinder" as a metaphor for charting the complex, often unpredictable, paths stopped me in my tracks. And like the quote just above, I also believe that wisdom comes from the interpretation of experience (a subtle definition of hindsight? 🤔), so grading it as positive or negative is not a useful framing. Rather, it's just about learning and recalibrating. Taking the unexpected falls in stride as best as you can and moving forward, awkward walking boot steps and all.
To that end, I'll keep accepting the course corrections - both unexpected (ankle) and elective (learning to ride, changing jobs, loosing old patterns) - which are necessary to forge new trails. It feels right. Scary and uncertain, of course, but also right. Choosing differently remains the key.
The last part of the year brought me to northern Japan for family and holidays, and despite initial caution, I managed to get on a snowboard again which was pretty exhilarating and both physically and psychologically encouraging. It turns out riding and boarding share many a parallel. Meka, instructor extraordinaire and fellow empath, reminded me of a central concept I learned during dirt bike camp on our first lesson while reinforcing my position on front side turns.
"Look where you want to go."
So, I'm looking where I want to go. And that's new territory: geographical, personal, professional. The whole shebang.
I think the next roads will take me on two wheels, cameras in tow, with many animals and people to meet. Perhaps an episodic documentation, like my fave gal Itchy Boots but focusing on those without a true voice in this world. Y'know, animals. It's still mostly seeds of inspirational thought/Japanese metro car wonderings but it's sticking. Like the "Japow" finally, in Niseko.
Here's to them sprouting new bits every second of every minute of every day.
Here's to rediscovering old hobbies (see below) that bolster in times of need.
Here's to a new calendar year with magical unknowns ahead.
Here's to wayfinding and mapping new routes.
Here's to having all of you here.
See you next year. :)
p.s.- I could've used more "what to expect when you're expecting" type of guidance during this whole ankle shenanigan. So here are my quick thoughts/tips/quasi-wisdom, in case you find yourself in a similar position..
- You may unknowingly walk around for two weeks on a fracture. This is not always terrible. But like friends who HAVE fractured things observed, bruising around the foot is an indication that indeed, something is broken.
- Walking boots are weird. You will walk unnaturally, and other parts of your foot and leg and even lower back will be affected and you won't enjoy 80% of this experience. But, keep the damn boot on.
- Patience through new hobbies (like watercoloring bears) helps take the edge off.
- Put a post-it note with "this is temporary" scribbled on it on the fridge. It keeps the demons at bay.
- You will heal and you will have a newfound appreciation for your body. Cherish it. ❤️🩹
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