A deer totaled my new BMW... and maybe saved me

Minutes earlier, I'd been riding my brand-new BMW R 1300 RS through the mountains with a group of people I had just met. The RS was in Dynamic Pro ride mode, the road was full of switchbacks, and everything was going exactly as it should.

Then a small deer burst out of the bushes.

And just like that, my weekend, my summer, and maybe something much more important, changed.

A series of events, an unexpected end

It had all started about a year earlier when I met Todd at the Hudson Valley Moto Social in Kingston, New York. I had arrived early, as I usually do, because I like to get a good spot and start mingling as everyone arrives. From across the block, I spotted an interesting café'd bike that demanded a closer look.

When I got closer, I realized it was an old Honda Gold Wing.

The owner, Todd, introduced himself and told me more about the bike. It was truly one of a kind, and it may have been the standout machine of the day. After that, we connected on Instagram and stayed in touch.

A few months later, I somehow ended up with a free BMW R 1100 in my garage. It was going to become my winter project, and during the rebuild, Todd mentioned the Reliability Rally, a group ride open to motorcycles that cost $1,500 or less.

"You should come," he told me. "Bring the Oilhead."

As the R 1100 slowly came back to life and spring arrived, the conversations continued. Eventually, I took the plunge and bought a ticket. Except I bought the wrong ticket. I accidentally signed up for the CornerSlayer Rally, hosted by the same great people but intended for the nice bikes rather than the jalopies of the Reliability Rally.

At that point, I figured I'd just roll with it.

As July approached, I decided to ride my new R 1300 RS to the rally. After all, CornerSlayer was a sport-touring event and the RS seemed like the perfect tool for the job. This would also be my first weekend trip on the bike.

I had wanted an RS for a long time. Even though I had owned it since April, it had taken me a few months to get it properly outfitted for travel. Now I finally had a reason to pack it up and head south.

I mapped out my route and headed toward West Virginia to see Todd and meet a bunch of people I had only known through social media. The ride down was mostly uneventful. Highways gave way to rolling hills, which eventually gave way to West Virginia hollers and mountain roads as I became better acquainted with my newest machine in the way only travel brings. When I arrived, I dropped my gear at the cabin and started getting acquainted with the CornerSlayers.

The group was a mix of men and women of all ages who had come from different places for a weekend of riding with old friends and making new ones. First impressions are merely that. You see a person, hear a few stories, and your imagination fills in the rest. That evening, I sat on the porch watching the rain come down, wondering about the lives and personalities of the people around me. Little did I know how I'd really get to know them in less than 24 hours.

The next morning, after a quick breakfast, we broke into our respective groups and headed out. Our route was roughly 300 miles, with plenty of elevation changes, twisty roads, and planned stops throughout the day. I was in the lead group, looking forward to riding with everyone and blazing the path for the riders behind us. I switched the RS into Dynamic Pro mode and was off.

Twenty-five minutes later, I was lying in a ditch.

As we moved effortlessly through the valley's switchbacks, a small deer suddenly launched itself from the bushes directly in front of me. There was no time to react. By the time I saw it, I knew I was going down.

Then I remember tumbling down the road, apparently doing what I can only describe as a somersault. Somewhere in those few seconds, my brain decided I needed to straighten myself out so I could slide like they do in MotoGP.

"If I can just get straight, I'll slide and get up."

For anyone who has crashed, you know how quickly those thoughts come and go. There was never any chance of executing that plan. Just as quickly as I had the thought, I stopped.

I was lying in a ditch, looking up at the guys I had been riding with. I started moving my fingers and toes. Everything seemed to work. With help, I climbed out of the ditch.

A lot happened between that moment and the hospital. Much of what was going through my head involved cursing that deer. It hadn't just ruined my day. It had potentially ruined the weekend for everyone else, too. I didn't want to be that guy.

The group quickly put that concern to rest. They assured me that none of that mattered. They were there to make sure I was OK.

The bike was totaled. I had fractured bones and plenty of bruises, but things could have been much worse. Once again, I was reminded why we wear all that gear.

I went home expecting to spend the next several weeks recovering from a motorcycle accident. It didn't exactly go that way.

Maybe the deer wasn't an enemy after all

Then, at a follow-up appointment for my fractured scapula, the doctor looked at the CT scan from the hospital in Petersburg, West Virginia. He noticed something. There was a mass in my chest.

Within what felt like a blink of an eye, I went from recovering from a motorcycle accident to blood work, an MRI, and eventually lying in a hospital bed preparing for surgery. I'd never had surgery before. Now I was waiting to have a tumor removed from my chest.

The motorcycle crash had suddenly become the least important part of the story.

It's strange how life unfolds. We spend most of our days working, making plans, buying motorcycles, and thinking about what comes next. We assume we'll have time. Then something happens that reminds you how little control you actually have.

Nearly a year ago, when I walked across the street to see Todd's customized Gold Wing, I never would have guessed I'd be where I am today.

If I hadn't met Todd at the Moto Social, I might never have heard about the Reliability Rally.

If I hadn't somehow ended up with a free BMW R 1100, I might never have had a reason to go.

If I hadn't accidentally booked the wrong rally, I wouldn't have been riding the R 1300 RS through West Virginia that morning.

If I hadn't crashed into a suicidal deer, I wouldn't have gone to the hospital.

If I hadn't gone to the hospital, I wouldn't have had the CT scan.

If I hadn't had the CT scan, the mass in my chest could have continued growing quietly, completely unnoticed.

For three weeks, I had been cursing that deer. It destroyed my dream bike. It ruined my summer of riding. It limited my mobility and left me sitting around while everyone else continued with their lives. But I've started looking at that deer a little differently.

Maybe it wasn't the enemy I thought it was.

Maybe it was an angel wearing a really unfortunate disguise.