August 3rd, 2023 — The Call No One Wants to Get

Three years ago today I got the call no one wants to get.

My husband Andy, photographer, community builder, father to our boys, the person who knows every turn on HWY 84 in Woodside like the back of his hand, went down at 8pm while heading up to do a sunset photo shoot. A road he could draw with his eyes closed.

Two deer. No warning

We've all tried to wrap our heads around how such a skilled rider could go down solo on a road he knows like that. He knows every turn, every obstacle. He can make quick decisions on a bike. He has always been keen at predicting the next move of drivers sharing the road with him.

What he cannot predict is deer.

The good news, and I lead with this because it still takes my breath away to say it, he survived.

He sustained 13 broken ribs. Internal trauma to his lungs, liver, and surrounding organs. Two surgeries. Stanford ICU. It was the scariest 48 hours of our lives. The second surgery was an emergency surgery because he was still bleeding out after hos rib reconstruction. They couldn't locate the issue, but he was losing a lot of blood. I honestly wasn't confident he would make it, and it was the scariest moment of my life. We are not strangers to life throwing curveballs in this family, but this was something else entirely.

He was wearing full gear. Boots, leather jacket, Kevlar jeans, spine protector.

It saved his life. As did the passersby who found him unconscious on the road and called EMS.

I don't say that lightly. I say it because the doctors at Stanford said it. Because anyone who saw the impact point on that road would tell you the same thing. He survived something that would have been the end of many, and the gear is a significant reason why. And luck.

I'm rider adjacent. I don't ride. But I love someone who does, and I think about this often.

Every rider out there is someone's child. Someone's partner. Someone's parent, friend, colleague, mentor. A whole human with people who love them waiting at home.

Our community has lost riders recently. People who were loved, who are missed, who left gaps that can't be filled. That loss sits with me. It sits with Andy. It's part of why we do what we do now.

The boys and I were not alone in any of this. The outpouring from our community, the calls, the messages, the meals, the people who showed up in ways we never could have anticipated. We carry that with us. As someone who doesn't ride, that experience opened my eyes to something I hadn't fully understood before and that is that this community is something special. The way riders show up for each other, the way they showed up for us, is unlike anything I had seen. You helped us get back on our feet when we didn't know how we would. We are forever grateful and forever at your service. I for one will never forget.

Why I'm writing this today

Andy has always been vocal about gear. If you've followed Crown Moto for any length of time you've seen his posts, the gentle and sometimes overt callouts, the statistics, the "would you rather sweat or bleed" energy. He means it.

But after August 3, 2023, it became something different for our family. He had been down before, but this time was the worst. It became more than advocacy. It became evidence.

So when he started talking about making protective gear, the kind with Kevlar and CE-rated armor, designed to look like something you'd actually want to wear, I understood immediately why it mattered. Not as a business decision, as something more personal than that.

The hardest part of motorcycle safety isn't knowing that gear matters. Most riders know. The hardest part is getting people to actually wear it. Every day. Every ride. The short one. The familiar road. The "just a quick run."

That distracted driver doesn't know it's your quick run. That deer doesn't know you know this road. And that young invincible rider, who doesn't think the worst could ever happen so close to home.

Gear has saved Andy more than once. Leathers the first time. Full gear on August 3rd. And there's always a percentage of luck involved too, we know that and we don't pretend otherwise.

What we also know is that more gear means better odds. An airbag vest would have made an even bigger difference that night — if you ride and don't have one, look into it. They fit underneath your existing gear and the technology has come a long way.

The rest is about getting people to actually wear something in the first place. Andy wrote about all the reasons riders don't ... it's too hot, it's too expensive, it's just a short ride... and they're real reasons that deserve real answers. If making gear that doesn't look like you're suiting up for a track day means the rider who would otherwise grab a hoodie or throw on tennis shoes reaches for something with Kevlar and armor instead, then we're doing our job.

If you ride, wear the gear. All of it. Every time. #ATGATT

And if you love someone who rides, please share this with them.

Three years later, I'm grateful every single day.

— Jordana Freeman, wife, Crown Moto

This is the third post in a series. Read why riders don't wear gear and what we changed between prototype and production.