The Facebook “Memories” (formerly, “On this day”) tool is one
of just a few of Facebook’s redeeming qualities. Ready access to these snapshots
of my life, even though they are filtered and skewed through the medium, is
beyond interesting. It is cathartic. It is enlightening. It is profound. They
are triggers that remind me not only of where I was, but also offer me a
definitive retrospective of where I was going. In those moments, of course,
anything that was going to happen was only speculative. Looking back at that
look forward removes the speculation – I know what would happen, because it
happened. One year ago today, for example, I found myself at a crossroads. I was
forced to reckon with a reality that would change some of what I thought
defined who I am.
A year and two days ago my youngest son, who was 29 at the
time, was involved in a serious motorcycle accident. He wasn’t at fault; an
inattentive motorist (and that is the absolute kindest description I can offer –
everything else is much more, deservedly, derogatory) turned left into my son’s
path and his Harley Davidson hit that idiot’s car (okay, I went there, sue me…)
at about 50 miles per hour. His injuries were severe and life-threatening, but
after weeks in the hospital followed by months of rehabilitation, my kid can
walk and function again. He went back to work 10 months and four days after the
wreck. In other words, as I write this, he has recently returned to work. He is not 100 percent yet, he might
never be, but he has progressed through significant injuries and a bunch of
surgeries to get back to self-sufficiency.
But this is not about that. I have written about this over
the last year a few times. The anniversary of his wreck did not take me by surprise
and I did not need Facebook to remind me. The past year has been one in which we
have spent too much time dealing with multiple bureaucracies. I could go on and
on about the problems with medical industrial complex, insurance companies,
etc., but this is not about that either. Facebook’s “Memories” triggered
something else, something I have thought about over the past 12 months, but
never really dwelled on. Until now.

Fast-forward to a year and two days ago and my worst fear
was realized. Everyone I know who rides regularly has had an incident or two
and some have been serious. I’ve had friends who were killed on their bikes. It
is a risk we all take and accept. Lots of things – hobbies, jobs, other activities
– are dangerous, motorcycle riding is one of them. I’ve wrecked, too. I could
not help but feel some guilt in my kid being laid up in the hospital in so much
pain. A year ago today it was still early and it was still really bad. While fault
for the accident was absolutely on the moron driving the car, I wondered if,
with my years of experience, I would have foreseen the potential ahead. Of course
there is no way of knowing, and the only way to get experience is by
experience, so the question is somewhat irrelevant. Except that it is not.

The second reason is really where all this is going. My kid
was taken out by a car being driven by someone who had no business behind the
wheel, but fully one third of drivers have no business driving. That is no exaggeration.
We who ride sit above you who drive. When we go by you, we can see into your
car. We can see what you’re doing. Too many of you are not doing what you are supposed
to be doing – driving. In fact, it is the only
thing you are supposed to be doing. Some of you are eating, some of you are
fiddling with the radio, some of you are doing your fucking makeup, some of you
are “sight-seeing” and way too many of you are on your fucking phones. Yes, one
third of you – one out of every three are distracted by something – you are not
paying attention, you are not driving.
I ride hard, sometimes I ride fast and I take chances, when
appropriate. What is appropriate? Things like how fast can I attack that turn,
how much throttle before the rear wheel breaks loose, how quickly can I slow
down before cranking back up on the throttle? All these things involve me, my
machine and my abilities, they don’t involve or endanger anyone else. And, I
don’t consider that kind of riding dangerous anyway. I am well within my
abilities and my bike’s capabilities. Some disagree, so be it. However, I don’t
like having to drive for you and when I am in traffic, around a lot of other
cars (like when I am commuting to work), that is exactly what I have to do. I
have to anticipate every idiotic thing every driver might do because I don’t
know if you are the one out of three until it is too late. Doing that has saved
my ass more times than I can count.
But it is exhausting and no matter how good I am, and even
if my experience might have prevented my son’s wreck, eventually someone is going
to surprise me. My vigilance will crack ever so slightly and in that split-second
one of the one third will take me out. It is just a matter of time. Two days
after my son’s wreck, as he was screaming out in pain, I considered, seriously,
selling my motorcycles; I was, for only the second time in my life, thinking
about hanging my helmet up for good. I had three bikes at the time and I was
ready to get rid of them all. It was just a matter of time. Someone was going
to get me. I was almost done.


1 comment:
I sold mine, I *knew* I was done...and yet there's a part of me that thinks there will be a Bonneville in the garage come spring. It's hard to give up, and I wasn't even that much of a rider to begin with.
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