Two blogs ago I used a quote about how it is always in season for old men to continue learning. It’s true.
I had another quick lesson a few days ago. I’ve been healing ever since. I took my motorbike on the BC Ferry to Tsawwassen to visit a friend. Usually when the ferry arrives, motorcycles are disembarked first and have a chance to scoot ahead of the herd. This time, there were only two of us and we were held back to be finally released within the main herd. Folks are determined to drive like rabid lemmings, ignoring speed limits, cutting each other off, tailgating then slamming on their brakes. It is not a place to be on a motorbike, and yes I was a bit tense.
I held back, trying to maintain a three-vehicle distance ahead of me. A fellow in a pickup truck tailgating me decided that that gap ahead needed to be filled. He passed on the left over the double line into the oncoming lane, swerved in front of me then slammed on his brakes behind the next vehicle ahead. I believe I had a nano-second to choose between slamming the back of that truck or laying down on the road. It all happened very quickly and I cannot honestly recall the blur of the next few moments. I braked as hard as I could and then I was skidding along the road on the face of my helmet. What a noise it made! I recall worrying about being run over by the vehicle behind.
One vehicle’s driver yelled to ask if I was OK then roared on ahead. A young man with a, get this, unicycle, on the road shoulder came to assist. He got me on my feet, helped pick up the bike and gathered bits of mirror and other collateral damage. I was very grateful to say the least. The motorcycle seemed entirely roadworthy. I was numb and incredulous about how lucky I was. I rode on to my friend’s home and did a full assessment. There were some tweaks required on the motorcycle and some permanent honourable battle scars. Profuse thanks were offered to my friend. He’s a seasoned motorcyclist who finally convinced me to wear proper protective clothing. Both my gloves and riding pants were in use for a first time. I couldn’t thank him enough, delighted that simple common sense had overcome a testosterone rush.
I hurt in several places, my left hand has been useless and is swollen like a football, but everything is slowly improving. I would have been a bowl of pudding without the protective clothing. Frankly, it was the autumn temperature that demanded the riding gear, but they’ll be a fact of life from now on no matter what the weather. I fully realize how very, very fortunate I am and accept my pain as the price of being alive. I have had a dark image of a beige hospital ceiling and a tangle of hoses and wires while the electronic bleeps and blips marked every pulse. I’ve been there and don’t want to go back. I was too thumped-up to ride the bike home, I’ll have go back and get it. That might be a long ride home and I have some decisions to make.
Should I treat this as a lesson or a warning? Am I too old to be a safe rider? I do not have a lifetime of riding confidence and instinct to rely on. Part of my safety agenda is knowing that I am no longer a snappy young operator with the instincts of a wasp. Was my incident something for which I can blame myself? What could I have done differently? Dunno. I think of some of my heroes and just cannot let my age be an excuse. Many of then were seniors before they started out on their exploits. Things happen so quickly. It was as if a big hand with a monster fly-swatter had reached down from the sky and given me a wee tap. I then remember the last thing to go through a bug’s mind as it hits a windshield. His bum. Part of the lesson may well be to simply not over-analyse. Get on with life.
“Only a biker knows why a dog sticks its head out of a car window.” – anonymous
