11. The Capitol City Century or How Not to Get “Lucky”

The Capitol City Century
or
How Not to Get “Lucky”
by Mick Hannah

April, 2000

* This describes my experience from a near-century in September, 1999, with updates added throughout, and at the end. Enjoy!

After reading all the entertaining articles in the past few months of this newsletter (McLean County Wheelers), I thought I’d try my hand at relating my experiences at one of my annual favorite rides, The Capitol City Century in Springfield. This event was the site of my very first century back in 1991 and I haven’t missed one since. The ride is put on by the Springfield Bicycle Club and is always nicely run with ample food stops and plenty of SAG support. Perhaps my favorite part of the ride is the post-ride party, with free brats and beer. Those of you reading this who know me well know that I would find the latter part particularly enjoyable. Few things in life are more satisfying (to me anyway) than finishing a good ride, taking a refreshing shower, and having a brat and a cold beer. (My opinion of this ride has since changed dramatically. Roads are poor, showers are cold, and beer runs out early if you ride the full century.)
Last year’s (1999) edition of the ride was on Sunday, Sept. 12. That morning I got up bright and early (4:30, or as a young friend likes to say, "Mick o'clock") to get ready and to get the bike loaded into the truck. I pulled into the parking area at Lake Springfield about 6:30 and went in to register. Then I went back to my truck to put on my shoes, gloves, helmet, etc. to prepare for the ride. As I was unloading the bike I saw Brad Reid and said “hi.” I figured I’d see him later on in the day when he flew past me. It was now about 7:00 and time for the “official” start of the ride. I always try to start then and find someone to hang with for a while. Once again, I didn’t find anybody going the same pace, and so rode off alone. The Weather Channel had predicted scattered showers for the day, but they were scattered enough that I only rode in rain for a few seconds at around 50 miles, although several times I rode on damp roads. Overall, it was a good day for the ride, except for the dreaded central Illinois winds.
I had a largely uneventful ride that day, having a great time. I did see Brad and his crew at the next to last food stop and managed to stay within sight of them for around 5 miles. Then the route turned south into the wind, reminding me of the biggest disadvantage of riding solo: I had no one to help break the wind. I rested at the last food stop with about 15 miles to go, all into the wind. With around 7-8 miles left, I rode and chatted with a member of the Springfield club for a short while. At this point (about 5 miles to go), I could almost taste the brats and beer.

Then, the unexpected happened: with my bike computer reading 94.68 (the last reading it would show for almost 6 months) a dog ran out into the road at me. I have been chased (as have most of you) by dogs many times, but this one was different. Instead of chasing me and barking or nipping at my heels or hands, this dog ran at full speed right into the side of my front wheel. When the dog came at me I grabbed the brakes, then when the dog hit my wheel I flipped up and landed on my left hip. I immediately knew I had probably broken something, as I had never experienced pain anywhere near what I felt! Fortunately, the rider from Springfield was close behind and stopped to help. Soon after that, a SAG vehicle came by and stopped. During this time I was lying on my back (a position I would become all too familiar with) in the middle of the road. I could not move from the pain. Everybody was asking "does it hurt?” The SAG driver radioed for an ambulance. I was transported to the emergency room at Springfield Memorial Medical Center where they took x-rays and performed several other important medical procedures such as asking “Do you have insurance?” The doctor told me I had dislocated my hip and broken my pelvis in 3-4 places. Fortunately there were no life-threatening injuries so I could be moved closer to home. I was transported to St. Joseph Hospital where I spent the next 10 weeks after my surgery. I was home (on crutches)
just before Thanksgiving, and got rid of my crutches just before Christmas.
Now to make a long story short (is it too late for that?), after 10 weeks in the hospital and 12 weeks of therapy I am back to work and even got out on my bike once during that warm spell in early March. Now it is a little awkward for me to get on the bike, but once there, I am actually more comfortable riding than walking!
For those of you who are wondering about the sub-title of this article, I have since learned (with the help of an attorney, but that’s another story) that the dog’s name is “Lucky”. I would like to be able to say that he was a giant Rottweiler but my honesty gets the better of me and I must admit that he was a cute little Boston terrier. Incidentally, the dog walked away unhurt and I swear I could hear through the pain that Lucky was laughing.

Updated: April, 2014

As I revisited this article, I saw that it really wasn't complete without some indication of how the healing went, and how my life after injury continues. While my life is largely unchanged, there are still, and apparently always will be, lingering reminders of the accident.

I recall (less vividly now thankfully) the initial pain from the break. I would liken it to something exploding inside my body. In the break, the "ball" portion of the ball-and-socket joint that makes up the hip was driven completely through the socket. I recall the first ambulance ride to the hospital, I'd always thought that an ambulance would ride smoothly...that is not the case. Every road imperfection, every rail crossing, every pebble on the pavement shot waves of pain from my hip. The EMTs were sympathetic, but said until a doctor ordered, they could not administer any medications. In the ER the nurses cut off my jersey and shorts (you bikers know how much that cost) and rolled me in to X-ray. To get "good" shots they had to reposition my broken pelvis (still without meds), which was exquisitely uncomfortable. Apparently there was some concern about bone fragments in the vicinity of my femoral artery, and they preferred I didn’t bleed out internally. Finally they determined that there were no life-threatening injuries and they hooked me up to a morphine IV. Wow. I can see how a person can get addicted to this stuff. Doesn't just dull the pain, but it also makes the whole world a better place.

Since this had happened near Springfield, the medical staff asked if I would rather be treated in one of the hospitals in Bloomington-Normal. Yes. Duh. They first called Bro-Menn...and reported back to me that no orthopedic Dr was interested in my case. WTF? So if nobody was interested at that hospital, what were the odds that another hospital would be any different? I was starting to be a little concerned when a nurse finally came back in and said that there was an ortho surgeon at St Joseph’s who would take my case. What a relief! I was loaded up into another ambulance for the run up to Bloomington, where I was made as comfortable as I could be for the night as I awaited my meeting with the surgeon Monday morning.

That morning the surgeon told me what my treatment would consist of. He was planning a "closed reduction" on Tuesday morning, once the swelling had gone down at the injury site. This means that instead of cutting me open and inserting plates and screws (that look so cool in x-rays), he would essentially pull all my bones into place, and then stabilize my position in traction. With me being pretty well stoned on morphine, he could have told me he was going to take a hammer and chisel and carve me a new hip from some rock he'd found and I'd have thought it a good idea. Off to my drug induced sleep again.

...I fumble my way back to consciousness at some point on Tuesday. "What's this?" I was lying on my back with something pulling on my injured hip. As I slowly regained my senses, I became aware of my predicament. In bed, nearly immobilized, with ropes and pulleys and weights attached, massive hangover pounding my skull. I looked just like a patient on some tv show recovering from an accident. After a bit the surgeon came in and we discussed my condition. Apparently, the procedure went well. He described it: in the operating room my upper body was strapped down to the table, and a winch was hooked to my left leg to set my break. The leg was pulled into the proper position (he said there was an audible snap as everything popped into place!). To hold everything in place some weights were hung from my lower leg. "How does this work?" Glad you asked. A hole was drilled through my shinbone and a metal rod inserted for the ropes and pulleys to hook to. (Nowhere near as gory as you're thinking, but a bit Frankenstein-ish.) So I curiously ask just how long will I be in the hospital like this, thinking a couple weeks. "Ten weeks" was his quick response. Um...ten weeks, here, in this bed? "Oh no, in a couple of weeks" (phew, thank goodness) "we'll move you down to the Skilled Care Unit" (WHAT?). That unit is for patients who will require long-term care that cannot be done at home. Not unlike a nursing home. Ten weeks total time in bed, in a hospital. Everything you do all day every day; eat, drink, bathe, read, watch TV, have blood drawn, get x-rays, and a couple others that I'll not mention here, I would do laying in bed for the next ten weeks...Damn. I feel I must mention, while my stay seemed like my own little corner of Hades, my wife Nancy had it worse than I did. All I did was lie in bed. She went to work, paid bills, dealt with insurance, saw that the yard got mowed, and visited me every single day for the duration.

Fast forward 69 days. This is the day I was to become free of this bed. My doctor arrived in my room as scheduled with...a pair of pliers. Sterile, surgical pliers to be sure, but not much different than what I keep in my toolbox in the basement. He proceeded to unhook the weights, and remove the clamp the weights hung from. Next step: removal of the rod going all the way through my leg. I was a little apprehensive, but as he promised, there was no pain. Just an odd lateral pressure feeling as he pulled it out. So, doc, can I go home now? Not until I learned to use crutches and prove that I can move about on my own.

As it turns out, one’s body becomes resistant to change when left in one position for an extended period. The staff helped me to sit up on the edge of the bed, where I promptly said I’d better lie back down. Worse motion sickness ever. I didn’t vomit, but it wasn’t far off. To remedy this I was strapped onto a tilting table and slowly brought from horizontal to vertical in slow, long steps. There. I was now able to sit up finally. If it was that much of a challenge to just get upright, how long would it take me to become mobile again? (I ought to mention that this was the Monday before Thanksgiving, and so I was quite motivated to go home soon!) A physical therapist spent several hours teaching me to hobble around on two crutches, no weight on the injured leg. By Tuesday afternoon I had progressed enough that I was released to go home! Definitely something to be thankful for on Thanksgiving that year.

It's now late November, and my doctor has said I should go back to work in February, but at light duty. Therapy three times a week to rebuild my strength and doing my home exercises now occupied my days. Better than the hospital, but still quite tedious. I fought through the pain and weakness, determined to get my old self back, and by Christmas had progressed to using only one crutch. In the first week of January the doc approved me to go back to work, provided there was a restriction on what I could lift. The medical and production departments found a task I could perform in my feeble state, and in early 2000 I was back to work.

It was a bit of a struggle at first. My break room was up two flights of steps, so I opted to stay on the production floor at break time to avoid the arduous climb twice a day. My strength slowly came back, and in a few weeks I had my restrictions lifted. At this point I was still in some pain (discomfort my surgeon called it) but I was glad just to be upright and mobile. My hip would occasionally pop and crack, but as time and healing progressed that dissipated. The more time I'd keep moving, the better my joint was. I was soon mostly pain free, but there was a lingering slight limp that still appears sometimes.

Fast forward a few years...It took a couple years for most of the "discomfort" to dissipate. I had a pronounced limp for many months, in fact I still sometimes limp slightly. Other than the occasional twinge and a pronounced lack of range of motion, I'm completely healed. In fact, I think I'm better off than my ortho expected. He had told me that he expected to see me back in 2-5 years in need of a hip replacement. While I can't prove causal relationship, I believe my biking has extended the life of my original hip. My mileage the first years after the accident was down, but for these fourteen years since, I've logged over 47,000 miles! In fact, the more I ride, the better the hip feels. I think I'll just keep on riding forever.