Despite life-altering crashes, motorcyclists won't give up

This is a copy of an article that appeared in the South Florida Sun Sentinel Nov. 21, 2007. I had a link here but it expired so I purchased a copy of the article.

BORN TO ALWAYS RIDE MOTORCYCLISTS CARRY ON DESPITE LIFE-CHANGING ACCIDENTS

James Wolosz nearly died in an October 1994 motorcycle crash that fractured his skull and back, collapsed both lungs, ruptured his bladder and nearly severed his right leg.
It wasn't enough to keep him off his bike.

More than 30 surgeries later, Wolosz, 54, owns and rides a 1996 Harley Davidson Road King and a 1987 Harley Davidson Low Rider, each with more than 100,000 miles on the odometer.
For riders like Wolosz, biking is such a passion that near-death experiences aren't enough to persuade them to give it up.

"Every time I heard the sound, I would get goosebumps," said Wolosz, a firefighter/paramedic for the city of Miami. "I knew I had to get back on. It's like my firefighting job: If your buddy got killed in a fire, and the next day you had another bad fire, you would go right in. Anybody who is passionate about it, they are going to keep doing it, no matter what."

Motorcycle accidents claimed the lives of 76 bikers in the past two years in Broward County, according to the medical examiner's office. Statewide, injuries jumped from 5,101 in 2001 to 7,934 in 2006.

Those numbers are daunting, but severe injuries don't always stop dedicated riders.
Scott "Tank" Rohrbach, had to re-learn how to walk, eat and function independently after he flew over the handlebars of his 1988 Harley Davidson FXR in May 1999. His speech is permanently impaired and he has difficulty with numbers and reading, said his wife Theresa, 47. Rohrbach, 39, of Sunrise, can't work a regular job and relies heavily on family to assist him with communication.

He speaks haltingly, but his message about riding is clear:
"I have to. That's me," Rohrbach said, grinning shyly.
And ride he does. Every week. With his wife's blessing.

His motorcycle is the equalizer that helps him revisit the whole person he once was.
"It's his only connection to his past life, before this accident," said Theresa Rohrbach. "That's why he can't stop riding that bike. He feels that's the only normal thing he has left. Everything else normal was basically taken away."

On his bike, she said, his disabilities disappear.

"It doesn't scare me. I actually do believe now it doesn't matter if you are on a bike or in a car. I figure, whatever is going to happen is going to happen," she said.

Gina Currid, of Cooper City, is another wife who wasn't afraid to let her husband back behind the handlebars. Her husband, Brian, was left with a prosthetic leg after a 2004 crash. Nine months later, he was back on the road on a custom-made trike she built for him when he got into another accident. This time it was fatal.

Currid, a motorcycle mechanic, kept her own 1996 Harley Davidson Heritage Softail parked for two months after the tragedy. Then she hopped on and took a 19-day, 3,800-mile road trip.
She never second-guessed her husband's decision to keep riding.

"It was really a passion for him. To take something like that away, you may as well have stuck him behind prison bars," said Currid, 46, who will mark the third anniversary of her husband's death on Nov. 28.

Such devotion is about personal identity, not thrill-seeking, said Julio Licinio, chairman of the psychiatry department at the University of Miami's School of Medicine. It's about people who love what they do so much they define themselves by it.

"They have to go back. If they don't, they are not Joe Smith anymore, they are not a person," Licinio said. "I think in this case, the hobby is not so much a hobby - it's the core of who they are as people."

The president of the southeast chapter of the motorcycle rights group ABATE sees it all the time.

"It's because they do what they love to do," said James Lesniak, a rider for more than 20 years. "People who get hurt doing something and continue to do it, it's their passion in life. There's something about it, they would risk life and limb to do it."

Lake Worth resident John Wright, 48, wasn't expected to live after he was ejected through the windshield and 50 feet over the handlebars of his 1991 FXRT Harley Davidson Superglide in July 2001, but he did. Wright awoke after a 38-day coma, unable to read, write or walk. Rehabilitation was arduous.

"I pushed him and pushed him and pushed him," said his wife, Heidi, who spent 30 days with Wright in an intensive care unit. "That's why he's a walking miracle today."

Today, the father of three grown sons still rides, but only if he has someone else with him. He takes anti-seizure medication twice a day, experiences memory loss and tires easily. His wife, Heidi, who also rides, has become his caretaker. She doesn't let him go if he shows any signs of fatigue.

Wright, known by his fellow bikers as "Thirsty," knows he got lucky. He also knows he can't give up riding, even if it kills him.

"My mother asked me, soon after I got out of the hospital, 'Are you going to quit riding?'" said Wright, who is president of a motorcycle club.

His answer was a firm "no." "I'm not a biker up here,'" Wright said, as he touched his head. Then he laid his hand on his heart. "I'm a biker here," he said.
"It's his only connection to his past life, before this accident," said Theresa Rohrbach. "That's why he can't stop riding that bike. He feels that's the only normal thing he has left. Everything else normal was basically taken away."