Greetings fellow Vulcan-keepers,
It is so awesome to find a forum dedicated to such a great machine, and specifically to the VN-750! I have an 86'; it is my first motorcycle, and I totally adore it. I go by Madame Mohawk because I have mohawks on my helmets (Silly I know) and because I'm a lady (notice there's quite a few of us here, which I find awesome!). I've only been riding for a total of nine months, and most of that has been on a 50cc scooter. It was my daily driver until I began riding my Vulcan. Even though I'm a recent rider, it's in my blood; both parents used to ride.
I know there's a due process to everything, and I had planned on following the proper process for learning to ride my Vulcan: buy the bike, fix it up, enjoy. Funny that things don't always work out the way we plan...
...My bike spent its' first two months in 'my' possession in the garage, getting age-related and wear-related problems taken care of. Yep, that's right: two. months. I got it back right around Christmastime. I blame no one for this; the former owner told me everything he knew that was glitchy, the garage simply found more. And I had to pay the work off in time, since holiday season had me running a little short.
I was able to enjoy my bike, making it my new daily driver and giving my scooter a rest, from 12/22 until 1/20. Oh, that fateful date. In my mind, it will forever live in infamy. I was on my way to work on my bike...and I got in a one-vehicle wreck with myself,
trying to avoid a car that had suddenly slammed on its brakes. Both my bike and I were very lucky; my head never touched the pavement, back and neck were fine, and my leg neatly cushioned my bike's fall, so that all it suffered were minor dings and bent forks. My leg, however, did not fare as well...
I was so proud of myself for never screaming, crying, cussing or losing consciousness while the bike was lifted off me and I was placed on a gurney, noticing my left knee did not look right. At all. I even made jokes most of the time I was at the ER getting poked, prodded and x-rayed. The first thing I asked my poor, worried fiance when he showed up was 'How's my bike!?' He, of course, was much more worried about me, and answered something to the effect of 'Uh, I think I saw a couple of dings, but for the most part it looks okay'. My knee, however, did not.
It was determined I had something called a 'tibia plateau fracture' , a 'hip contusion' and something I don't remember about my foot, which was later deemed to be a shadow on the image, as well as plenty of nice raspberries on both legs. How that
happened, I'm still not sure. But they were certain that tibia fracture was going to require surgery. My leg swelled up really big, and I had to wait for about three weeks for the swelling to go down so they could get in there and put things back together. I went in for surgery early
on 2/10. I asked the doctors how long they thought it would take and what might be involved, and they told us two to three hours and some plates and screws. Seven and a half hours later...
...I found myself awakening in the recovery room, and heard the nurse talking about me. As soon as I was able to make my mouth work, I asked for water, and then asked why on earth I had been in surgery for seven and a half hours. She said there had been some complications but didn't really expand upon it beyond that. I found out what happened at about six the next morning.
The doctor came in, doing his rounds and checked on me, then let me know what had happened. The break was much worse than they had thought and the top of the tibia was practically shattered. They not only used plates and screws but cadaver bones as well (I had approved this pre-procedure, should the need arise) and that I'd have to stay off it for a full three months. I also had eighty staples, holding the incision closed, and pain meds. Lots and lots of pain meds. I spent the next four days (including most of Valentine's day) in a druggy stupor. I slept a lot.
I was released late on Valentine's day and was really bummed because I had made so much progress, getting around on crutches, and now I was back to square one. My fiance was a doll and really took care of me. Oh, did I mention he actually got fired from his job for taking care of me? They later called and begged him to come back, but they fired him first. He now works somewhere else that appreciates him a little more.
That more or less brings us to the now. I'm doing physical therapy to get the range of motion back in my leg. No casts, just this funky contraption called a immobilizer, which keeps my leg straight unless I have to have it out for my therapy. I should be technically off the restrictions in late April, and I have a very bad case of cabin fever. Beyond this I'm a martial artist, blogger, collector of swords and antiquities, reptile owner and crazy person. I talk. A lot.
But I'm certain you fine folks have figured that out over the course of this post, haven't you?
And as soon as I get the green light and change those bent forks, I'm getting right back on my Vulcan. Hopefully, never to have a one-vehicle accident again.
May you all Live Long and Prosper!