Hit by a Bus, the Question is “What Would Chase Outlaw Do?”

In late April in New York City, I was hit by a bus.

I’m on a Citibike, properly using an East Village bike lane. A bus tearing past clips my left handlebar and spins me out.

I am shaken by the wreck. After a minute I sit up and rise to my feet like a phoenix. Left leg and arm are hurting. But I am moving. Apparently, nothing broken.

A homeless man shuffles up meekly offering something in his hand.

“Waddaya know, those earbuds knocked right outta my head!” I say, thanking him for his kindness.

The bus had stopped up the avenue. The heavyset driver jogs back. All city bus drivers should look like Ralph Kramden. He huffs and puffs, “We should call an ambulance.”

When on the ground, I watched the bus’s rear wheel zoom a few inches from my face. I’m very lucky not to be roadkill like so many rats during Covid when the restaurants shut down, and the city’s most prevalent wildlife took to the streets searching for dinner only to meet a dark fate.

Once, a mile and a half uptown at Madison Square Garden, the bull rider Pistol Robinson was caught underneath a stomping bull. Both his legs were broken. The ambulance heading to the hospital hit just about every pothole in New York, Pistol said. He had to grit out the ride like busted-up Burt Reynolds going over the rapids in “Deliverance.”

Lights and sirens on a gurney bouncing over potholes? Ugh. My left side is throbbing, but I’m ambulant.

If you’re ambulant, what’s the need for an ambulance?

Since I promote bull riders for a living, I’m thinking, “What would Chase Outlaw do?”

Chase Outlaw's reconstructed facial bones after accident. | PBR

Chase Outlaw had his face exploded by a bull, breaking 30 bones. Doctors rebuilt his lovable mug in 12 hours of delicate and complicated surgery using 68 screws and 12 plates, making Chase a walking, talking hardware store. A piece of his skull was used to fix the top of his nose.

Outlaw woke up from surgery with a swollen pumpkin face. “I was thinking, ‘What he heck. Maaaan! You let one done git ya!” he recalled.

He returned to competition just 75 days after that wreck in Cheyenne and proceeded to mount one of the most impressive injury-comeback runs in PBR history, nearly winning the world championship.

“Nah, I’m okay,” I tell the concerned driver. I take a picture of the bus number and license plate. Just in case. My hand is shaking.

He apologizes for hitting me. The cowboy way is to accept the apology and banish the thought of suing the city to achieve an immediate comfortable retirement.

I head home.

My wife Malvina believes I’m a fool for not getting the ambulance and a lawyer. "You’re not young, and you’re not Chase Outlaw," she reminds me.

Andrew Giangola in Fort Worth outside of Sports Medicine | Bull Stock Media

Two weeks later at PBR World Finals, the hip is bothering me. I’ve developed a bull rider gimp though for a living I write not ride. I’m still waking up, uncomfortable, in the dead of the night. Maybe something is wrong. And I’ve thought about that attorney. Heck, PBR has Morgan & Morgan as a partner. We should know a guy.

I go to sports medicine to show Dr. Tandy Freeman the rich purple bruise that could be a cool new color for Crayola running down my left hip.

The accomplished orthopedic surgeon on tour with PBR has seen it all. He looks for a moment and says, “You’re walking. It’s getting better. You’ll live.”

I pull up my Wranglers. Dr. Tandy steps away to tend to a bull rider face down in pain on the training table. It’s not Chase Outlaw but might as well be. He’ll get on a bull in about an hour, and the rest of us will all survive.

Recommended Articles