Author: Bob Matthias
This summer, fellow church member and friend Steve Hultgren and I rode the Mickelson Trail, a 109-mile gravel, rail-to-trail in the western part of the Black Hills in South Dakota on self-powered bikes. We split the ride into three days and had our bags shuttled to each next hotel, finally carrying us and our bikes back to our starting point. Even though we added another 20-mile side trip to our middle “rest day,” at the end we felt we had some more miles in us, and we’d heard that Spearfish Canyon was a nice ride. The canyon cuts into the northwest corner of the Black Hills, extending south from the town of Spearfish. It’s 20 miles long and had railroad tracks in it during the last century, so we knew it would be easy riding on a good, paved shoulder.
It is a beautiful, narrow canyon with tall bluffs on each side, flanking a crystal clear stream. It was quite nippy at the time of our early start, but the sun was up, and we were privileged to ride past five mountain goats grazing at the side of the road. About 12 miles up the canyon, just past a guest lodge, as we rounded a gentle curve, our nice shoulder disappeared. We pulled onto a gravel pull-off to talk and agreed that with the number of tourists we expected to start seeing as the day wore on, we were no longer safe from cars without a shoulder on which to ride.
We walked our bikes across the road, and as we were getting back on them to return to our starting point, we continued to talk about our decision to turn back. Steve heard something and stopped. It was a human voice, a faint cry for help. Steve called back to the person. It was a 19-year-old motorcyclist who’d gone off the road, down a 10-foot steep embankment, and who was entirely hidden in 6- to 8-foot-tall bushes. We could not see him, and could only barely make out his motorcycle. He told us he’d been there since 5:00 PM the previous day, had a broken arm, and couldn’t feel anything below his waist. Steve and I were in shorts and cycling shoes, and we tried to hike down the steep hill to the guy, but quickly gave up, fearing we would increase the number of victims. We flagged down a car and asked them to drive back to the lodge to call for help. A couple of younger guys hopped out of the next car, wearing jeans and much better footwear; they climbed down to the victim.
We discovered we actually had one bar of cell service, so called 911 ourselves, relaying information about the victim from the two guys who’d gone down to him. There was no shoulder there at all, and other drivers stopped to direct traffic around us as we were on the phone relaying information about the victim. A sheriff’s deputy arrived, then an ambulance, another deputy, and finally a couple of county emergency management personnel, who set up a rope down the slope. Already knowing the extent of the injuries, the four ambulance attendants carried down a back board and a cervical collar. It took all four of them and the two deputies to get the young man up the slope and into the ambulance.
It took us several weeks after finding the accident victim to track down his mother, who is a minister in South Dakota. Her family had been looking for us!
Steve and I have met with Dylan and his mom at Craig Hospital where Dylan is learning to cope with his physical condition. His broken arm – his dominant one – was still in a cast when we saw him. He also broke his scapula and a number of ribs. The biggest problem is that he crushed his spinal cord and is paralyzed from the chest down. It currently takes four people to move him from his motorized wheel chair to and from bed. When his arm recovers sufficiently, he will learn to do that himself. He has been told not to expect to regain much, if any, control over his lower body. His parents plan to modify their home to make it accessible.
Dylan had two prayers that night: that he would survive the cold night, and that someone would find him. Dylan’s attitude is as good as you could hope for and he is already thinking of ways to help other people in his condition. Steve and I both felt inspired as we left his side. We are both still processing that experience. Had we turned around 100 feet sooner, Dylan would not have heard us. If we had turned around 100 feet later, we would have been moving too fast downhill to hear Dylan, due to wind noise. Hundreds of cars had passed him. In fact, his parents had sent the sheriff out looking for him and drove right past him, unaware of his situation.
Dylan knows he surely would have died if we hadn’t found him. Both his minister-mom and my wife Louisa are convinced it was a “God moment” or a “thin place,” and I am reluctantly coming around to that point of view. Did God let him ride off the road so we could find him? Was it purely random, dumb luck that Steve heard a strange, faint call for help? I guess that’s for you to decide. Steve and I are both still working on that!
Creator and loving God, please keep us ever listening for that still, small voice, whether it’s yours or that of someone who desperately needs our help. Then give us the energy and determination to act.
