The moments before he almost died play in Jerry Atkin's mind like a grainy black-and-white film clip running in slow motion -- an endless loop comprised of vague memories and reports of witnesses and the California Highway Patrol.
Atkin, 50, chairman, president and CEO of St. George-based SkyWest Airlines, had been on a business trip last year to SkyWest's maintenance facility in Palm Springs, Calif., where he had bought a new Harley-Davidson Ultra Classic Electra Glide, a big "full dress" motorcycle intended for long-range cruising.The "Hog" was Atkin's third bike -- he had two more at home in his garage in St. George -- and he was anxious to try it out. He was due at a retreat being held in San Diego by Zions Bancorp, the Salt Lake-based financial services company of which Atkin is a director, so the 150-mile run south on Highway 79 was made to order for breaking in a new motorcycle.
It was 4 p.m. March 12, 1998, a beautiful day Atkin recalls -- his memory is sharp up to about 20 miles before things went terribly wrong. On a section of the highway near Escondido, Atkin came up over a hill. There were cafes on either side of the road, which created a momentary illusion that the road continued straight ahead between the two buildings.
That was Atkin's first misjudgment: The road actually veered to the right. His second error was that he was going 55 mph in a 35 mph zone. It was almost a fatal combination.
Atkin remembers slamming on the brakes and leaning into the turn, but by then the laws of physics had taken charge. The big Harley could not hold the turn, crossed the yellow line, and slammed head-on into a 1998 Honda. The bike's skid mark was 72 feet long. From start to finish, troopers estimate the crash took more than one second but less than two.
"It was all my fault," Atkin says. "I violated the rule of motorcycle riding that says you must know what's in front of you for 200 feet. I credit the rescue team with saving my life."
The Honda's occupants, Donald and Carol Johnson, were not hurt, and Atkin's helmet almost surely saved his life. Also, personnel from a nearby small fire station were able to quickly render first aid to Atkin, and a highway patrol trooper was on the scene in five minutes.
Within 25 minutes of the accident, Atkin was on a life-flight helicopter headed for Palomar Medical Center.
"I was extremely lucky," he concedes.
But luck is relative. When Atkin was rushed into the intensive care ward he had zero blood pressure. His left leg was virtually shattered -- the surgeons briefly discussed amputation -- broken in six places from the knee down. His left arm was broken and his right shoulder dislocated. Cuts and bruises covered his body.
Atkin spent two weeks at Palomar and was then life-flighted to the University of Utah Medical Center. After 10 days he was sent home with a hospital bed where he remained for a month under the care of his wife, Carolyn. During the remainder of 1998 he underwent seven operations and did a lot of wheelchair time.
With the anniversary of the accident now less than two weeks away, life for Jerry Atkin is "pretty much back to normal."
But normal is also a relative term.
His left leg is now an inch shorter than his right but orthotics even things up. He can walk, but not far or long, and he can't crouch down. There is still nerve damage in his right shoulder, and his left arm doesn't work as it once did. The hardest part, he says, is just getting back to his former energy level.
Still, he is the first to concede that things could be worse . . . much worse.
As for motorcycles, Atkin's easy ridin' days are apparently over. He sold his two motorcycles last year after Carolyn and his children, Angela, 24, twins Ryan and Daren, 21, -- currently serving LDS missions in San Francisco and Kentucky -- and son Greg, 16, made it clear that they would never draw an easy breath if Dad didn't get rid of the bikes. He sold them both.
Last month, he "opened up negotiations" with his family on buying another motorcycle but "it didn't go very well," he says.
From a corporate standpoint, the timing of the accident couldn't have been worse. SkyWest was about to undergo the largest expansion program in its history, close to doubling the number of flights and aircraft in its fleet. But Atkin credits Ron Reber, chief operating officer, and Brad Rich, chief financial officer, along with other executives and personnel, with keeping things running smoothly while the boss was out of commission.
Even though his life is pretty much back to normal, Atkin concedes that the accident has changed him. Even as a middle-aged Harley rider he was far from being a wild and crazy guy -- as a high priest group instructor and Boy Scout advancement chairman for the Bloomington 7th Ward, he doesn't really qualify as an outlaw biker.
Even so, he says his outlook on life has moderated a bit. He appreciates his family, friends and co-workers more now, and he takes nothing for granted.
There won't be a lot of celebrating at the Atkin home March 12, the anniversary of the crash, but it will be nice to have the worst year of his life behind him.
For Jerry Atkin, it's just good to be alive.