property outside of Minden. On it, he built his own slopestyle
course and foam pit. Sometimes he hosted invite-only contests
for his buddies.
It was at the afterparty for one of these contests in 2010 that he
reconnected with Nichole Munk. Paul remembered Nichole from
high school, where he’d always had a crush on the petite, bubbly
cheerleader with the pouty lips. Nichole had hung out with jocks.
Even tonight, she had come to the club with a bunch of fighter pilots.
But Paul was at the top of his game, living the dream as a pro
athlete, and he was feeling confident. He walked up to Nichole at
the bar and asked her to take a shot. Nichole ended up ditching the
pilots. “I just hung out with Paul for the rest of the night,” she says.
Paul’s parents divorced when he was in eighth grade, but before
that, he remembered their constant fighting. “I always told myself I
would never be married,” he says. “Seeing my parents’ relationship,
I never wanted to be that.” Plus, girls he’d dated in the past had
always given him crap about being gone all the time.
But Nichole was different. She was fiercely independent. The
daughter of a police officer, Nichole grew up in a strict but loving
and tight-knit family. She spoke her mind, and she wasn’t afraid
to put Paul in his place. And yet she was kind, which inspired him.
“Before I dated her, I was more of a cocky guy,” says Paul. “She
definitely humbled me, for the better.”
And that was even before the injury.- – –
NICHOLE WAS ONE of the first people by his side.
Lying on the ground, Paul was panicking. “Babe, I can’t move
my feet. I can’t move my feet.”
Medics arrived. They discussed how to get him out of there.
There was talk of carting him out on a 4x4. A female medic put
her foot down: This is a spinal injury, we gotta get a helicopter in here.
Watching the helicopter try to land close to him was frighten-
ing. The propellers created a blinding dust cloud that enveloped
everyone. Rocks ricocheted off the blades. Whirling debris hit Paul
and left cuts under his eyes.
The crash had not looked spectacular. Even the announcers did
not yet know how severe Paul’s injuries were. As the helicopter
lifted off, one of the medics said to him, “Everyone’s cheering for
you. Give them a thumbs up. Let them know you’re okay.”
Paul almost did it, but then he put his thumb down. Fuck that, he
thought. That would be the fakest shit that I could possibly do. For the
first time in his career, he knew he was in real trouble.
When Paul got to the hospital in St. George, Utah, he was rushed
into what would be a 10.5-hour surgery. Before they cut him open,
the doctors stood over him and talked to him. They said something
about going in, relieving pressure on the spinal cord, but Paul wasn’t
really listening. All he could focus on was trying to move his legs.- – –
THE SPINAL CORD is a delicate bundle of nerve fibers that
transmit messages from the brain to the rest of the body and back,
regulating sensory, motor, and autonomic function. It’s extremelysusceptible to damage and, unlike the
vertebrae that surround and protect it,
may not repair itself—even bruising can
cause permanent paralysis. The higher in
the vertebral column the injury occurs, the
more function is affected: When a spinal
cord injury (SCI) happens in the neck
region, it causes quadriplegia, weakness
or paralysis in all four extremities. When
the lower areas of the spine are injured,
the result is likely paraplegia, weakness
or paralysis below the waist.
When Paul woke up from his surgery, he
learned that he had suffered a “T12 burst
fracture incomplete.” When he crashed, the
force had burst his T12 vertebra—the 12th
and lowest vertebra in his thoracic region,
in the middle of his back—and the bone
fragments had damaged his spinal cord.
While his SCI was incomplete, meaning
that some function existed below the level
of his injury, when he woke up from sur-
gery a doctor told him that he might have
as little as a 5 percent chance of regaining
sensation or movement below his waist.
The doctor told him he would have issues
with bowel and bladder function. That he
might depend on a wheelchair for the rest
of his life.
Paul had been the first rider to land a
720 on a mountain bike. The first to do a
double backflip on natural terrain. Now,
when he needed to get out of bed, a nurse
had to hoist him up from under his butt,
as if picking up a child. Nichole had to
help him bathe. To pee, he had to insert a
catheter manually, tortuously, each time.
Disbelief gave way to the understand-
ing that it was all gone—the bikes, the
competitions, the films, everything he had
worked for his entire life. His life, where he
woke up every morning and did whatever
he felt like: built a jump, called friends to
go wakeboarding. In its place, a wheelchair,
the walls, the wondering: If this was his
life now, was it even worth living? He’d
always told Nichole he’d rather be dead
than paralyzed.
Paul was in the hospital for three
months. Nichole took off from work and
stayed with him for the first three weeks,
sleeping on a little cot, then traveled back
and forth from her job in Reno. A couple
months in, Paul told Nichole she could
leave. You didn’t sign up for this, this is yourISSUE 5 • BICYCLING.COM 75PAUL
RIDES A
QUALIFYING
RUN AT THE
2014 RED BULL
RAMPAGE. HE
WOULD PLACE
9TH.Ch
ris
tia
n^ P
on
del
la/
Re
d^ B
ull
Co
nte
nt^
Po
ol