It Will Never Happen to Me

By Timothy Sorady

My journey to motorcycles, my accident and my recovery.

Starting where my love of motorcycles originated, moving through my life as a biker and eventually how my riding days ended. Including the response from the biker community once an acc

• Language: English
• Publisher: DGAS Parts
• Release date: Jul 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781088145159

Timothy Sorady

From living a carefree biker life to sustaining major injuries following an accident.From no memory of what occurred, the things once memory returned, being a quadriplegic. Told by doctors that I will never be out of bed again. The fights, pain, and fortitude to get my life back.I am a Navy veteran, was an avid outdoorsman, father and husband.

Book preview

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

To my love, Lori, without you I would not be here.  You were my motivation for recovery, my advocate to ensure I received care, and my support when I wanted to give up.  You put up with me when I am at my worst.  Bring me to reality when I leave it.  You have put up with my sleepless nights as I wrote this book.  You found ways to keep going with your own life.  No man could ever ask for more from the person he wants to spend his life with.

To Diane, you were there when you were needed most.  The support and love that you have given can never be repaid.  Your friendship is one to be treasured.  And you were lucky enough to meet Dennis.

To Kim and Melissa, you brought out the best of me with your positive attitudes and caring natures.  It was of the both of you that I moved my extremities and took my first steps.

Next, many people assisted in my recovery.  The first on the scene of the accident was Deputy Chief Ryan Kessinger.  Leesburg Station 63 Lt. Derell Meeks, Firefighter Joseph Pongratz, and Medic Roberto Martinez.  Lake County EMS EMTs Emily Rockford and David Hanzman.  Without their dedication to duty serving our community and the knowledge they possess, I would not be here to write this story.

Finally, to those who have supported me in writing, and bringing this book to print, thank you for believing in my efforts. 

Special thanks go to Jane Roth, one of our friends that has contributed to the final publishing of this book through the purchase of our Biker Bonus.

It Will Never Happen to Me

Traumatic Brain Injury Through a Biker’s Eyes

The Start of the Journey

To understand the journey that I am about to lay out for you, you will need to understand my mindset and where I started. I think back to my days growing up and how I came to love riding.  It may be different for some riders, but since this is my story, I will tell it based on my life and experiences.

As a kid growing up, we spent a lot of time outdoors.  It was in the days before cell phones, game consoles, and other mind-numbing contraptions.  We grew up in a rural area, with a lot of kids of various ages, and our houses were spread out.  The upbringing of the kids in the neighborhood varied.  For me and my siblings, however, my father was very strict and a disciplinarian.  Based on today’s standards, some would say abusive.  My mother was the, wait until your father gets home type.  That is unless we would push her.  Other kids in our neighborhood had more freedom. 

We would spend days playing games of baseball, football, tag, soldiers, or whatever else we could think of doing.  We would be out from early morning until after dark.  We would go to the park, ride our bikes, swim, fish, hiking.  We would gather up and play baseball or football, depending on the season.  All the things that we enjoyed outdoors.  We would rarely be inside during the day.   And we were lucky enough to grow up before the invention of things that now keep kids inside and missing the outdoor experience.

In the winter, we would go outside and build snowmen, and snow forts, and have snowball fights.  On other days we would go to the lake ice skating, ice fishing, and watching the snowmobiles.  Playing hockey on the ice with sticks that we made.  Those were fun days especially when we got a ride on the snowmobiles, or got towed while we were on our sleds.  This was our introduction to speed.

As we got older, we started looking for more excitement.  This was in the days of Evel Knievel.  Seeing him run wheelies, jumps, going over buses on his motorcycle gained our interest and spirit for taking risks.  We looked for ways to become a daredevil.

These are the days of spider bikes, banana seats, and high sissy bars.  We would sometimes get a new bike, or hand me down that we had to fix.  We would go around sometimes checking the trash to find parts needed to fix our bikes or build new ones.  Guess this was the way we made our first custom rides.

So, with either our hand-me-down or our custom bikes, we would ride the neighborhood popping wheelies, competing to see who rode the longest, riding trails in the woods, anything to have fun.  Cards and clothes pins were attached to the fork of the bike so the spokes clicked.  Soon we started finding pieces of wood and using rocks to build ramps to use as jumps.  Setting the jumps on the back road, we would peddle as fast as we could to see who jumps the farthest. We would start getting cinder blocks to make the jumps higher and sturdier. Contests would start to see who would be able to do the longest jumps.  Ten- and twelve-foot jumps became common.  We started looking for ways to increase the length of the jumps.  After all, you could only peddle a single-speed spider bike so fast.

Someone came up with the idea of running down the hill near the house, going across the main road, and hitting a jump that we set up on the dirt road across the road.  It was a straight run across the road, so we set up the jump.  We had someone on the road to watch for trucks and cars coming down the road.  And then the first jump.  Not going so far up the hill, since we did not know how it would go.  It was good and the bike went far.  So, what do you do as a kid?  You go higher up the hill.  I don’t remember who did it, but someone hit the jump and went about forty feet.  Oh yeah, it ended in a crash, with bruises and cuts.  An introduction to road rash.  We all cheered for him though.  He set the record.  None of us were going to try to break it.

Well so far, no motorized bikes.  Then the new neighbors moved in down the street.  As mentioned, we grew up differently.  They were the cool kids, older and they had mini bikes.  As we got to know them, we would get to go on rides.  Sometimes they would let us take the mini bikes for short rides alone.  We were learning how to ride a motorized bike, working the throttle and brakes.  It seemed like these guys got a lot of neat things.  We later learned that it was the parents’ way of making up, as their mother was very sick.

I remember getting a phone call one day from Sears while my parents were out that the mini bike they ordered arrived.  They never did say that they ordered it or why they bought it.  I later found out that it was for me.  But in my wisdom, my chores did not get done and I never got it.  Oh well.  We looked for ways to build our own.  Back to searching the trash for parts.  We tried to get things together but never had our own.  We did help the neighbors repair their mini bikes.  This helped ensure we could continue to get rides.

As kids, we continued to build ramps and trails through the woods to ride our bikes and the mini bikes.  We would have races, do jumps, and have fun.  Those neighbors with the mini bikes got older.  Well, they graduated to bigger and better things.  Soon they were riding a Honda 350 through the trails.  And being lucky, we got to ride on it with them.  Those were fun times.  Hitting the ramps and trails on the Honda.  Sometimes, we would ride towards the beach, where there was a larger drop to go over.  Feeling the excitement and adrenaline as the bigger bike would go over the drop.  Having to be sure that we were not going too fast so when hitting the bike would drop.  The feeling of our stomach as we went faster and hit a bump.  Guess these were the days when my love of bikes kicked in.

As I got older, I started working as kids did back then. Starting by delivering papers, riding my bike, and pushing it up the hill. Saving money so I could get better.  As I got older, I started working in a farmers’ market at the butcher shop.  It was great as I thought I was making great money.  And for a kid, it was not bad.  I would ride my bicycle back and forth, getting rides when I could.  Eventually, I got an old moped.  It did not run well but better than pedaling.  I got it running well for a while.  Then like anything else, repairs would need to be made.  So, I would ride it, fix it and ride some more.  Eventually, I saved enough money to get a newer moped.  I was able to ride this moped back and forth to work.  Using it as my main transport.  So cool not having to rely on your parents or your older brother for a ride. 

I started in high school, with my job, money in my pocket, and my moped.  I made sure that the moped was cool.  Leather seat bag, bigger seat.  Anything to make it my own.  Riding to high school so I would not have to take the bus.  Oh, and hanging out with older kids.  I started keeping some tequila in the seat bag.  Never brought the moped onto school grounds so I would not get into trouble.

I still remember the day when I was riding the moped, pushing it for top speed.  Hitting around 40 mph, and then boom.  Damn, I blew something in the motor.  It would still run, but would never go very fast again.  I eventually sold it, which ended my days riding for a while.

After graduating high school, I started working at various places, still working the weekends at the butcher shop.  I would go out at night and hit work in the morning.  I was lucky at one point, to get a job at a club I was going to regularly.  They had a kitchen but no one worked it.  People would drink some and leave.  I made a deal with the owner to open the kitchen.  My first business.  It was going well, so I hired a girl to help.  This gave me time to go back to partying.  I also did some bartending and bouncer work.  I did this for a while until the club was sold.  Things were not the same after that at the club so I left.

I eventually joined the Navy.  Before going to boot camp, I left my car with my sister so she would have transportation.  It was a 1967 Chevy Impala.  The car was a good runner when I gave it to her.  I learned that she never checked the oil and let the engine seize.  So much for getting that car back when out of boot camp.

It seemed like at that time in the Navy, everyone was getting bikes. They were so much cheaper than a car and easier to store on base, especially during deployments.  I went to look at a few and decided on the one I liked, and could afford.  During a phone call with my mother, I told her of my plan.  She reminded me of an accident where someone close to our family did not go around a turn and died.  She had me promise that while I was in the military,