Remembering a motorcycle tragedy

KEN BARBER

When his friend Kieran Crawford was killed in a motorcycle accident near Waterdown two years ago, Ken Barber wrote an account of the incident that he posted that week in the forum of a California-based Web site. The account has since been posted on some other motorcycle-related Web sites.

 

It is published here, with Barber's permission, as a reminder to motorcyclists in the middle of the riding season that the dangers of the road must never be forgotten, or underestimated.

 

I've got to get this off my chest - I am going to put down the events of the night my friend crashed.

 

Tuesday started off as an extremely hot day. I even sent out an e-mail to see if maybe I should cancel the ride. It was going to be over 40 C, too hot for leathers. Everyone wanted to ride, so we were on.

 

I pulled into the Sunoco station and we already had 30 or so bikes. We ended up with over 50 that night. When I pulled in, Kieran and a few others were under a tree in the shade drinking Gatorade.

 

It was a great night for a ride. The air temp dropped a few degrees, but the roads remained hot and sticky. I held the riders' meeting. There was some banter and jokes made about my riding - people seem to be afraid to ride in the group I lead. I had to promise to keep the pace down.

 

The first group (fast group) formed up to leave five minutes later. I was in the lead, Kieran (as always) was the second bike.

 

There were six other bikes behind us, including the leadership of another local club. Keiran seemed disappointed that we were going to ride the west route that night - he really wanted to ride north.

 

Off we went. The pace was very brisk that night. I had a group of riders behind me that I knew well and trusted completely. That doesn't happen often.

 

Kieran was right behind me the whole way, with the rest of the pack falling behind a bit (not being familiar with the road). I messed up and blew a corner (crossed the centre line a little). Kieran was following my lines instead of riding the road, and he blew the same corner.

 

We rode into Waterdown, down Snake Rd. and waited at the bottom of Snake for the other two groups to join us. Kieran and I gave each other s--- for blowing the corner. Our group has some pretty strict peer pressure rules about crossing the centre line - a centre line cross is considered crashing.

 

One of the riders said he was going to go do Snake again while we waited for the other guys (and gals). Kieran was going to go up with him and head home from there. A third guy said he would join them. Off they went.

 

I sat in the parking lot with the other riders. About five minutes later, the leader of the second group came tearing up the road. I heard him coming and knew something was up.

 

He slid sideways trying to stop to make the parking lot, almost hitting a car. He flipped up his tinted visor, and he was pale.

 

He told me we had a rider down and it was serious. My blood ran cold. I asked where and he said the first corner of Snake.

 

Off I went up Snake. I came around Corner Two and slowed for Corner One, which is a decreasing left if you are running south. Then I saw someone from Group 2 in the apex of the corner flagging me to slow down. I got around the corner and the first thing I saw was a blue bike under the guard rail. I thought, "How the hell did it get there?"

 

I got off my bike and saw the rider down. Blue/white leathers, Burgundy helmet. Not Kieran...

 

Someone ran up to me. "It's Kieran."

 

I ran over to him. Okay, it's not too bad. His helmet is still on. His gloves are off. There are two nuns there from the retirement home 100 yards away. He has a couple of friends/riders beside him. Okay - it's okay.

 

I get to his side and the others move away (I have casualty aid training from the army). Someone told me the lady there was a nurse. Okay, he's in good hands, a nun and a nurse.

 

I take his hand and start calling his name (screaming it, I guess), telling him everything is going to be okay.

 

Hey - why are his hands blue? Kieran, don't go anywhere, your friends are here. You are going to be okay. Man, Nicki is gonna kill you.

 

He is breathing, barely. His eyes - oh my God, his eyes. The look in those eyes will haunt me for years to come.

 

The pain, the fear, the struggle for life I could see. He was fighting it - why is his face turning blue? Okay, quick check: both ankles and legs are broken, no big deal, he'll be down the rest of the season. Loosen his chin strap, help him breath, he has a pulse - he's not breathing.

 

His helmet comes off. His head is on its side, he's looking at me. Looking in my eyes, blood pours out of his mouth now. He is still looking in my eyes - my God, the look in his eyes. Then he took his last breath.

 

NO! NO! NO! Kieran, you fight it man!!! The nurse starts artificial respiration, but he still has a pulse. No CPR. I see the life leave his eyes.

 

I watch Kieran leave this world.

 

At this point, I think I went into shock. Everything seemed to change, like I was watching/participating in a TV show. Weird.

 

The nurse starts AR, but forgets to plug his nose and I hear all the blood in his airway. No pulse. Start CPR.

 

Kieran, where did you go? I have to walk away, too overcome. Kieran, did I let you down? Should I have stayed? Will you forgive me?

 

I have people to call, but I don't have his number in my phone. I call a few people who would have it, but no one is home. I call Shasta a couple of times - no answer. I start to freak now.

 

We don't know where they are taking him yet. The ambulance is here. Okay, they have the defibrillator out - that will work, that'll bring him back. Okay, he's on the stretcher, but they are still doing CPR. Not a good sign.

 

Someone bring me his wallet, please. I will follow to the hospital. I don't want a big crowd there. Everyone go home. I'll keep you posted.

 

Everyone is busy doing something except me. I'm staring at them doing CPR - okay, move! They are taking him to Hamilton General. I get on my bike - someone has pushed it over to me, behind the ambulance, and I get my gear on. The ambulance gets rolling with me behind it. It has a great big window in the rear, so I get a front row seat to them working on him, doing CPR the 10 miles to the hospital.

 

He won't die with strangers!

 

I get to the hospital - why did we divert to MacMaster University? An ER drone comes up to me and tells me I can't park there, but I don't even acknowledge him. He sees the look in my eyes, the blood on me, CPR on my friend. He suddenly is very helpful. They take him in.

 

I go to enter the Trauma Room. You can't go in there - you don't want to see this, there is no room. I persuade them to let me in. I must have been quite a sight in the ER, in my leathers.

 

He wasn't going to die among strangers!

 

I was in and out of the treatment room for the next hour. Chest tube, intubation, X-rays - he never came back to us. He died on Snake Rd., but was pronounced in the hospital an hour later. His family arrived five minutes too late.

 

It was a sleepless night, filled with self-doubt, questions, anger and rage. The sun came up and I went back to Snake Rd. There was orange paint on the road, medical waste on the shoulder, tiny R6 motorcycle parts here and there. I was mesmerized, and was there a few hours before a friend showed up. He sent me home for sleep, but I couldn't sleep and ended up back at Snake.

 

Sorry for the rant, people. I wrote it as it came out.

 

It would appear that Kieran was at the entry point of an increasing right hander, which would put him close to the centre line. As he was turning in, a car came around the corner and cut into Kieran's line/lane.

 

He dove for the small, paved culvert on the inside of the corner. He rode it for a few feet, but his footpeg hit the embankment and pitched him and his bike back toward the road. He would have been airborne for a few feet, then hit the road and made contact with another car. Kieran was most likely run over by that car.

 

Please be careful out there. Kieran was a very good rider and fresh out of FAST riding school where he was awarded the "Top Rider" award.

 

Just because you're good, it doesn't mean you'll survive. All the gear, all the time.

Ken Barber is the founder of the Fuzzy Riders, a Toronto-area motorcycle riding group. He can be reached at fuzzy1@fuzzy-riders.com