Taco tire brought to us by car. Photo courtesy of opinion editor Owen Blackwell.
2,720 pounds of steel, glass, and plastic traveling over 45 miles per hour does wonders to the human body of a student at San Luis Obispo High School.
Dust flew from the trail, the particles powdered my skin, cooled by the wind. Heading out from the trail onto the black top road, I pulled into a dirt parking lot populated with the cars of climbers, hikers, and mountain bikers. The parking lot was devoid of motion, unlike the road just a few feet away. Evening traffic flew by, far exceeding the speed limit of 45 miles per hour. I needed to turn left across two lanes of traffic and make it to the tiny bike lane on the far side. Tightly wound, ready to spring out once I had enough space, I waited and watched.
My eyes flickered back and forth. No space, no space… space. I pushed forward sending myself towards my destination, feet pedaling as if my life depended on it, and it did. The halfway point, the double yellow line, I reached it just in time to look up and see a car barreling towards me. At that moment my muscles exploded with adrenaline, pedaling as I prayed, hoping I’d make it to the other side. I turned the handlebar to slide into the bike lane. I was safe.
Over the past three summers, I had taught sailing classes at the Morro Bay Yacht Club. Sailing has been a lifelong passion of mine that I loved getting to share with new people while making quite a bit of money. All summer I worked six days a week, Saturday to Thursday, even skipping out on family vacations and trips with my friends to gain more wealth. I saved and invested, recently inspired by a book I had read.
I cut back on expenses I deemed unnecessary wherever I could to save money, whether that was not going out to eat with my friends, or even avoiding them altogether because it took gas to drive to see them. Gas is expensive. Over the summer I spent around $40 a week in gas just commuting to and from work. There was a simple way to save: bike to work.
I was not safe. Sun beat down from the sky. Sirens. Shouting. “Hey what’s your name?” “Can you hear me?” Shears. Cold hands gripping, lifting. Doors slam and it’s dark.
“What’s your name?”
“Owen Blackwell,” I croak out.
“Ok, Owen, you got hit by a car, but you’re gonna be okay. We’re taking you to the hospital.” I nod. “We’re gonna give you some morphine, Owen.”
“Ok,” I respond, each syllable accompanied by a medicine ball dropping on my lungs. A cold hand grabs me then a needle. Warm and safe I sleep, reeling towards the unknown.
My recollection of the next two days is obscured as if a semi-transparent cloth is held over my mind’s eye, only seeing the outline of the memory. Two days of cold white sheets and pitiful parents, tasteless food, and sleepy somberness. Finally going home from the hospital, cold white sheets were replaced not with freedom, but with the warm prison of my blue duvet. Movement pained every muscle, so I frolicked freely in my mind.
I found myself asking myself what was any of it worth? The nagging sensation that this all happened for a reason became sharper and sharper, no longer nagging but permanently etched in the wall of my skull. With these mental wanderings came an intense and unbreaking joyful clarity. I came to the cliche realization that what mattered were the people I interact with. Those I love, and those I don’t.
Everyone who knew me found out about my crash. As I was stuck in bed for 2 weeks Relatives came and visited, friends and teammates brought candy and balloons, I received texts of encouragement and well wishes from people who I hadn’t talked to in years. Even the mean old lady next door talked to my parents saying, “When I found out, I called my friends and we all prayed for Owen and that he would be okay.”
The people closest to me whom I had alienated by my hunger for wealth, were there for me in my hardest time. People whom I would have never guessed even cared about me were some of the most compassionate.
This was no accident, but rather a divine rescue. A year earlier talking to my mother about growing old, she said to me, “If you place all your value in what you can do. Owen, God’s gonna take that away.” And He did. And I’m happy that He did. He showed me what matters: not how fast I can run or how good I can wrestle, not how hard I can work, or how much I can earn. Loving the people around me is what truly matters.
