80 km/h + 2 deer = 1 broken wrist + 1 concussion

It was a conspiracy.

At 9:30am, on a bright, sunny morning in August of 2024 I was riding along one of my favourite 2 lane rural roads just north of Toronto. I was doing the speed limit, officer, honestly. I was, in fact, doing the speed limit, because this section of road quickly drops down to 40 km/h as it enters a small town, and there is occasionally one of Ontario’s Finest waiting, radar gun in hand, to catch exuberant Southerners out for a pleasant morning sojourn.

This road has a narrow gravel shoulder, then a 6 foot ditch which leads into the forest. A friend whose cottage is in the area said: “It’s not a ditch, it’s a ravine!” The scrubby growth at the top of the ditch is about 2 feet high, so effectively you can’t see anything deep in the ditch until you’re right on top of it.

Unbeknownst to me, the Odocoileus virginianus Society for the Hitting of Ignorant Triumph riders (O-SHIT) had met the evening prior and decided to ambush me, making an example of me for other riders.

I have been riding for many years, and have seen many deer crossing the road, but most often one spots the deer way up ahead on the shoulder or on the road itself, giving one time to slow or stop. But Deer # 1 leapt out of the ditch, right into my path. I grabbed a fistful of brake, and started to steer right, hoping it would continue to move to my left, in the direction it was heading. I was almost on top of it when it’s co-conspirator, Deer #2, dealt the coup-de-grace.

At this point in my story, most everyone asks: “But were the deer ok?”

Yes (he says begrudgingly).

I was riding my Triumph Speed Twin 1200, a standard, sit-like-you’re-on-a-dining-room-chair kind of bike. So my head was about level with the deer’s spine.

I had the choice to hit Deer #2 head-on, likely snapping my neck, or to go into the ditch, taking my chances. To the ditch!!

As Jeremy Clarkson from Top Gear once said: “It’s not speeding that kills. It’s the sudden stopping.”

I awoke in the ditch, around 20 minutes later, with my bike to my left, my helmet off, and my phone in my hand, thinking: “Well, this is odd…”

I had apparently called my wife. A good friend who works as a Staff Sargeant in our local police force said that most people, in an emergency, will phone their spouse or another loved one first before calling the police. Guilty as charged.

I called her back, then called CAA, who called the police, who told me to head to collision reporting, after which I was driven 2 hours to my house, with my bike on a flatbed.

By the time I got home, my right wrist was about the size of a tennis ball. I had an x-ray that night, saw the surgeon the next morning, was operated on the following week, and was back on a motorcycle 8 weeks later.

I have vowed to begin deer hunting.