People think I'm crazy, 'cause I worry all the time/If you paid attention, you'd be worried too/You better pay attention or this world we love so much might just kill you/I could be wrong now, but I don't think so/‘Cause there's a jungle out there/It’s a jungle out there.       Randy Newman

So now let’s turn our attention to that last mile of Saturday’s ride, that beautiful outing that took us west from Dayville through Picture Gorge, along Rock Creek to halfway up Dawes Creek Summit, and back to the outskirts of Dayville again.  An excellent adventure.  A+.

Lets look more closely at that remaining mystery mile.  Return to the scene of the crime, as it were.

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The first 44 miles of the day’s ride ends at the green arrow in the upper left of the map, right at the western town limits.  The final mile begins there, and ends at the red circle where the Jetta is patiently awaiting our return.  Between these two unequal segments is a roughly ten minute gap.

Take note of the house just below and to the left of the green arrow.  It is the first house you come to when entering Dayville from the west.  I didn’t have the presence of mind to photograph it, but picture an older white house with (of course) a very large American flag on the side facing the road.  It is surrounded by a chain link fence, with the gate open to the road.  In the yard on the other side of the fence two large and agitated dogs circle, barking and keeping their eyes on us.  One, a grey long-haired animal, reminds me of the male dog in Lady and the Tramp.  The other, a short-haired brown and white hound, brings more sinister images to mind.  

Across the road, I’ve succeeded in calming Rachael down by such comforting words as ‘Get the first aid kit.   Hurry.  It’s bad.  Hurry!  It’s really bad”.

It was really bad.  The hound, as it turns out, is a dog of the worst kind, a silent assassin.  I’m not even aware of his presence until he’s right at my side, growling.  I shout him away twice, but he stays with me so I quickly try to get off the bike on the opposite side.  Too late - he sinks his fangs into my calf, opening up by far the worst surface injury of my life.  It’s bad.  

I can’t really recreate what happened next, nor can Rachael.  I think I quickly walked across the street to a vacant lot, my leg openly bleeding, while the dog turned to Rachael and sank his fangs into her leg as well.  Screams, shouts, panic ensue.  Somehow, we both ended up off the bikes in the vacant lot, the dog returned to its yard, and we turned to first aid.

Fortunately, Rachael has the first aid kit along, and it’s well enough stocked for emergency measures.  I have a large flap of skin hanging down my leg, exposing more of me than I care to look at.  I fold it up, she covers it with a large nonstick pad and wraps it to my leg with adhesive tape.  I won’t bleed out at least, which is good.  Her own injuries thankfully look pretty minor - the skin is broken but she’s not really bleeding.  Very frightening, but it looks like she somehow escaped without too much damage.

We’re obviously on our way to the emergency room, back in John Day about 30 miles to the east.  First though we have to get back on the bikes, evade the dog, and return to our car on the other side of town.  Thankfully the dogs stay in the yard as we gingerly walk down the opposite shoulder until we’re past their house.  Then we remount, quickly bike back to the car, throw the bikes in, and drive east.  From time to time we glance down to make sure my leg isn’t openly bleeding again, but the pad and tape seem to have done the trick.

A half hour later we pull into Blue Mountain Hospital.  We receive outstanding care and attention there, in our opinion.  Everyone is great, comforting, competent, reassuring.  We’re not going to die from this, it seems.  Doctor Song, the weekend emergency physician (flown in from Seattle) examines and measures my wound (8 centimeters long), looks at Rachael’s, and immediately leaves to order Amoxycillin prescriptions for both of us.  He then sends Rachael off to the pharmacy to pick them up, telling her to hurry since they close in half an hour.  He then turns to me.

Two hours later, we’re out the door.  In the meantime, my wound has been irrigated (rather painful); both of our wounds are soaked for a half hour in saline solution; Rachael has several puncture wounds that are plugged with skin glue; we both receive DPT shots; the whole nursing staff on duty is brought in to look at my wound and ooh and aah in sympathy; and I receive thirteen sutures, the nearly completely torn off flap sewn back to my leg in a heart-shaped pattern that should leave an attractive scar when I’m done healing.

We’re sent off with instructions to watch for infection, dress my wound daily, and above all keep it dry.  I’m to return in 10 days to have the sutures removed.

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How ironic.  We vowed a week ago to be as careful as possible and avoid burdening the health care system, and Rachael gets knocked over by a giant UPS truck on the same day.  A week later, after moving to one of the quietest and most remote corners of the state, we have the only truly serious dog attack we’ve ever experienced.  

Just bad luck, or a sign?  Should we not venture out the door at all now, even over here?  I’ve got some time to think about it while I’m sitting around waiting to heal.  I will say though that the hospital staff took pains to make us feel that we weren’t burdening them, and nurse James went out of his way to say that we shouldn’t feel guilty at all about what we’d been doing.  He said as long as we’re keeping our distance it’s important to keep active.  Doctor Song says we’re both very fit and healthy and should both live to 100.  So there’s that.

There’s more to say about the follow-up, but I’ll stop here.  First though, let’s count our blessings since it could have been worse:

• Rachael had a sufficient first aid kit with her.  By chance, it was better stocked than usual because she replenished it after her truck attack.
• The attack occurred at the end of our ride, only about a mile from the car.  If we were up in the hills twenty miles to the west, we’d probably have needed an ambulance.
• We made really good time biking back to Dayville, so we got back to town before the pharmacy closed for the weekend.
• Somehow, we both managed to escape the dog without either of us crashing and compounding our injuries.  We’re pretty proud of that.
• We don’t have a headache, a fever, or difficulty breathing, so we don’t seem to have the virus.  True, I don’t have a sense of smell - but I’ve never had one.