I’ve been riding motorcycles since I was 16, and after over 40 years on the road, I figured I’d already had my “one bad accident.” I’d toured New Zealand, crossed Canada and the U.S. multiple times, and explored England and Europe on two wheels.
On June 9, 2002, I left Canada to tour Italy with friends. It was a Ducati-sponsored ride, with a big road race as the trip’s highlight. Before takeoff, I told my buddies I felt uneasy - Italy's roads had felt sketchy during a previous tour. I warned them to stay sharp.
We landed Monday morning, picked up brand-new ST4 Ducatis, and set out from Milan. My bike had only 40 km on it. About an hour in, we exited the high-speed Autostrada and stopped for a photo - unknowingly capturing the last moment of my “normal” life.
It was a beautiful, sunny day as we rode toward Varsi. Then it happened. A white truck crossed the center line. Just a flash, and I was airborne.
I remember thinking I might get hit again. My helmet cracked as I flipped down the highway. When I stopped sliding, I tried to move off the road but I couldn’t. The pain in my left side was unbearable. I looked down. My left arm was gone. Blood was everywhere.
My friend tried to hold me down, then broke into tears and backed away. Two police officers leaned over me, visibly shaken. Someone wrapped my left leg. I was conscious, but in complete shock.
In the ambulance, I pleaded with the medics to speak English. Then everything went black.
Three days later, I woke up in intensive care in Pavia, Italy, with my wife at my side - she had flown in, fearing I wouldn’t survive. She told me I’d lost my left arm. Then came the second blow: I’d also lost my leg, right at the hip.
Doctors still can’t explain how I survived that level of blood loss.
And yet… the story got stranger. On Thursday, the 21-year-old driver who hit me came to the hospital with his mother and a translator. He slipped my wife a handwritten apology. Shockingly, the first doctor who treated me - who kept me alive with transfusions - was his father.
Small world.
By Sunday, I was stable enough for a medical flight back to Canada. The next four months were the hardest of my life. I nearly had a breakdown. Tears were frequent. But one day, in late October, lying in bed, I realized how lucky I was. Even a rainy day beats no day at all.
I checked myself out of the hospital and began rebuilding.
These days, I use a wheelchair, but I’m back to building guitars and banjos - my lifelong passion. I may be the world’s only one-armed banjo builder. And I’m okay with that.
To anyone reading this: life goes on. And it’s far better to be living on this side of the grass.
As for motorcycles? If you’ve got an idea on how I could ride again…get in touch.
All the best,
Bill Rickard
Canada
Thanks for sharing this story. I was in a motorcycle accident last summer.One week in ICU and two more weeks in the hospital. Out of work for 4 months. However, compared to this story, I have gratitude and thankfulness. I escaped with a broken right leg, right DVT, left pneumothorax and a brain bleed. I am fully intact and walking with a limp and can still play my guitar. As much as I have enjoyed motorcycle touring, I’m selling my other motorcycle and sticking with my e-mountain bike! I prefer to be able to play my guitars and be alive. Much like this story, the other driver was at fault!