Lucky Smokel*

Whenever I make a Bad Gun Mistake, which is thankfully not very often, I always make sure I tell my gunny friends about it, and my good friends who are not gunnies too. I believe the retelling serves as both a nice plate of crow for myself and a lesson for others, and also helps make it real. A mistake kept to oneself can, through the mists of time, become something else entirely - with enough time, not a mistake at all.

We are, each of us, fabulously successful at rewriting our own histories for ourselves.

Today it wasn't a Bad Gun Mistake, it was a Bad Motorcycle Mistake. And Jay or any other rider reading, please feel free to berate me, because a broken neck is just as deadifying as a .XX caliber hole in one's insides.

The Leadup:

Had a GREAT day on the bike. I mean great. Energized as all get-out at the end of it, I took a side route to a buddy's house (rider and gunnie too) to tell him about it. Happened upon an intersection that I've passed through many times, but NEVER with a green. Heretofore I'd always had to stop and accelerate from zero MPH through it and into the

TIGHT DOGLEG TURN

that immediately follows.

Today, pumped-up and jumped-up and spoiling for fun, I noted the green, checked oncoming traffic across Route 10, noted none, pictured the turn in my head and judged my speed, and thought "no problem".

The Event:

I crossed 10, leaned into the left-hand portion of the turn, saw the right-hand coming quick, realized I was going too fast, eased a bit on the throttle and started to straighten, checked traffic - all clear, saw that I was going to cross the center line

CROSS THE CENTER LINE

right after the median point, tapped the brakes fore & aft to help me cut the turn, and started to lose the rear wheel.





Horrible feeling, that.




I immediately goosed the throttle, which straightened me out, but now I'm going, at speed, in the far opposite lane. A quick check of traffic ahead shows some sort of SUV/minivan ahead. I'd say it was headed for me, but we all know I was headed towards it. In motorcycle jargon, we call this "trying to get yourself killed."

The Result:

Looked like plenty of space ahead, and a quick over-the-shoulder confirmed nothing else around, so I cut back over onto my own GORRAMMED SIDE OF THE ROAD, waved feebly at the SUV/minivan who passed me a LOT closer than I'd figured for, unpuckered, and continued at a fair and measured pace to my destination.

The Lesson:
I WAS GOING TOO GORRAMMED FAST.

Well, I'd never hit that intersection greened before, but that should have been all the more reason to not go too gorrammed fast.

Sure, there was probably sand from the median point right where I tapped brakes, but if I wasn't going too gorramed fast, I'd've never been near that sand in the first place, now would I?

Sand or not, what the hell was I doing hitting a tight dogleg at 20+ MPH? Going too gorrammed fast, that's what I was doing.

Hey, I made it, right? Well Hell's Bells, the only reason I get to ask that question is because I was going too gorrammed fast.

I didn't panic, right? Well, extra sparkly kudos for me, because I wouldn't have had a chance to panic if I'd not been going too gorrammed fast.

But at least I remembered "THROTTLE THROTTLE THROTTLE" when I needed too, right?

Too.

Gorrammed.

Fast.

So, anonymous SUV/minivan driver, thank you for being alert and I'm sorry for probably scaring the bejesus out of you; and fellow riders, let the admonishment begin.

* When I was a wee lad, I couldn't pronounce "motorcyle" so I called them smokels. Still do.

10 of the Many Reasons to Love My Wife

1) She loved Inglorious Basterds

2) When reading an article on the Berkeley students striking cause they won't get free tuition any more, she quoted Margaret Thatcher: "The problem with socialism is that you eventually run out of other people's money."

3) Her jab cross combo moves the Wavemaster across the floor, and she supersets kettlebell cleans & swings.

4) Has her CCW permit.

5) When I said "Lets get motorcycles!" she said "How much are they? Do they make them for women? Where could we learn how to drive them?"

6) Wants another tattoo.

7) Says things like: "I think I'll make a Devil's Food Cake."

8) Got me an awesome Gadsen Flag for Xmas.

9) When told that there were people who believe that a photograph of the Lunar Lander proves NASA faked the moon landing, she said. "That's stupid. If they're smart enough to go to the moon, they're smart enough to take a picture of it."

10) Wants my parents to babysit the kids in June so we can spend the weekend in NYC drinking fancy beer and shooting pool in bars.

A Willing Suspension of Disbelief

So I'm watching Terminator 2 and I now realize that the toughest concept to accept isn't robots from the future or Skynet-induced nuclear conflagration.

The one thing I simply cannot wrap my mind around is the idea that drivers would slam on brakes, swerve, or otherwise even notice when a guy on a big motorcycle comes shooting out of a side street at unawares. I've had people pull out in front of me while I'm staring them in the Effing face for ten seconds. Someone in a car actually spinning out rather than ride right into a bike?

In my leathered, behelmeted, and kevlar-inserted dreams.

Vrooooooooom!

C'mon people, seriously. You can't see the guy on the big black motorcycle twenty feet away from your windshield? What do I have to do, put a rotating light on top of my helmet?

I mean, really.