Roadrash revelations: Moose crashes motorcycle
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The idea of a motorcycle has enthralled me since I was a kid. It is the embodiment of freedom, the ultimate expression of artistic and mechanical ability, and the act of riding one is the equivalent of telling the Grim Reaper he can take a long walk off a short pier.
Fortunately or unfortunately, I’ve never been financially flush enough to afford one and my friends never trusted me enough to learn on theirs.
Until last week, I’d never even ridden one.
My roommate owns a 1986 Honda Shadow 500. The radiator fan is busted, so it’s only good for 3-5 miles before the engine overheats. Honda stopped making the fan and didn’t sell the manufacturing rights to a third party, so coming up with a replacement is nearly impossible.
It’s been parked in my front yard for quite some time now. Sad, quiet, and still, it’s not quite ready to ride and not quite ready for the scrap heap. I walk past it every morning on my way to work and every evening when I come home. It calls to me, haunting me. It wants to be ridden, needs to be ridden, must be ridden.
“This is no life,” it whispers in Marlin Brando’s voice. “This isn’t what I was meant for. I was made for the open road, wind, full throttle, danger and speed. I was meant for freedom. Come on, just one ride? Just a turn around the block? Just a trip to the store? Just one ride.”
To an adrenaline junkie like myself, that bike sitting in my front yard was too tempting to resist. After all, what’s the worst that could happen?
So, having almost zero experience riding motorcycles, I decided to give it a try. Before I go any further, I should pause here and highlight a few things. First, I’m just smart enough to know that I’m not incredibly intelligent. Foresight is much harder for me than hindsight, so I end up learning most things through trial and error. On this particular day, the trial was fairly simple; ride a motorcycle.
The errors were, in hindsight, rather extensive. I was barefoot in shorts and a T-shirt with no helmet on a gravel road. I had no idea what I was doing, no one to teach me or help if I crashed, and it wasn’t my bike to begin with. Like I said, just smart enough to know I’m not intelligent.
The first few seconds were breathtaking. The wind in my face, knot in my stomach and pure adrenaline rush combined to produce a feeling of freedom I’ve never experienced. It was incredible – for the first few seconds.
Not 30 feet from the driveway, I hit a pothole and cranked down on the accelerator. The rear tire lost traction and the bike slid out from under me faster than I could blink. I remember what happened next in flashes rather than a solid coherent memory.
Flash 1: I’m suspended mid-air above the bike. It’s leaning away from me at an unrecoverable 45-degree angle. I’m suddenly wondering where I can find a clean pair of shorts.
Flash 2: I’m lying on top of the handlebars. My feet are off the controls and there’s a sharp pain in my chest. The front tire loses traction and my heart sinks. I’m going down.
Flash 3: I jam hard on the brakes and plant my bare foot into the gravel while leaning back against the fall. This does nothing but shred my foot. The bike continues to spiral.
Flash 4: I’m sliding to a stop with my left leg pinned to the gravel road under the bike. Even stopped, the rear tire continued to spit rock sand dust at the back of my head.
I’ll spare you the gory details and summarize my injuries thusly: The left side of my body looks like I showered with a cheese-grater rather than a washcloth.
As I write this, the bike is sitting upright in the yard with a few scrapes and bruises, just like me. My project for the weekend will be getting her all fixed up so I can try again.
I can hear you screaming from the future as you read the last sentence.
“Dan, have you learned nothing? You should know by now that motorcycles are dangerous! Why would you get on one again?”
Well, it’s very simple. You see, I’ve learned my lesson. The next time I get on a motorcycle, I’ll be wearing long pants, boots, a helmet, gloves and a jacket. The next time I get on a motorcycle, I’ll have someone there who knows what they’re doing so they can teach me. The next time I get on a motorcycle, I’ll be safe about it.
And that’s the lesson to be learned here: be safe. A healthy fear and respect of something that can kill you whenever it sees fit is the only way to ensure it never does. Respect its power; know your limits; and ride within them.
However, you’ll never get me to agree that I shouldn’t ride because I might hurt myself again.
This world is full of things that could seriously injure me. Falling in the shower, driving to work, eating shellfish, and going for a swim all have potentially life-threatening consequences. That being said, the only thing I can really do to avoid these consequences is to be as safe as the situation will allow.
If I’m too afraid to get back on that bike, it’s a slippery slope toward being afraid of everything else.
