kissing the guardrail

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I've been told that experience is the best way a writer can report on something. This begins a narrative that I have heard told many times in the pits from other racers, but now it's my turn to tell you - my story.

The spring weather seemed like it had not yet arrived, winter still held us in its grasp at the Gimli Dragway, an asphalt drag strip that had been an old airfield, in Manitoba on a long weekend last May. Temperatures plummeted to 50 F and we were wearing our winter parkas, mitts and hats in the pits.

Fergie, my 1000cc triple Arctic Cat drag sled and I were prepared for the first round of eliminations in the season opener. I had competed Saturday and finished 5 test-and-tune runs earlier Sunday. My pit crew (my husband Len, and my brother Fred) were at the start line with me. Len stood behind me to watch while Fred stood at the guardrail beside the lights to observe the launch.

Sled vs. car
In this race, I was lined up with a car, a Pontiac GTO. At tracks that are sanctioned by the International Hot Rod Association (IHRA), snowmobiles run in brackets. For newcomers, bracket racing is when competitors have their individual lights determined by their dial-in times - a time that the racer determines it will take them to get to the end of the ¼-mile, but without going faster or breaking out.

So that leaves you with the possibility of racing other vehicles that run as quickly as you. I had raced a bike early that day as well as the car that I was lined up beside, and I'd beaten the car.

A videographer in the stands filmed, as I was the only one with a sled. That tape would later confirm what I remembered, that I had indeed hit a frost heave around the 1,000-foot mark.

My sled immediately turned to the right and threw me off at over 125 mph. I remember seeing the timing lights as I hit the ground and was sliding into the other lane with the car bearing down on me. At that point I closed me eyes and asked for help, and I knew that I was NOT alone on the track.

Strange as it seems, time felt as if it had slowed dramatically, and the thoughts that flew through my head would have filled a book. Those thoughts were quickly replaced with the knowledge that something tangible was now in my path. I slid a few feet behind the car and hit the guardrail.

The guardrail was not as hard as I would've expected, but then my body was covered in leather and Kevlar. I continued sliding up and on the rail for 100 or so feet. It was during this that my body came up and over the rail and my arm hit a post on the opposite side.

The video confirmed that it took 12.15 seconds from the time the race started until it was over and I had slid the additional 350 ft. from the initial impact until I exited out the end of the other racer's lane. Yes, somehow the other racer missed me, and the sled too, as it catapulted across the lane.

I always thought that I would be the type of person to panic in a crash, but I stayed composed - no tears for 16 days. I knew my arm was badly injured, and I chose not to look. The paramedics and rescue personnel responded quickly and I used my sense of humor to get me through a week in the hospital. The doctor confirmed that I had shattered my elbow and would need to be transported to Winnipeg for surgery. It was then that I realized the next time at the track I would have a cast and a story to tell.

Second wild ride!
Then I took on my second ambulance ride, which further injured to my arm as the bone came through the skin when we hit a bump, making it an open fracture and causing chaos in the emergency department at Winnipeg Health Sciences Hospital. The hospital had been notified that I was a closed fracture so the staff was not gowned and gloved to deal with blood.

That was soon rectified, new X-rays were done, and the surgeons arrived. Three consulted with me, but Dr. Jamie Dubberley and his team performed the 7-hour operation. The next day a resident visited and told me that in the 4 years he'd been in operating rooms, this was the nastiest break he'd ever seen.

For weeks I did not ask about the extent of my injuries; I needed to focus on rehabilitation and not what was under the bandages. Throughout this process I have learned names of bones, joints, ligaments and other parts of the arm and could probably now write a pretty tough biology exam.

There are a dozen screws and a piece of metal strapping that hold my bones together while they heal. I attend physical therapy 4 days a week, and thank Denette Pacifico, Matt Shaw and their colleagues for their expertise in assisting in my recovery.

22 weeks later I still go for a regular bandage change, as there is one last area to finish healing. There will be another surgery in the next few months to facilitate mobility.

Coming back?
People ask if I will return to racing. The answer is yes, at least one more run for sure down the blacktop. Fergie, the sled, sustained only minor damage and already has been out racing.

I still believe that drag racing is the safest form of racing. Yes, I got hurt, but I know that the race leathers, gloves, boots and helmet did their job and protected me from further injury. I believe in this sport and attended American Snowmobiler's Super Sled Shoot-Out in Martin, Mich., last fall, watching and photographing more than 160 racing competitors.

I hope my story helps educate others about the importance of wearing protective gear and racing safely. Also, this injury has helped me appreciate that whatever curves life throws at you, you can persevere.

Patte Foreman-Doherty is a Thunder Bay, Ont., freelance photographer and "semi-retired" snowmobile drag racer. She has been a contributing photographer with AmSnow for 2 years and takes many of the action shots you see in each issue.