Hitting The Apex

OneGoodArm Swear Scale: Mild Curry

Firstly Husband made the podium last weekend racing. I know, amazing. But that is enough limelight for him. He might get a fat head. 🙊

This week I am now drowning in scotch was EPIC. 12 meetings, 2 x 18 hour days, 2 x 14 hour days and one boring 10 hour day. A 3am start, a flight to the Gold Coast, meetings, drive to Brisbane, meetings, present to a bunch of people until the late evening, into bed, drive to Sunshine Coast, more meetings, fly home, flight is late, arrived late when I should be asleep (with my work wife who also suffered through this itinerary) drive home and prepare to die quietly and slowly.

The week had two aspects, those with my sling:

“How did you did that?”
“How did you break your arm?”
“What have you done?”
“You cannot sit in row one on this flight Ma’am”
“AH EXCUSE FUCKING ME, I PAID FOR ROW ONE…………………” You can imagine how sorry that poor airline bird was she came to work that morning and pissed me off.

“It’s against policy to let you sit in row one”
“What policy?”
“It’s on our website”
“What is the name of the policy?”
“Ma’am it’s against policy”
“So the policy specifically says passengers with one working arm cannot sit in row 1?”
“You must be ready willing and able to assist”
“I am”
“But your arm”
“What does that have to do with it, seat 1F is not even next to an emergency door”
“Ma’am i can’t let you sit there”
“You don’t even know what is wrong with me”
“Well clearly something is” (PS touché)
“So I will remove my sling”
“Unfortunately I have seen it”
“So refund me the fee for reserving row one”
“I can’t do that, you need to contact head office”

NOTE TO HER: If you want an easy morning don’t rely on a policy to deny me something if you can’t name or produce said policy. And know your fucking aircraft.


And back to my original point the aspect without my sling (mostly to people trying to shake my hand):

“My right arm doesn’t work”
“My right arm is paralysed”
“I can’t shake hands”
“Can you please open | grab | stir | cut up | get that for me?”

Despite the whining I actually enjoyed the week even though I am very tired. My hard work resilience is not what it used to be.

My elbow is also giving me grief, even resting it on a pillow hurts after 10 minutes or so. It’s very frustrating. Perhaps I am spending too much time amongst pillows 😝. Perhaps I should harden the F up.

I am currently watching “Hitting The Apex” AGAIN. Other than the soothing dulcet tones of narrator Brad Pitt it is such an amazing film. Especially if you LOVE MotoGP as I do.

BUT the medical director says in the film, out of approximately 690 crashes he only saw 30 fractures. WHY, WHY I AM THE STUPID FUCKER WHO GETS DISABLED??!! Especially when I am riding 6000 grades lower than MotoGP.

Honestly of all the problems blotting my copybook this is one I cannot get past. Why didn’t I just break something? Or several somethings? Why a permanent life changing disability??

But then the movie turns to the death of Marco Simoncelli and I am reminded of how lucky I am. So lucky that somehow I did not die on August 1 because I was travelling faster than Simoncelli was when he died. To be fair I was probably going mildly faster flat out on the longest straight in Australia than he was cornering a hard right hander, but the fact remains I did not die. And he did.

A freak accident, just like mine.

Live on forever SIC 58. He was without question a rider I loved.

So the week is over, I am ok, it’s all good.

OGA Out.

The Departed


OneGoodArm Swear Scale: Flatline

The title of this blog has occurred because I am currently watching the movie “The Departed”. If you haven’t seen it, do yourself a favour and do it, it’s amazing and depressing and confronting. But totally worth a look. Plus every big name in the land is in it.

Anyhoo, Husband is off racing this weekend and I am not sure how I feel about it. Obviously I am happy he is racing, especially as he is FINALLY back on a 1000, that man mountain loves 600s but he is too damn big- still fast though annoyingly. But he has a new R1 and he is riding it and riding it FAST. Hello! It’s very sexy. Sorry TMI.

So I am happy he is racing, but how does it affect me?? Because you know, it’s all about me. Clearly! I feel weird. I wan to be there, be gridding up, but here I am at home with my stupid swinging ape arm that wont cooperate and I must contemplate the fact I may never grid up again.

That seems unfair and very very irritating.

So whilst at home today alone I fed the horses, raked up horse poo (so hard with one arm – it really is), burned a tonne of bark that i picked up with one arm, in a fire I made (we have about 2000 gums in our property and all of them dropped their collective bundle recently and dumped a million, possibly two million, threads of bark on the lawn) cleaned the trampoline by climbing aboard and sweeping the shitload of gum crap on it whilst the children jumped and complicated the task no end, helped (and very likely hindered) the farrier shoe the horses including the midget who twisted itself into a pretzel during his trim, hung out five loads of washing, washed four horse rugs – twice each because they were FILTHY, cleaned up the house as best i could, bathed the then filthy children and counted the minutes until I could start drinking.

Oh did I say that last part out loud. Whoops.

What do I do with these feelings? I don’t know. I feel pretty good otherwise, especially as I should not need another hospital visit this year, but it’s tough watching everyone ride out with all their arms working. I can only stand it for a short while.

Riding was always a bit stressful for me, there is a part of you – well me anyway – that always felt pressure to ride well, ride fast, ride better, but I was never happier than when I came in after a race. When you grid up and launch that bike, going around others who could not get their bike off the line as quickly as you, shooting up in the inside or around the outside, wherever there was a hole really, of the other riders, engines screaming, everyone tucked behind visors, then pop up and hard on the brakes, tip in and around you go……….

I would feel so elated when I would cross the finish line, no matter where I finished. It was the feeling of going fast, riding well, and doing something which in reality is VERY VERY hard. Nothing else in life makes you feel like that. That is why people do it.

Here I am ‘doing it’. Lol

Of course other things give you amazing special incredible feelings, but racing is a feeling all of it’s own. It’s the ultimate focussed escape. No wondering what’s for dinner as you lean your bike into turn 1 at 200kph. Although Husband apparently thinks about what adjustments he needs to make to everyone’s bike as he is cornering. Unfortunately we are not all cucumbers.

Anyway I wonder if it would be easier not to see it? Hear it? Feel it? Or maybe being there with it right in your face is the best way to ‘get over it’.

I am not yet armed with all the answers. Hopefully I will be at some point.

OGA Out.