Heaven & Hell in The South of France....

The highest highs and lowest lows, all in one week in a Mediterranean Paradise

Vladimir Lenin told us “There are decades where nothing happens; and there are weeks where decades happen.” This past week in France felt like my family’s own personal version of this dynamic playing out. The good. The bad. The sad. The hopeful. The relieved. All taking place on a stage set in one of the most beautiful places on earth.

After spending our first week in France bouncing from Paris to Normandy to Nice, we began our “multi adventure” portion of the trip with a company called “Backroads” (more on them later). My parents have done probably ten trips with Backroads to locations all over the globe. The “adventure” aspect of our trip here in the South of France focused on biking and hiking.

After a majestic first day bike ride through the hills, we got to hit repeat for an even better ride on day two. I couldn’t help but think of Bill Walton as we rode through some of the most perfect scenery on the face of the earth. Wonder if the big man ever got to cruise this route. All I know is that I’m lucky that I get to, and better yet my whole family is here.

Pics don’t do it justice, but still. I mean….are you freakin serious?

At the end of the day two ride, we venture into a little town with a bunch of shops. I can’t remember what the town is called. I don’t want to know, and I will never go back there. Whatever this town was called, I will never forget what we experienced there.

I’m cringing as I write this, but it’s somehow therapeutic at the same time. Here’s what happened next: We get to the end of the “shops” section of town and I’m with my mom and dad. It’s honestly a little fuzzy at this point, but they split off to go look at a “view point” while I walk down to ground level to wander and maybe take a seat for a minute. Like I said, it’s a blur. As I am walking down below, I hear some gravel and leaves ruffling. Kind of the sound of someone’s feet going out from under them on an unstable surface. I look up to see what it is. It all happens so quick. There is a body falling from a ledge about 15 feet above. I watch it plummet and the person’s leg hits the ground and breaks.

My heart stops and I scream out bloody murder. I see the distinctive red color biking shirt and 6 foot 5 frame of my dad. I hesitate to even share this, but I look over and see his leg broken near his ankle and the bone sticking out. I’m losing it, my dad is cool as the other side of the pillow. Seriously, I’m not making this up. I’m squatted over his leg holding it together with two ice packs and balling my eyes out, he’s literally cracking jokes. The mood is more “damnit, I have to miss the rest of the trip” than tears or screaming. Later on, I come to find out that the people at the hospital are in awe of his pain tolerance. He wouldn’t even want me to tell you this, but he’s the toughest dude on the planet. All you “don’t tread on me” bumper sticker having, gun toting mother fuckers take note on what an actual tough guy looks like.

I’m there with my lovely fiancee who was in the area when he fell and heard the screams. She’s at one end near my dad’s head and I’m at the other end holding ice to the injury. My mom runs on a dead sprint to the parking lot to grab our Backroads leader and get medical help. I have no idea how long we were waiting, but eventually the ambulance arrives and my best friend is off to the hospital. He just keeps smiling and telling each of us we “better keep having fun” without him. It’s all so surreal. I’m a complete fucking wreck. He’s chiller than Brunson at the free throw line in the 4th quarter.

How does something like this happen in a place like this?

This feels like the part where I should tell everyone that his surgery went well and everything is going to be ok. I go back to the hotel. I’ve never in my life been a stress drinker and drank to cope with anything. This time is different. I immediately grab a large beer and then have a few more drinks with dinner before I pass out. My mom rolls in mid dinner which brightens my mood a little. She’s been at the hospital with my dad and is able to tell us that he’s doing as well as anyone who’s been through what my dad’s been through could be doing.

Aside from the sheer trauma of what we’ve all been through, there’s the logistical side of things. What do you do when this happens in a foreign country? I can’t say enough good things about the three dudes who were our Backroads tour leaders on this trip. The three amigos. One French, one Brazilian, and one Italian. Seriously, these three guys just make you feel good about the world.

They rose to the occasion when my dad went down. My mom was an absolute superstar, but it’s a lot. Then you mix in a language barrier. Navigating the hospital, the special arrangements for the flight home, insurance, wheelchair compliant hotels, etc. I could go on and on about what these guys did for my family, but I’ll just say they are friends for life. And two of them (randomly) spend part of the year in Oregon. My parents can’t wait to host them, and I can’t wait to hang with them again either in NY or OR.

So what do you do when something like this happens but you still have three full days of your tour left? Well, we tried to follow my dads advice (or more accurately, his demand). We tried to act normal and have fun. And truthfully, we did. But it’s just never the same without him there. He’s the best person I know. As he lays in bed at the hospital and hotel with a surgical nail in his leg, he just wants his family to have the best time possible. Damn I’m lucky to have a role model like him.

So we sip champagne on boats in the Mediterranean. We bike through the scenic terrain of the Provence region. We eat incredible French cuisine and take hikes staring out at billionaire yachts floating below us. What else can we do? It’s this odd feeling of experiencing the best things the world has to offer, while also working through the trauma of what we’ve all been through. On the last night of the trip we all share our “favorite memory” of the trip. I say the second day bike ride was my favorite because of the beautiful scenery. But it’s really because it’s the last ride that he got to do with us before he fell.

Here’s to you dad. Can’t wait for you to get better and to take our next adventure together.

Don’t worry dad, we all abided by your commands. We had a blast. You might be slightly pissed I wrote this. You hate attention. But I love you, and honestly writing it is helping me process everything. Because I’m the wuss who was balling my eyes out when you broke your leg, while you cracked jokes til the ambulance arrived.

If you’re reading this and would like to send my dad a card or something nice, just respond to this blog via email and I will send you my parent’s address. He’s ok and he’s headed home in a few days. He will recover and will come back stronger than ever.