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Defending your Life on a CycleSep 11 '00 Write an essay on this topic.I saw the wreck as I was almost home from Los Angeles on my motorcycle. Every motorcyclist has their own reasons for riding. Mine are pretty nebulous, but mostly they have to do with being a wind-in-his hair type (even though I always wear a helmet), and loving the freedom and flexibility of it. I love the rocket-sled acceleration, the elegance of finding a rhythm through a series of tight corners on a mountain backroad, the feeling you get on the highway that you're not watching the world go by....you're a part of it. I enjoy the people, too, comparing rear tire scuffs and swapping stories with other riders, chatting with people (kids especially) as I stand there, bug encrusted and grinning, pumping gas into my equally bug encrusted cycle. I guess I like the romance of it, the coolness. And I often argue the practical side of it, too....how much less traffic would there be in the world if everyone travelling with a shoulder bag of goodies or less (say, to work for example) went by motorcycle at least half the time? I'd been working hard to get home that night, riding faster than I knew was good for me in my anxiousness to pull off my gear, jump into a nice warm shower and get my head on that pillow. All the way up arrow-straight highway five I'd been overrunning my headlight....riding faster than I could avoid things that appeared in the pool of light cast in front of me....and rationalizing it by telling myself I could see far enough ahead under the three quarter moon to avoid anything bigger than a cat. I was tired as all get out after six hours of riding through the cold darkness of the morning's earliest hours. My hands were stiff and aching, my body sore and unresponsive after hours of riding and a weekend of camping, hiking, and beer swilling sans sleep. In other words, I was having a wonderful time. There was no traffic, the sky was clear and beautiful, and in a sick way, I loved that I was in some discomfort. It would make bedtime all the sweeter. And besides, I was almost home, and I knew it. I started to relax a little against the cold that had been seeping into my riding gear, and my discomfort was eased by a feeling I'd almost made it....was nearly home. Off the 101 northbound, my exit is 880 south, and then just a couple of miles to my home. The N101/S880 exit is a tricky one, with a short exit lane and a tight cloverleaf that sweeps 270 degrees upward to the right, merging onto the overpass. I slowed down as I approached it, backing down through a couple of gears, extra cautious as I expected my hands to respond sluggishly as I worked clutch, throttle, and brake, and knowing the vicious radius of the corner and its tendency to be a little sandy. There weren't any flashing lights...there was no one to warn but me at that hour. Riding slowly and cautiously, I got a very good look. There was an ambulance, a fire engine, and a CHP cruiser, all still and silent, a couple of people in uniforms of various color standing around talking, and a reasonably intact late model GSXR-750 motorcycle resting on its sidestand. And next to the ambulance, a stretcher with a bodybag on it. The bag wasn't black like the ones on TV, it was yellow, and it was carefully strapped to the gurney in plain sight. I don't really have any idea what happened. I imagine the motorcyclist overran that tricky exit corner and piled in to the barrier, though the bike seemed not to have been in a collision. Maybe there was drugs or alcohol involved, maybe another vehicle that fled (or had already been removed), or maybe it was straight up rider error, a factor in 80% of all motorcycle accidents according to the Hurt report. Whatever happened, the world is poorer one motorcyclist, one human being, someone on his or her way home, just like me, to a warm bed and a warm sweetie. Someone guilty of nothing more criminal than a lapse of judgment, just like I make sometimes. Somehow, it struck me as especially tragic that I, a total stranger, knew before the family did, before anyone did. Maybe it was because I was so exhausted, but I was deeply affected by that sight. I'll never look at that spot again the same way.....it's a lonely, terrible place to die, especially at 1am. So the question I always get is, why ride? Is simple fun worth the risks when the world is full of nutcases and hazards and cruel, gravelly, decreasing radius offramps? Why do it when a car (or an airplane as my friends frequently remind me) is so much more comfortable as well as safer? I have actually been asked if I want to die, and given the facts, I suppose it's even a legitimate question. The answer is no, of course I don't want to die. I want to live. Motorcycling, whether travelling, commuting, or sport riding, is like living on the edge of a razor. You can't roll up your windows and isolate yourself from cold or heat or rain or wind...you have to prepare yourself to endure them, sometimes all on the same ride. You can't put in a CD and tune out your surroundings...awareness of your surroundings and interacting with them is critical. You can't place your trust in someone else....you have to manage absolutely everything yourself, including the behavior of other drivers and riders. Often that means taking the most infuriating "breaches of conduct" from other drivers in stride, bundling up in a leather jacket and jeans on 100 degree days, and stoically enduring bugs and boogers and cigarette butts and rocks. That's what you face every time you throw a leg over and hit the starter. Can it be done in total safety? Of course it can't, but neither can just about anything worth doing, though motorcycling is clearly riskier than, say, gardening or writing epinions. It's not for everyone, certainly. And what advice does the great sage Don Carnage have for the motorcycling masses? Don't overshoot corners and run into barriers? Don't overrun your headlight? Don't get hit by a car? If I had an easy answer to motorcycle safety, I'd be rich and motorcycle fatalities would be a fraction of what they are. I've overshot my share of corners, overrun my headlight on occasion, and even been hit by a car (okay, on a bicycle, but it still counts). And anyway, usually advice on safety goes in one ear and out the other, especially for the people that really need it. If you really feel like you need nuts and bolts riding advice, call 1-800-446-9227 or visit http://msf-usa.org. They're great, and I understand if you pass the course you get to skip the skills test at the DMV when you go for your license (and yes, I've taken the course, but that's a new law since I got my license). If there's one thing I could say to the motorcyclist I saw that I thought might possibly have made a difference (apart from stay where you are tonight), it's this: Don't ride over your head. Trust your instincts, not your attitude....just because you think you can handle something doesn't mean you can. And always always remember that no one on the road cares a fart in a tornado if you live or die except you, the paramedics who have to clean up the mess if you wreck, and the motorcyclist who rides by and sees the aftermath. Ride safe. DC  |
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