The Only Way Is Through - Our Geek This Week

Or How I Almost Killed Myself On My Motorcycle By Being Stupid

Roughly 10 or so years ago when I first started riding, I was uncomfortable going much faster than 45 mph. I realized such would be fine on back roads and such, but I lived just off of a busy stretch of country highway where people drove 55+ regularly. So, I pushed through my fear and eventually became comfortable going faster than 45, but I still had this awful habit of slowing down in curves. While this is smart in sharper curves, in more relaxed curves one should maintain their speed. I was not doing this and needed to get better.

Leaving work one night I decided to take my 1984 Honda Nighthawk down some back roads back toward my house that I knew had curves that I could practice on. Some curved left, some right, and I did everything I could to maintain speed around them, somewhere between 55-60 mph. Again, these were pretty gentle curves. I went through a few of them without decelerating too much when I got to the final curve, the longest of the bunch. Not only did I maintain speed, but I noticed I had accelerated out of the curve and was now doing about 65 mph, about 10 over the posted speed limit. The road extended to a straightaway and as my eyes shifted off of my speedometer I looked back up to see that the light just up ahead was green. Good! I leveled my bike and straightened out, glanced at my speedometer again (still 65) and again looked at the light that had just turned yellow. I knew I was going too fast but also that I was not going to make the light.

Reactively, my right hand tapped the break, or so I thought. I must have squeezed too hard because my rear wheel immediately locked up. My older bike most certainly did not have anti-lock brakes. I began to feel the rear slide to the left, so I shifted my weight from hips to the right, too much, so the bike briefly centered before sliding to the right. I shifted again. I honestly don’t know how many times this happened, but my bike was in a very slow fishtail. Visions of me high-siding and being launched from the bike and throwing me into the bushes, or worse, oncoming traffic, filled my imagination.

Everything seemed to slow down and I kept watching as that yellow light seemed to just hang there, refusing to change for several minutes as I heard my tire screeching behind me, the bike swaying from side to side, my speed not seeming to change. The distant traffic light was now almost upon me as people heading home after work collected to my sides waiting for the light to turn green for them. I wasn’t going to stop in time.

More screeching.

As I slid under into the middle of the intersection I saw the vehicles on either side of me waiting for the light to change. I looked up as I entered into the center and watched the color shift from amber to red. Just then my rear wheel unlocked and almost instinctively my left hand squeezed the clutch as I shifted down two gears, rolling the throttle back as the bike sped past the waiting cars and on down the road.

My adrenaline spiked and everything within me screamed at me to stop and get off of the bike. Stop, pull over, and GET. OFF. THE. BIKE.

The idea repeated through my mind, but I knew with certainty that if I got off the bike now I was never going to get back on. I would have to call my wife and ask her to pick me up from the side of the road. Owning no trailer or pickup, we’d have to leave my motorcycle there, unattended, for who knows how long? until we found a way to get it home.

No.

As much as I wanted to stop, I knew that I couldn’t.

The only way was through.

I continued on my way home, through more twists and turns, overly aware of the traffic around me, of death lying in the tree line should a deer decide to jump out in front of me. Man, I really wanted off of that bike, but no, I stayed on it until I pulled into my driveway about 15 minutes later.

I stopped, turned the bike off, swung my unstable leg over the seat, then placed my shaking arms onto my trembling knees and stood there repeating over and over, “oh my god, oh my god, oh my god…” followed by several minutes of dry heaves.

I did it. I made it home, alive.

Somehow, I maintained control and didn’t crash, didn’t die, and also, didn’t get off of that bike.

The only way is through.