Element of a Memoire

Shit, that hurt.

The sky, grey, pierces the canopy of the sparse Australian bush above me. Rolling onto my side, I push to stand up. Oww! That's not going to work. I move back onto my back, pulling my left leg up, pointing my knee to that same gray sky above. It hurt less that way.

Noel appears before me, then Chris, followed by Matt. 'You ok? he asks.

The rugged granite rocks of the road dig into my lower back, my backpack, and my helmet protecting the rest of my body from this discomfort.

I'm in a bit of a predicament. Having led many friends down the spur track, none of them knew where we were or even where we were going; I was leading this ride.

I should not have been racing like a lunatic. Hitting the last cross-bank sent me arse over tit.

Flying through the air headfirst, my helmet taking the bulk of the impact, rolling head to toe. I managed to bend my right leg so that the inside of my right ankle touched my left bum cheek. 

I snapped my right fibula, tore all the tendons and facia down the outside of my right leg, and shifted my knee cap south, making it a shin cap.

'I've stuffed my leg; I can't get up.' This would be the understatement of the day. My T-12 vertebrae fractured, and the middle finger dislocated on the right hand in a lightning strike. 'You're going to have to look.'

'What 'a ya mean?'

'Well, I can't sit up and look myself, so you're going to have to look.' I was surprising myself a little; here I was lying on the side of a mountain in the high country of North East Victoria.  

It's good to know all those years in the military, though, and working as a lifeguard through uni were definitely coming in handy.

'We need to work out the damage, then we'll work out what to do., so I need you to look.'

'I'm not fookin lookin.'

'I need you to just start at my ankle, wrap your hands around my leg and slowly run your hands up my leg, simply feeling for something.'

Kneeling, Noel locks eye contact, the most intense eye contact I've ever had with a man in my 35 years. No words pass between the two of us. He starts moving his hand up my leg.

I'd have to think the solid Irishman that he is has never played with a fella's leg in such a way.

'Going good, mate, keep going.' He has moved his hands up over my calf and heading towards the knee. I can't remember the pain. I know it was there. 

The ambo's would give me a green whistle, a large green tube holding an analgesic to interrupt pain. 

However, I had Noel's hands wrapped around my leg just now. 

 His hands pass over my knee and start to head down my thigh towards my groin. Suddenly he stops.

'Fook!'

'What!?'

'I feel sumptin; it's hard.'

Taking a deep breath, I pause. 'Right, you're going to have to look.'

Noels' stare is piercing as he looks me in the eye. 

Cautiously, with a good dose of anxiousness, he breaks the intense stare we'd been holding for minutes. Doing the brave thing, not knowing what he is going to see, fearing he will see a bone protruding from my leg, or worse.

He looks down, releasing one hand to pull my short's leg away from the skin. 'Fook! It's ya bloody cyclin nicks, you daft bastard!'