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Something in the trees caught Phil Contos’ attention last April.

His own trail camera photographed the moment. It was evening. Contos was looking up. His dog, Buck, was walking behind him. In the distance, a lean-to he’d built with a slit in one wall to watch wildlife.

This is the Phil Contos’ friends knew. He was on his land in the Oswego County town of Willamstown, close by Stone Hill State Forest. He had mounted a camera there to watch the birds and animals. That was where he planted oak saplings he’d grown from acorns; where he plowed and seeded grasses and clover to feed wild turkey and deer; and where he buried dogs he loved and marked their graves with white birch crosses, rose bushes and an American flag.

The world has come to know a different Phil Contos. On July 2, riding in a helmet protest ride in central New York, Contos died from a motorcycle accident. He wasn't wearing a helmet.

Thanks to the Internet, the news spread around the world. Summaries were published in Poland, Vietnam, Indonesia, Italy, France and Scotland. On the Huffington Post 57,000 readers recommended it through Facebook; its story drew 7,000 comments.

Overnight, a guy who for 55 years had lived very deliberately among family, friends and nature, who bristled over rules and authority, became an easy illustration for those struck by the irony of the circumstances or ranting about common sense, personal freedoms and government control.

"If he's looking down now, being the poster boy for helmet laws is making him sick to his stomach," said Nick Chudyk, a friend.

Motorcycling was not Contos chief passion. Joining organizations like A Brotherhood Aimed Toward Education, the sponsor of that day's ride, wasn't his way. He'd complain to friends about government regulations or being treated badly at work. He'd ridden in helmet protests for decades, but mostly to celebrate wind-through-the-hair freedom, said Karl Backenstross, a friend and motorcycle mechanic.

This year Contos almost didn’t ride. He’d been rebuilding his 1978 Harley, and it was in pieces.

On the morning of the ride, Contos and Buck stopped at Chudyk’s house. Backenstross had offered to let Contos ride one of his bikes, a 1983 Harley Superglide, which he had ridden before.

“I can’t turn down a beautiful bike like that,” Contos told Chudyk. “And it’s a nice day. I just hope the ride doesn’t last too long. I want to get back to my land.”

In the early 1980s Contos moved to Easy Street, four acres he bought in the town of Parish. A few years later and a few miles away in Williamstown, he bought 60 acres. On Easy Street he lived in a trailer and started building a house, a boxy, clapboard, two-bay garage with an apartment above.

Around the corner from Easy Street sits the Happy Valley Inn, a knotty-pine biker and snowmobiler saloon where Contos would stop once or twice a day for meals.

“I can tell you what he ate every night,” said Chris Leddy, the co-owner. She ticks off the specials of the week, different each day. That’s what he had. The staff would send him home with leftovers from banquets – trays of ziti, macaroni salad or pulled pork.

“I think the only thing he cooked at home was cold cuts,” said Sarah Burnup, a bartender who said she’d known him 17 years.

Though he grew up on Syracuse’s west side, near Frazier Park, Contos developed a passion for the outdoors. With his father, brothers, uncles and cousins he would ice fish on Oneida Lake, and hunt deer and turkey all over Central New York. He was lean and tall, about 6-foot-3, hardy and persistent — qualities that made him a good outdoorsman.

“He always had the least amount of clothes on and was the one who never got frostbite,” said Mark Contos, a cousin.

He had a commercial driver’s license and drove trucks. At times he butted heads with management. Sometimes he lost jobs because of it. Sometimes he quit jobs to go hunting.

“His strongheadedness cost him a few opportunities in life,” Mark Contos said. “He was coming to grips with it.”

He never married. He didn’t have a computer. He had a satellite dish that let him watch TV shows about the outdoors.

Leddy remembers when he asked her to type his hand-scrawled resume. It was a simple statement of accomplishment.

“Built my own home right from the bottom up. Can use a hammer. Can sheetrock,” it said.

A few years ago Contos inherited some money. Friends and family encouraged him to finish his house, so he could move out of his trailer next door. At the time the house lacked plumbing and electricity.

Contos ignored them all and spent more than $30,000 on a new Kubota tractor and trailer. He used it to move snow, clear his land, dig ditches and foundations for neighbors, and expand the Happy Valley parking lot. He was always charging a fraction of what the job was worth.

“He’d say, ‘They can’t afford that,’” Backenstross said. “I’d say, ‘Neither can you.’”

Stubborn and independent, he had a hard time accepting favors and gifts, even a warm pair of socks from his cousin.

When Contos flipped on his bike, Backenstross was riding behind him. They were heading south on Route 11 in the town of Onondaga. Just beyond the Route 81 overpass, the road curves up a hill. Witnesses told state police Contos was having a problem with his shoelaces and looked down. Bikers on the other side of the hill had slowed for a dead raccoon. When Contos saw them he hit his brakes too hard, fishtailed and lost control, state police said..

It didn’t seem like a bad fall, Backenstross said. But Contos was unconscious. His temple pulsed. He was bleeding from his mouth, nose and ears. The bike took some dents and scrapes but was still rideable.

State police said he would have survived had he been wearing a helmet, a conclusion they said was reached by the doctor at SUNY Upstate who pronounced Contos dead.

The cause of death was “blunt force injuries of the head and chest, “ according to the Onondaga County Medical Examiner’s Office, based on an external examination with X-rays.

“It’s not clear if the impact came when he hit the ground or if he might have hit a guard rail,” said Dr. Robert Stoppacher, the medical examiner.

“His heart lining was punctured,” said Richard Contos, his brother. “He’d broken ribs and his shoulder. His chest was full of blood.”

Which, some friends and family members observe, raises questions about whether a helmet would have saved his life.

Chudyk, who considered Contos his best friend, never rides without a helmet. “Statistics don’t lie,” he said. But he respects Contos’ decision. And fate.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t taken some kind of dumb chance,” Chudyk said. “Sometimes you get away with it. Sometimes you don’t.”

Contact Dave Tobin at dtobin@syracuse.com or 470-3277.