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The Attack
of the
Car People
Part Two
by Special Agent Zebra,
Inside the DMZ
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By the time I realized what was going down, it was too late. The Car People had set a trap for me and I'd ridden right into it. They'd played me like a perfect fool, drifting along as if they'd just fed on a gang of juicy bikers. But in reality, they were ravenous, crazed with hunger and what I hadn't realized was that I wasn't riding through one small pack into the next, but that I'd stumbled into one massive pack, organized, disciplined.
And then the Angel of Death came calling. I saw her do a roll through on the stop sign at 20th street where it entered onto PCH. The Black Spirit drove past the red octagon as if it were a challenge, a dare. She rode a Ford SUV and snakes and lizards sprouted from her head. A sickening leer split her wormy face and bats flew about inside the cabin of her Chariot of Infinite Woe. She was shrieking, squealing with joy. As soon as the other hunters in her pack heard her battle cry, they joined in, screaming madly, squalling, moaning deep and low, dragging their rubber wheels on the pavement, making the call of the hunt, trumpeting their electronic horns, fogging the air with purple tire smoke in an effort to disorient me and shield their attacking bumpers from my vision. The air around me erupted into the wail of the hunters.
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The snakes and lizards on the head of the Queen Car Person flung themselves about in joy and ecstasy at the sight of my pending destruction.
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You worthless fuck, I remember thinking, as I bit down for everything my right hand could give me on the front brake and shut down the rotation of the rear wheel with my right boot. Oh you evil wretch from the lake of fire and busted necks, I cursed, as I slid at 40 miles an hour toward the broadside of the intersecting SUV that was now only ten yards ahead and closing fast.
Time slowed. I could already feel the crash. The Car People had corralled me perfectly. I would slide, in a rear wheel lockup into her side, be shot over the handle bars and slam headfirst into the side of her truck to snap my neck and at best, from that instant forward the only thing I'd ever ride again would be a wheel chair with a drool covered mouthstick. To my right were flying phone poles, parking meters and fire hydrants.
Whatever happened in the next two seconds would determine whether or not my outlaw existence continued and if so, what kind of quality of life I would experience from the point of impact forward. The back end of El Diablo was now in a hard right hand slide and almost parallel with the front end. The front forks were completely closed and I could feel the back end starting to rise past the extension of the rear swing arm, to apply any more front brake would mean a front flip. I was cranking the handlebars hard, as if turning right, to maintain course, but there was nowhere to go except into the side of the SUV.
The cries of the attacking Car People were deafening, evil surrounded me, the monstrous plague was giddy with the sight of my hotrod doom.
I would have to shoot the gap, the fast closing alley of light between her charging front bumper and the right side of the Car People that were roaring up on my left in an attempt to seal my escape route. Cutting loose the back tire, I put the spurs to El Diablo and cut the shaved and ported 80 loose for everything it could give me.
The snakes and lizards on the head of the Queen Car Person flung themselves about in joy and ecstasy at the sight of my pending destruction.
El Diablo charged the gap that was three feet wide and closing. I saw the Queen Car Person's front bumper heading straight for the right gas tank as I leaned left hard. No time to wonder who's coming up from behind in the next lane over, just ride like a man and pray your tail light clears before they slam together and crush you. I crammed my knee into the right gas tank as I swung it around the Queen Car Person's front end. By now I knew I hadn't made it. I was directly in front of her and she was only a foot away, with her engine floored. I threw the back end of El Diablo at her to save my right leg and braced for the hit. BOOM! She slammed the back of Diablo so hard it threw me from a right hand skid into a left hand skid instantaneously. I sailed left, wrenching the handlebars to keep the front end straight. BOOM! A second Car Person in a pickup nailed me from behind, splitting the tranny.
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I felt a set of hands steady my busted skull.
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Silence, blue sky, rolling cars, a heavy motorcycle in my hands, blue sky. We were rolling. El Diablo and I were cartwheeling through the air together. Separate before the impact, I told myself as I pushed away from the bike. BOOM! Mother asphalt caught me in her hard, unforgiving arms. A blinding white explosion of light as the back of my head landed first, cracking my skull. CRUNCH! The weight of my falling mass doubled my neck up so hard my chin drove deep into my chest. I felt my body flop to the ground. CRASH! El Diablo came down next to me, dead.
Move, move, I yelled to myself, you're going to be killed! Roll, dammit, roll if you can't get up and dive for the shoulder, roll before all those Car People behind you slide across your face! Nothing. Nothing but a screaming ring in both ears with a view of blue sky and the top of a telephone pole with white clouds floating high above it. My entire body had shut down.
"Are you all right?!" a man yelled softly from far, far away.
I blinked. A buzzing roar, immense, bracing, burning, stinging pain in the back of my skull and neck.
"Can you hear me?!" the voice said again. A helmeted bro leaned over me and came into view.
I couldn't move anything. My skull shrieked with pain.
"Is there blood on the pavement beneath my head?" I heard myself asking slowly. My voice echoed in the distance as if from somewhere in the past and I couldn't be sure if I had actually said anything or not. Then I felt what seemed to be fingers on the back of my neck.
"No!" the voice shouted high above me. "But your helmet feels busted. Just don't move!" It was the bro on the Ducati. Why hadn't the Car People finished me off? It was unusual for them to forego the celebration of sliding through the guts. Something had frightened them.
So tired. I was suddenly going to sleep. Everything seemed so peaceful now. Only an instant before there had been so much motion, so much action, so many variables and considerations all coming down simultaneously during the attack. Now there were none. I was drifting into a very deep sleep. Fight it, I thought. The old bullriding days kicked in. A man with potentially mortal injuries invites death on a red carpet when he allows himself to fade into unconsciousness and many a downed biker might have pulled through, if only he hadn't slipped off into a coma, never to awaken again. You don't know what's bleeding inside or what's come apart, I told myself. Stay awake, motherfucker. You've got bulls to ride and highways to cover yet. You can't let the Car People get you that easily.
Suddenly the roar of life came back into my ears and the ringing returned with a vengeance. My skull exploded with pain and I could barely focus on the events around me my head was rent with such dizzying agonies. I felt a set of hands steady my busted skull.
"Can you tell me what happened?" I suddenly heard. My eyes searched. Could I? Hell, I don't know. Perhaps. If only I could get this damned pain to release my thoughts. "Can you remember what happened?" the voice asked again, steadying my head. "Don't try to move, bro, you're trying to get up, don't try to move." A pair of hands held my shoulders to the ground and my feet became heavy with many hands. "You're all right, the ambulance is on the way." A blue knight. It was a blue knight, a bike cop. "I've got your head, just don't try to move." This was what had spooked the Car People, a Blue Knight and a bike bro to boot.
The Car People had dismounted and were circling, hungry, menacing. The Blue Knight leapt up, whipped out his service pistol and killed four of them on the spot, sending the rest of the pack fleeing to the safety of their savage battle machines.
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He'd kept the Car People from pillaging my gear. There was still drool on it from the wretched monsters.
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"Back you fucking savages!" I heard the Blue Knight yell from what seemed like very far away.
The scream of an ambulance siren approaching. Narcolepsy, the condition where sleep simply overwhelms a person. Don't you go to sleep now, motherfucker! They're almost here, goddamn you Zebra, I told myself.
"Can...boots...from me?" a voice asked, as I felt my feet being lifted slightly off the cold asphalt. "Can you pull your boots away from me?" the voice asked again.
"No," I said slowly, thickly.
"Good," the voice said. "Now, can you wiggle your fingers?"
I pushed my fingers for all they were worth.
"No," I said.
"Your fingers are wiggling, bro," the Blue Knight said.
"This is Rescue One, we're on the scene now. We have a white male, approximately 25-30 years of age, head and neck injuries, pulse is steady, pupils are not responding..."
"We're going to lift you up and put you on a backboard, just lie still and don't try to help," the voice said. I was still only able to see blue sky. My neck was nothing but a inoperative stem of shrieking pain and I was unable even to turn my head. I focused on the top of the phone pole and the clouds as the cops and paramedics lifted me.
"Oh shit," I heard myself say, the sensation of tearing muscles ripping through my upper body as they picked me up and slid the flat back board under me. Quickly I was buckled down, a brace was cinched down around my neck and strip after strip of athletic tape was pulled tight across my forehead and wrapped around the back board.
The tight athletic tape made the back of my head feel as if my brain was being pushed through my eye sockets and I could hear myself grinding my teeth involuntarily as the pain pulsed to my heartbeat.
"We're going to leave your helmet on until we get you to the hospital, okay? You're going to be all right, just don't try to move. You're straining against the leg belts. Try to relax."
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"Okay, nobody panic. He's pretty badly injured, so I think we're safe for the time being. Just be sure he stays restrained and let's get him the hell out of here, stat. That fucker will blow something up for sure."
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The clunking and bouncing of the stretcher as the wheels collapsed and flipped up and I traded blue sky for the interior roof of the ambulance and rushing paramedics.
The ride to the Little Company of Mary hospital was short and rough. I'd forgotten just how poorly ambulances ride, having retired from pro rodeo some eight years ago. One would think they would have improved the suspensions by now, I thought, as I was hustled out of the ambulance and rolled swiftly into the emergency room. Of course, the fuckin' things were built by the Car People, so it was little surprise that they'd made them ride as rough as possible, anything to finish off the occasional live biker.
"31 year old male, motorcycle accident, possible head and neck injuries!" a voice yelled as I was rolled under a blinding light.
"Can you hear me?" a voice asked.
"Yeah, I think so," I said. My wits were returning, bit by bit. I felt soupy and had to make a serious effort to concentrate, but Was able to understand and respond on a conscious level now. "We're going to take some pictures of your head and neck and upper body to check for any breaks or dislocations. Just try to relax, you're pulling against the restraints very hard. I know it hurts like Hell. We'll get you something for pain as soon as we know what we're dealing with."
"I've got your bags and gear right here, bro," a familiar voice said. It was the Blue Knight. He'd kept the Car People from pillaging my gear. There was still drool on it from the wretched monsters.
"Is my wallet in my left pocket?" I asked.
The Blue Knight suddenly had my wallet in his hand. Apparently familiar with the very limited field of view of a downed bro on a neckboard, he leaned directly over me and held up my wallet.
"Want me to unstrap your arms?" he asked.
"Yep," I said, trying not to let the pain show through my voice.
"Can I unbuckle his arms?" the Blue Knight asked someone I could not see.
"Sure. Don't try to move much though. Do you have any pain in your arms or wrists?"
"No."
"Okay. Go ahead. We've just got to get the x-ray machine set up, sir, won't be long now."
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I heard Officer Rickey's utility belt creaking as he walked away and suddenly a priest of some sort leaned into my field of view.
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I felt my arms suddenly feel loose and one fell off the table before I could get it under control. The Blue Knight handed me my wallet, which felt heavy. I slowly opened it up and pulled out a card. He took it.
"Bikernet, sure, I know you guys," the Blue Knight said. "Bandit, Special Agent Zebra. Who are you?"
"You bro, are looking at one Special Agent Zebra. At your service," I said in short, choppy speech.
In the background a woman cried out.
"Oh my God! It's him! We brought that freak into our clean hospital!"
"Okay, nobody panic. He's pretty badly injured, so I think we're safe for the time being. Just be sure he stays restrained and let's get him the hell out of here, stat. That fucker will blow something up for sure."
I could hear the clatter and noise of many machines being positioned around me as the blue knight spoke.
I felt a card being put into my hand. It took what seemed like a full minute to get my arm to raise my hand up to my line of vision. "City of Hermosa Beach Police Department, D. Rickey, Police Officer".
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"Oh heavenly Father, please bless this fallen victim of the dreaded Car People and heal his injuries and relieve his suffering and keep him from the vicious Car People forever more with your holy grace. May the Car People burn in eternal Hell, Amen."
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"I called your bro, Bandit, with the number you gave me and told him you'd been jumped by the Car People, he said he's on the way. Also, he asked that I have your bike sent to Bartel's HD in Marina Del Ray, so I called one of our wreckers and they picked it up while we were getting you loaded. You know, I used to have a bumper sticker on the back of my scoot that said, 'Helmet laws suck', but the Chief pulled it off when he saw it."
I didn't remember giving Officer Rickey Bandit's number, but somewhere along the line I must have.
"Thanks for getting me off the street, bro and for taking care of my scoot," I said to Officer Rickey.
"Anytime, Zebra. You get better."
I heard Officer Rickey's utility belt creaking as he walked away and suddenly a priest of some sort leaned into my field of view.
"Well shit, padre," I said, "you're a little optimistic, aren't ya? I'm down, but I don't believe I was plannin' on dying just yet," I said, feeling his visit was probably entirely necessary, judging from the way my skull was pounding. I could just imagine the blood clots and blown vascular net that was leaking blood and vein blocking chunks of coagulated hemoglobin everywhere just behind the purple skin that held the busted skull bones in. Any time I expected to suddenly be blacked out from a blood clot, go into seizures and die as the nearby doctors raced to pump me full of anti-coagulants in a vain effort to dissolve the thousands of clots that were shutting my brain down on all fronts.
"We give a blessing and ask for quick healing of all injuries at The Little Company of Mary Hospital," he said, crossing himself, then me. "Oh heavenly Father, please bless this fallen victim of the dreaded Car People and heal his injuries and relieve his suffering and keep him from the vicious Car People forever more with your holy grace. May the CarPeople burn in eternal Hell, Amen."
The padre was gone and a buxom nurse took his place. What a rack, I thought as she bent over me.
"How many Car People attacked you, sir?" the nurse asked ask she keyed in the information on a portable laptop. My head continued to pound.
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The nurse's huge breasts were my saving grace. I imagined playing volleyball with them at the beach, painting smiley faces on them and giving them names, taking them to the zoo.
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"About 100," I said.
A gasp from across the room, followed by much hushed whispering.
"We've had reports of large packs in the area," the nurse responded mechanically as she typed.
The first X-ray machine kicked on and began to warm up.
"What techniques did they use?" she asked.
"Rolled through a stop sign on the right, cut me off, then T-boned me when I tried to shoot the gap and followed up with a rear end job," I said.
More hushed whispering from the doctors, followed by subtle weeping. They understood well the savagery of the Car People.
"Sounds bad. I'll get this to the proper authorities. Glad you're alive, hope you stay that way," she said as she clapped the laptop shut and vanished from my view.
The pain in my neck was causing my left eye to short out at times, but I tried to focus on something good, anything. The nurse's huge breasts were my saving grace. I imagined playing volleyball with them at the beach, painting smiley faces on them and giving them names, taking them to the zoo. Nobody knew for sure yet just what kind of spinal and brain damage I might be looking at. All I could see in my left eye was shafting white light and the occasional color blob. I still couldn't make my legs go and my right arm kept slipping off the board until at last someone buckled it back into the strap.
Several doctors snapped head and neck x-rays from all angles.
"It'll be just a few minutes now, while we develop these and have a look. I know you're uncomfortable, but try to stay as relaxed as you can until we can have a look inside. Is there any place else that hurts?"
"My left elbow feels broken," I said, "and I would guess I've broken the back of my skull. I've got a pretty bad pain in my left kidney."
"We'll check everything out."
What seemed like about 20 minutes passed and during that time I was able to move my cowboy boots enough to hear the trauma sheet rustling, which was a good sign. If the neck was broken, at least the electronics still worked.
A nurse suddenly leaned into my field of view.
"You have a telephone call," she said, putting the phone into my hand.
I slowly put the phone to my ear.
"Hello?"
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"Okay, THEN HIT THE FUCKIN' DECK, ZEBRA! WE GOT A WEBSITE TO RUN AND WE AREN'T GONNA DO IT WITH YOU LAYIN' AROUND ON YOUR ASS LIKESOME KIND OF LAZY FAIRY!"
The line went dead.
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"Hey man, you okay?"
It was Bandit.
"The police called and said the Car People got you. What the fuck happened?"
"Don't call the German Feminine," I said. "She'll have a fuckin' heart attack if she sees me tied down like this."
"Oh shit," Bandit said. "I just spoke to her. She's on her way."
Outside I heard a great squealing of tires and shouts of panic, followed by what sounded like a large explosion and horrendous Germans wearing which loosely described a scene involving a trash dumpster, a Lincoln Continental and as best as I could translate, a mule.
"Ah, she just pulled in."
"Listen, I've taken care of the bike, everything's under control from this end. Should I come down?"
"Naw, I'm doin' fine. Just a bump on the back of the head," I said. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the fresh skull and neck x-rays going up on the light board. I tried to see them closely, but from a distance I couldn't, despite the fact that the vision in my left eye was beginning to clear up.
"You sure?"
"Yeah, I'm fine."
"Okay, THEN HIT THE FUCKIN' DECK, ZEBRA! WE GOT A WEBSITE TO RUN AND WE AREN'T GONNA DO IT WITH YOU LAYIN' AROUND ON YOUR ASS LIKESOME KIND OF LAZY FAIRY!"
The line went dead.
I handed the phone back to the invisible nurse. Just the short phone call had made my head throb again. The German Feminine's gorgeous face was suddenly in my line of vision. Tears were rushing down her high cheekbones, her lower lip quivered pitifully and a look of utter fear was in her giant blue eyes.
"Oh, oh, oh, are you hurt on your neck? Is your feet broken from use?" she asked, terrified of the answer.
"Oh, I don't think so," I lied, the pain raking my spine clear to my ass. "You know how doctors are. They're very conservative. Broken neck this, don't move that, can you feel your toes, blah, blah, blah."
But she wasn't buying my lies. Not this time. The neck brace, the medical tape across the forehead which lashed my busted head firmly to the wooden board, the multiple seatbelts which held me tight to the wood, it was obvious how ominous my situation was.
"Oh, shisae (shit)," she said as her hot tears fell on my face. "Oh, you are so silly a man. I am told you not to ride today and to wear a better head glove and now you are broken by the Car People. Can you walks?" She sniffed loudly and if it hadn't been for the crashing waves of pain in my head and neck and the seat belt which still held my right arm down, I would have tried to console her.
"I'm sure I could dance my famous Tango, if I weren't strapped to this dumb board," I assured her. "I'm an old bullrider, don't forget. We don't kill too well."
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We staggered up the stairs to the hacienda together with much cursing and stumbling.
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She wiped away another wave of tears and sniffed loudly. A doctor approached and I could see that she was looking at him, about to explode into loud crying. Women, one broken neck and they go all to pieces. But that's the charming thing about them, I suppose. They're so sensitive.
"Well, it looks like you have no breaks in the spinal region. You have torn neck muscles. I see what appears to be a crack in the back of the cranial bone. There's nothing we do for that except prescribe pain medication and you can't take any kind of blow to the head for at least six weeks until it heals. You're yawing a lot, which indicates a severe concussion. Are you nauseous?"
"I wasn't until you asked," I said, suddenly feeling like I could puke.
"Yep, that's a concussion. The officer said you were coherent when he arrived, which is a good sign. Apparently there was a brief firefight with the Car People, but they didn't put up much resistance. They're cousins of the hyena, you know."
I could barely remember speaking with him, but apparently I had.
"I'd say your elbow is intact, except it looks like you also have a fracture running across the end of it as well. Again, there's nothing we do for that type of hairline, except tell you to take it easy until it heals. The pain will regulate your use of it. I'm going to keep you here for another hour, just to make sure nothing is going on that we should know about."
I knew he was referring to internal bleeding. Often a patient involved in what seems like a non-life threatening crash will later die from internal bleeding, something from which he could have been rescued had he been in an emergency room with doctors and blood immediately available.
The doctor performed a thorough examination of joints and limbs and guts over the next hour. I had to make a very serious effort not to go to sleep and every time I did, I was rewarded with a searing migraine.
At last I was released and managed to walk out of the hospital under my own wobbly power with a lot of help from the German Feminine. She loaded me into the Stinkin' Lincoln and strapped me in. I instantly passed out. When the German Feminine shook me awake, we were back at Fort Defiance. We staggered up the stairs to the hacienda together with much cursing and stumbling.
The German Feminine helped me get to the bed, where I laid facedown and slept off and on for the next three days, too tired to even eat more than twice. Crippled with head and neck pain I wasn't even able to get to the head without falling and crashing and the German Feminine insisted I stay flat when she stepped out to run the Perimeter Enforcement Hound. I obliged simply because without her to lift my head, I couldn't push myself up with my good arm and keep my head from falling all over the place due to the torn neck muscles, which of course, hurt.
I closed my eyes and listened to the thump of the pain in my head. I would need to heal fast. Bandit and I had a run on Saturday and today was Tuesday.
The answering machine clicked on in the other room.
"Hey, I spoke to Ron at Bartel's. He said the damage isn't permanent. Ripped off the carb, tore up the front end, smashed the tank, ripped up the floor boards, cranked the handlebars, quite a bit of cosmetic damage, blasted the tranny, leaking fluid. He thinks he can have the bike running by Friday so we can make our run. Give me a call and let me know how you came out and if you can ride Saturday or not."
The Car People had finally caught me. But they had failed. I was still alive and now I would rain terror and grief on their sorry heads for their fouled deeds for all eternity or until I got all of them or they got me.
"Oh I'll ride, motherfucker," I mumbled to myself as the drumbeat of pain beat in my skull. "I'll ride."
Special Agent Zebra,
downed
December 7th, 1999, California
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Special thanks to bros D. Rickey of the Redondo Police Department and Tim Moore on the Duke. You bros made a real bad day a little easier to get past. Each will be receiving a lifetime membership to the subscription section of bikernet.com as does anyone who assists a bikernet bro during one of our frequent crash and burns. Ride, motherfucker, ride.
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