Long-Term KTM 1290 Super Adventure: Homeward Bound, Part 3

Editor's note: Former Editor At Large Aaron Frank's long-term KTM Super Adventure is headed back to Motorcyclist headquarters in Irvine, CA, from Aaron's home in Milwaukee, WI. Piloting the bike for us is Joe McKimmey, art director of sister Bonnier brand Dirt Rider. He was crazy enough to contemplate a trip from Chicago to California in early March.

From Phoenix I stayed off I-10, heading up to Wickenburg, then catching Hwy 72 up toward 95 through Parker, then south again back toward I-10. It was a beautiful ride through the farmland. Picking up Hwy 78 south of Blythe, I stopped near the sandy part of Glamis to take some photos, then continued on westward. About 4 p.m., I was riding straight into the sun. It was a lonely stretch of road with little going on; cruise control was set at 80, and suddenly the rear wheel locked up.

My first thought was that the tire blew. I’d been watching the rear wheel, since it started out with a flat spot in the middle of the tire at the beginning of the trip, and I had a flat in Texas, which was now plugged. I imagined the tire blew, or came off the rim, and was locking up. I never even thought of the possibility of a sleeping bag being caught in there. The bike went into a skid sideways, and stood me up, putting me up on the pegs. I’ve been riding dirt for so long, I’m used to riding on the pegs; standing up is a natural riding position for me. So I’m squeezing the bike with my legs, and the bike slid to the left, straightened out, then continued rotating around to the right. I leaned it over, trying to get the bike to just lowside, but when the handlebars reached the steering lock, that’s when traction caught, and the bike pitched me. All I remember is hitting the ground. When a highside happens, it’s all so fast, and I didn’t know if I was on the ground or in the air. I don’t know if my hands hit first, but I know I landed on my right shoulder, hit my helmet on the ground, and slid.

I woke up on my back in the middle of the road, on the center line. I didn’t see the bike anywhere. My helmet was scraped, my shoulder was sore; I could tell something was broken. I knew I had to get out of the street because at some point someone would run me over. I tried to roll over, but I had my heavy backpack on, so I crawled on my broken side over to the edge of the road. I couldn’t tell you if it was 30 seconds or 5 minutes before people showed up.

The first lady who showed up wanted to call 911, but I convinced her I’d be okay, and that an ambulance wasn’t necessary. Luckily the second person who showed up, Jason, was a motorcyclist. He had three kids with him in his truck, who were awesome; they all helped gather the stuff off the road, and put it back on the motorcycle.

The bike had landed on the left side of the road, upside down on its tank in the bushes. It was draining fluids all over the place. I tried helping Jaso lift the bike back up, but thankfully the rangers showed up, helped Jason stand the bike up and left it on the side of the road. Totally mangled, and near 800 pounds, we were sure nobody would try to take it.

The EMTs showed up from the ranger station just down the road. They took my vitals, and everything looked good. There was no reason to file a police report since there weren’t any other vehicles involved in the accident. Since I was up and walking around under my own power, though, they also couldn’t give me a ride anywhere. So Jason and his boys gave me a ride to the ranger station, just ¼ mile away. They were in the area to watch sand drags at Glamis, so they came by and checked on me now and then throughout the evening. At one point, they headed into town to grab a bite to eat, and told my story to the owners of the restaurant, who then sent along a burger and fries for Jason to bring back to me.

So the bike was back on the side of the road, and I hadn’t been able to get the flashers to turn off. I had to wait for about 4 or 5 hours for Jeff (our resident Bonnier photographer) to come pick me up with the box van, and it got dark out while I was waiting. As I was hanging out at the ranger station up the hill a little way, all I could see were the bike’s lights flashing just down the road, so I kept checking to make sure nobody stole it. I’d seen a couple quad riders in the area, so when at one point the lights on the bike disappeared, I thought the worst. When Jason stopped by again to check on me, I told him I thought the bike was gone. Apparently there was a CHP that showed up and saw the bike crashed on the side of the road. He made his way over to the ranger station and questioned me about the incident, writing up a report.

When Jeff finally showed up about 10 p.m., Jason helped him load the bike up into the box van. It was a long ride back to Irvine, bouncing all the way with the truck’s shot suspension. With a broken collarbone, each bump in the road had me reliving the pain of my crash. Jeff and I didn’t get back to the office until about 3am. It’s funny (but not) that I made it all the way across the country, through some sketchy weather at this time of year, only to be taken out by a sleeping bag in the last couple hundred miles of the trek. I’m just glad I made it home alive.