virgin, no more

Go! See! Do!

May 12, 2002

As I headed up the mountain, I considered the possible ways in which a crash can happen. No one wants to go down, but if it's gonna happen, which would I prefer: a single vehicle accident or a multiple vehicle accident? "Single vehicle accident" is what they call it when you take yourself out. There's no finger pointing, no settlement and no sympathy from the insurance company. Neither, is there a short flight over the hood of a Volvo, nor a close encounter with a blue oval. Odd that I had this particular thought on that particular day.

I had about 150 miles behind me and it was time to turn around and do it all over again. With a full tank and a full belly, I headed for home. Though new to me, NC197 was a sweet road and I was in the groove. I'd been out a lot on the VFR recently, but this was my first time riding the Hawk into the hills since the previous fall. I reveled at how well the little thing handled the onslaught of tight curves that 197 threw at us. The motor was running better than ever, thanks to the carb fiddling I did over the winter. The Avon tyres were faultless, I could pitch it in whenever I wanted to and just rail right thru anything. Curve after glorious curve, the fun was incessant and I wondered: "Why, oh why, would I ever covet another?"

I approached a downhill, blind left, one of a thousand. But this was different in that I could see the road beyond the curve. Thru the trees directly in front of me, I saw a white Cavalier moving right to left. Apparently, my blind left would take me to a 180-degree right. I reckoned I'd meet slow-moving Chevrolet in the middle of that turn. For some reason, this concerned me. I'd encountered a couple of trucks mid-corner earlier in the day, hugging the double yellow, both them and me. Unwise on my part, but there was no drama, no change in throttle position. I just whizzed on by. But in this case, I could see it coming and it was my primary concern as I set up for the downhill, 180 right. Well, as you may have guessed, I was overly concerned with this hazard. Yes, the Cav and I arrived at the apex together, but the old man was driving quite slowly and had no trouble staying in his lane. I passed him and continued merrily on my ride -- for approximately twelve milliseconds. The Hawk was banked way over and I was rolling on the throttle. Then I was puzzled: WTF? Why were my instruments stacked vertically. Furthermore, why were they suddenly within my field of view? My hands were still on the grips, but I noticed that the saddle was moving faster than my butt. Then I realized what was going on, released the grips and wondered how this all came to be, whilst I slid down the road in a Superman position.

I was stunned; I could not believe I’d just crashed. Unlike some people, whose first thoughts go to their fallen mount, I was all about me. I quickly took inventory while I was still on the move and realized I felt only shock and amazement, not pain. When I stopped moving, I leapt to me feet and pulled off my gloves and my lid. The Chevy driver backed up to check on me. I told him that I was okay. I set my gear in the grass and while I walked towards my bike, I saw it. The patch of sand was about four feet long and eighteen inches wide, maybe half an inch deep. More importantly, it was the same color as the asphalt; I hadn't noticed it. I first figured the front tire missed and the rear came in on it, sliding while I was on the gas. But who knows, I could have washed out the front end. I went over to the Hawk to pick it up. It had performed a horizontal about-face and was looking back at me in silence, still in my lane. I hoisted it up it and looked it over quickly. There was a small puddle of fuel on the street, the brake pedal was twisted. I pushed the magic button and after a few cranks, it fired up, though the idle was a little shaky. With the bike apparently rideable, I assured the old man that I was okay and he resumed his drive. After I gathered my gear and tankbag, I stood there in disbelief, waited for my pulse to come down and considered my misfortune. After 7.5 years and 75,000 miles, it was my first crash. I’ve tip-toed thru and dodged many hundreds of sand and gravel traps in those miles, three or four on that day alone. But this one I didn’t see. This one got me. Apparently, I am a mere mortal. And it happened on my precious HawkGT. The horror, the horror....

The bike slid 12 kevpaces, about 10 yards. I'm fairly certain I was in third gear and probably wasn't going more than 35mph for that corner. The right side hit the deck. The only real damage was the brake pedal, which was twisted up and out such that it was awkward to use and impossible to modulate. The right side bar-end mirror took the brunt of the fall up front, but it was only scratched up in various places as it came loose and spun around. There are raspberries scattered about, but items painted red were untouched.

Right after I picked up the bike, I tried to pry the brake pedal straight, which was not a smart thing to do for two reasons. The obvious reason is that it's steel and I'm weak. The other reason is that, after leaving it's mark in the pavement, a gouge two yards long, the pedal was HOT!! =:-O

I did get to battle test some gear, even though it was a low speed get-off. I was wearing brand new gloves (dammit!), Alpinestars GP Plus. The right one is scuffed up on various bits of padding and armor. That's the only indication that my right hand hit the deck a few times in different positions. I didn't notice the impact when it happened. The right knee and elbow on my Aerostitch (1-piece) have some new, ground-in dirt, and again, I wasn’t immediately aware of the impact. The pocket above said knee ripped open where the corner of my wallet made a high spot. The wallet has a hole in it and will ride in the tankbag from now on. There are minor scuffs on the boots, so I reckon it wasn't much of a test for them. Since I was mid-corner and leaned over quite a ways when it happened, I had a very short fall to the pavement. My helmet didn't touch the ground.

After I settled down, I saddled up and took it easy for a while, trying to get used to riding without the rear brake. I didn't like it very much, but I worked with it. I wondered what kind of psychological response I would have to my first crash: get scared and ride scared for the rest of the summer? The year? Am I scarred for life? Well, I certainly was tentative when I came to the first post-wreck corner. And the next. And the next.... Fortunately, the rest of 197 was pretty mellow; seems I pitched it at the end of the fun stuff.

I decided to take the most straight and boring route possible to get home, to minimize my stress level. But that plan fell apart in short order. I had a long way to go and following cagers in traffic was too painfully frustrating for a twisty road fanatic, even in my mental condition. I could feel my tires flatspotting with every aggravating, perfectly upright mile. I reasoned that I'm much more likely to encounter a maximum braking situation on highly traveled roads, so I bailed onto the Parkway and NC181. The Parkway is tame but I went easy up there. The sight of EMTs tending to a fallen rider, his Gold Wing wedged in the hedges, kept me in check. I exited onto highway 181, which I know fairly well. There's not much braking on this road and I was at full tilt boogie. It felt nice to be back in the saddle, so to speak. But I wasn't, really. I knew that both the BRP and 181 were clean since I’d just ridden them on my way to 197. So it was a fun, but stress-free ride down from the mountains. At the bottom of the mountain, I headed to the i-road to avoid my usual back route, where both gravel and cross-traffic are commonplace. I punked out. I suppose it’ll take a while for me to realize that I’m not a terrible rider; that anyone could have made that mistake. It’ll take a while to reassure myself that I am good at spotting and avoiding hazards. I let circumstances get the better of me on this day, but how many times have I made the right moves? I'll fix my brake pedal and get back out there, perhaps with a bit more vigilance. This event won’t scare me into hanging up my helmet. As a wise man told me, I've gotta get my mojo back!