Yep, I hate this one. Not because it’s a particularly bad motorcycle (although it isn’t particularly good), it’s because of the association with one motorcycle trip in 1994.
That was a year of transition, 1994. I’d become both jobless and girlfriend-less. My motorcycle riding pal Bill was also changing jobs and had negotiated a few weeks off in between, and we had the idea to ride south for a week and do the Blue Ridge Parkway.
500 Shadow, Bill, and 450 Nighthawk
We quickly made our preparations, Bill had his 500 Shadow and I had the venerable 450 Nighthawk. Bill suggested that two others come along with us; Mark and Chris had both just graduated from law school, they already had motorcycles and time. I’d met Mark previously, and Chris had just completed a motorcycle trip to the East Coast so they were at least qualified.
On our departure date we met up at Bill’s parents’ house in Sarnia, both Mark and Chris arrived on 750cc cruisers:
Mark’s Honda V45 Magna seemed to me like a good choice for the trip: shaft drive, 80hp V-4 engine. Even with the purple paint I found it a handsome machine.
Chris’ 750 LTD had a similar spec, four cylinder cruiser with 74 hp. But it struck me the opposite way: I found the individual pieces ugly (compare the cast front wheels for instance) and the overall look seemed disjointed and wonky. Ah well, maybe I was just being a Honda snob.
Crossing the Blue Water bridge into Michigan, things went well until we reached I-94 through Detroit. Bill rode through a pothole so big his rear tire made contact with the license plate, tearing it off. After getting stopped at the side of the highway Bill and Mark walked back to look for it. I was a little nervous sitting there, in a bad part of Detroit when a rusty Cadillac peeled off from traffic and backed up towards us. A big guy got out and I was thinking “Well, here we go. Gonna get robbed or worse” when he said “Hey can I help you at all?” So much for my preconceptions, and Bill soon returned with his plate; it had been lying white side up on the white line and was hard to spot.
Bill and I had travelled together a lot, and had a good hotel routine worked out for motorcycle trips. Whoever was better dressed walked in alone without motorcycle gear, put a credit card down on the counter, smiled, and said “I’d like a room please“. I went in to our first hotel somewhere in Ohio, and was surprised to see Mark and Chris follow me in with leather jackets and helmets. They helped themselves to the complimentary coffee while I talked to the clerk who said “We are full for the night.” We went back into the half empty parking lot, then implemented our regular routine at the hotel next door which proved successful.
This is not how it’s done…
I’d never been on a trip with four motorcycles before, and that was a big adjustment, three times as many other bikes to be aware of. And keep up with, my little 44 hp Nighthawk had a significant power deficit compared to the other bikes.
The only other noteworthy thing that happened on the way down was the approach of a big black raincloud near Cincinnati. We stopped to put on our rain gear, shortly afterward the cloud departed and we found ourselves crawling in Interstate construction traffic as the hot sun beat down on our non breathable rainwear from above while the engine heat baked us from below.
Right there, didn’t even clear the exit ramp
I honestly thought I was going to pass out from the heat, finally the Jersey barrier ended and we shed our gear and flaked out under the first tree we saw.
So if you’re still reading, you can tell that the trip isn’t going perfectly. However it wasn’t all bad because near the end of day 2 we pulled onto the southern end of the Blue Ridge Parkway at Cherokee, North Carolina! Finally, here we go, although we didn’t get too far before stopping to camp at Mount Pisgah Campground at milepost 408.
Well, here I am well into this story and I haven’t said much about the subject motorcycle. As you may recall from other motorcycle CCs there was a huge boom in motorcycle sales in the early 1980’s, and one significant feature of this boom was splintering of the Japanese street motorcycles from the UJM (Universal Japanese Motorcycle) into sportbikes, cruisers and touring bikes.
Here’s a 1970’s Kawasaki 750 Z2. UJM styling cues include the flat seat, upright riding position and medium height handlebars. Compare this to the lead photo, it’s quite mechanically similar but when Kawasaki needed a cruiser model they put a big step into the seat, higher pull-back handlebars and lengthened forks. Instant cruiser, in the “baroque semi-chopper” style of the day. By the way Honda did exactly the same thing to produce their CB750 Custom.
Doing it this way allowed Kawasaki to produce several different models for various market segments on a limited budget, but it made for some goofy details. Look at the way the signal light is just clamped onto the bar, the droopy, cheap looking mirror and the bend in the brake lever to match the handlebar curve.
I don’t think it was just me that did not appreciate the styling, sales of this model were weak and there seems precious little information online about them today, unlike the more sporting KZ models, or classic Honda V-4’s such as Mark’s Magna.
Back to our story, where we were preparing to camp at Mount Pisgah.
Yes, camp. Since none of us were working we had resolved to be as cheap as possible. Pulling up to the site Bill’s Shadow picked that moment to fall off the side stand and knocked the Nighthawk and I to the ground. The only damage was a broken clutch lever, but I could still get two fingers on it so not a huge problem. Bill and I shared a tent but I don’t recall having a mattress pad or a pillow, or a good night’s sleep for that matter.
Rising early we followed the BRP into Asheville NC for a bacon and egg breakfast while the motorcycles got oil changes at a local bike shop. Retrieving the bikes we were told they were all in good condition, but Chris’ bike had really needed the oil changed and his rear tire was installed backwards.
Chris declined to have it reinstalled correctly, Bill and I looked at each other with raised eyebrows.
This day we would fully experience the Blue Ridge Parkway. I assume most of you are aware of the BRP, for motorcycle trip nirvana there really is nothing else like it. 469 miles of curves, scenery and elevation with no billboards or cross traffic.
One curve follows another, and another until the road folds you into its own rhythm. Since it was late spring traffic was light, and we could maintain a brisk pace. To maintain the pace I rode the Nighthawk hard, exiting corners in third and winding it right out before shifting into fourth on the longer straights.
What a joyful afternoon, blasting along as fast as I dared, shooting quick glances at the incredible scenery as we swooped through curves. We occasionally stopped at roadside outlooks, and dropped down from the mountains a couple of times to get fuel and food in small towns before climbing back to the BRP.
By the end of the day I was beat. The lawyers wanted to camp again, but with glazed eyes I said “Look, I just want to eat real food and sleep in a real bed tonight” which is how we wound up at a motel in Galax, VA.
After dinner we were having a beer outside our room when a couple pulled in on a big touring Harley. The fellow came over and chatted with us while his rather attractive passenger wiped the bike down with towels.
Seriously, almost like this…
He asked us if we’d been to Deal’s Gap but we’d never heard of it. He was quite disappointed that we hadn’t been there prior to starting the BRP, and stressed that the next time we did this trip we HAD TO go. By this point the woman had finished with cleaning the motorcycle so they walked off together to find dinner leaving us surveying our own dusty machines and thinking “Wow, where do we sign up for that?”
In the morning it was apparent that the lawyers had gotten further into the beer than the engineers had. The weather certainly wasn’t helping anyone’s fuzzy head, it was cool with low drizzling clouds and not expected to improve all day.
It wasn’t just cold and wet, it was slippery too. On the way back up to the BRP Chris locked up the front brake on the LTD and spilled over at a stop sign. He quickly righted the bike and continued which I found odd, when I’d fallen over in the campground I was quite rattled and had to sit down for a while.
Back on the BRP we fell back into our usual riding order. Mark went first, then Chris. As the slowest rider on the least powerful bike I went third, then Bill went last in case I fell behind. Riding the parkway in the wet was dreadful, despite the conditions the lawyers weren’t slowing down much and I locked my eyes onto the 750 LTD as I followed it in and out of the fog.
After a while I began to hate that bike with it’s stupid crooked mirrors and flapping vinyl saddlebags. The mental effort of keeping up was exhausting me, and I was starting to get scared – really scared – in some of the corners. Our plan was to finish the BRP that day, but at lunch I told the guys that I was going to slow down. If I met them at the end that was great, but if I didn’t that was okay too and I’d find my own way home.
Bill decided to continue riding with me and in the afternoon we continued at a reduced pace, bumbling through some of the corners without anyone to follow. I was wet and cold and miserable, but we were almost done the parkway. When we passed an ambulance stopped on the outside of a curve it didn’t even register and I rode numbly by. In my mirror I saw Bill stop and sprint from his motorcycle.
I circled back and did the same. Bill was down in the ditch with the paramedics, cutting Chris’ leather jacket off and hollering at him. Chris’ arms and legs were all horribly broken and he was not conscious. The 750 LTD was lying close to the trees with its headlight still on so I went over and switched off the ignition. Then I noticed the Ford Crown Victoria ahead of the ambulance. The distraught driver told me they had met in the curve and there was no time to react when the motorcycle slid out. By a fluke the ambulance had arrived immediately after the crash, and it took Chris away to be airlifted to Charlottesville.
The police and a tow truck arrived, we gave our statements while the 750 LTD was winched screeching on it’s side up the flatbed. When we were free to go we continued down the BRP and found Mark, who had waited for Chris, then been stopped by the police when he tried to go back.
The three of us finished the last 8 miles of the parkway, and rode to the hospital in Charlottesville. Chris died shortly after we got there, the hospital chaplain called his parents but I’ve always felt that Mark should have done that.
The next morning we regrouped in a hotel restaurant, we were all good with not riding the motorcycles home and called around to try and find a truck or van to rent one way back to Canada. We couldn’t find one, so rode all the way home in one long day.
The trip home was grim. That morning I had thought I’d never ride a motorcycle again, but somewhere in the middle of Pennsylvania the sun came out, a little of the joy returned and I knew that when I got home I would continue to ride. I arrived home at 10pm and hugged my parents, it was over.
But not quite over, because we had to go to Chris’ funeral the next week. Some funerals are celebrations, but there was nothing celebratory about this one. The look on his mother’s face was unforgettable, and I had no words of comfort for her. In fact I felt both sorrow and a little anger sitting there. What if he hadn’t pushed so hard in the rain? What if he hadn’t been drinking the night before? What if he had put his tire on correctly?
Doing the Trip Properly with Mrs DougD in 2010
I’ve ridden the BRP several times since and hope to again.
When Bill and I first went back to the Blue Ridge in 2000 we found the corner where Chris crashed and rode it several times in both directions. It is notably tighter than other curves in the area. I still hate the 750 LTD, the only time I’ve seen one since I recoiled remembering that day.
Almost twenty five years on I still feel sad about this, because I have more perspective on what Chris lost. A career, marriage, children, so many good things have happened since and you miss so much when you needlessly die in your 20’s. The point of having an adventure is being able to return and tell your story, and Chris didn’t get to do that.
I usually pass on motorcycle stories, but read this one when I saw you wrote it. Wow, truly a sad ending to your ride. It must mean a lot to you to pass through that bend again and relive that unfortunate day. A life lost in his youth. Thank you Doug for sharing your story.
A sobering read this morning.
The only person close to me I’ve lost in a vehicular accident was an Uncle who was killed instantly by a drugged-up driver who lost control whipping across four lanes of Atlanta traffic and struck him while he was changing a tire on the side of the expressway.
I’ve written in comments here before about my ’85 Suzuki GS550ES that I totaled by losing control on a blind curve. The bike’s frame was bent about 10° on a fence post and I went through the top and middle strands of barb-wire fence and had a double compound fracture (tibia and fibula) from the bike going down on me just before hitting the fence. The doc said I would have lost a limb had I not slipped through the fence exactly the way I did.
Thing is, I was not hooning or riding that fast (maybe 35-40 mph).
Drive careful out there…
Ugh that’s just a horrible thing to have happen. I’m surprised you continue to ride but seeeing as you were in your 20’s and continued then I guess allows that. I wonder if he same thing had happened but you were ten years further along in life what the outcome would have been.
My only serious incident was on my first bike and then I had three more (bikes) but haven’t been on one in over a decade. Don’t think I’ll start again either, these stories are all the motivation I need to stay away 🙂
Cinincidentally my brother ( age 47) just got into his first accident after 20 years of almost daily riding last week, his Honda VFR was destroyed by a driver in a VW Golf turning in front of him on his ride home from the office in downtown Geneva. He’s still in the hospital with broken ribs and collarbone but I don’t think he’ll ride again after this even without having kids.
Ps. I don’t like that style of motorcycle either.
Wow, no wonder you hate those bikes. This turned into a very sobering read and a reminder that none of us is guaranteed a safe return from our next trip, whether on a motorcycle during an extended trip or in your car just making a run to the grocery.
It is especially sad because while there are some accidents that happen due to matters completely out of your control (like the car that veers into your lane before you can react), others involve a factor or three that could have been avoided. It is regrettable that this sounds like the second kind.
As a non-cyclist, I did not know that motorcycle tires are unidirectional. I would imagine that a tire’s ability to channel water would be one of the things affected?
A sobering reminder how unforgiving riding can be especially when pushing the limits of safety. While driving with my son last night, I witnessed a group of young guys testing their luck on a busy two lane highway. One was trying to be cool by sitting all the way forward on top of his tank , straddling the front fork. If he had gone down, the driver of the car that would have hit him would have been drawn into his web of stupidity for life. All of these numb nuts were riding in tee shirts, shorts and sneakers on sport bikes tailgating. I tell every new rider I encounter to take a rider safety course, consider yourself invisible and wear proper gear.
I’m speechless; didn’t expect the story to end on that note. Losing anyone is always hard, especially when it is unexpected and sudden.
Same here. I’ve never been fond of cruisers, anyway, but that guy could have been riding a terrific bike and the author would still be justified in hating it to this day.
What a story, thanks for sharing it.
A good friend of mine died a year ago after losing control of his small cruiser bike going around a curve and being struck by an oncoming vehicle.
I once hit a diesel slick on a winding, wet BC road, and didn’t have the riding skills to deal with it. I simply hit the brakes, slid across the opposing lane, and went into the ditch.
I sold the bike the next day, though I sometimes get the urge to ride again.
The same thing happened to me with gravel when I was learning on my first bike. I got three stitches on my left hand. That was the only time I was ever injured riding. I’ve had some close calls though but was aware and lucky enough to not have an incident. All were caused by inattentive or aggressive drivers in cars, trucks and semis.
That is a tragic story and I can’t imagine losing someone that way. It is a good thing you knew your own limits and did not push on at their pace. A hard thing to do at any age.
I finally gave up riding after 9 motorcycles, a few 1000 mile days and 30 years of not-daily seat time. My condolences for the loss of your friend, I’ve been fortunate enough to never have that happen to me in that way.
I agree, the V45 looks better and it certainly handled better than that Kawasaki.
I never did ride the BRP or Deal’s Gap, but the Natchez Trace Parkway is really pleasant with almost no traffic at all on the sections I rode. Lots of deer so you have to cover your brake but it’s still worth it.
Deal’s Gap is amazing, but it’s so crowded with utter loons now it’s inordinately dangerous. On our 2010 trip I got passed by two motard bikes IN A CORNER, and that was enough.
I remember the 1980 Kawasaki 750 LTD very well. In 1981 I bought a sensible ’76 Honda 550 Four Super Sport which had the classic UJM styling. Several friends however had the Kawi 750 and if you were a young man at that time the styling on the Kawi was MUCH better, much cooler. Funny how things play out over time.
Great story also. I had a short (four year) motorcycle riding career some 40 years ago and was smart enough to stop while I was ahead and stupid enough to still want one today. There is something about the freedom of a motorcycle that never leaves you.
Seems like 1980 might have been the year when the whole ‘gotta look like a Harley’ styling really took all the Japanese manufacturers by storm. Not much later came the ‘Ninja’ class sportbike with accompanying farings and bodywork.
But the original, classic, upright, straight-seat motorcycle still seems to be the most practical and rideable.
See my comments below. The decade or so of the universal Japanese motorcycle cruiser were the height of Japanese arrogance: They were going to show the Americans how to make a cruiser. Even though they didn’t have a clue what one was.
Thanks for sharing this powerful and sad story. High risk sports like rock climbing and motorcycling require a high degree of judgement and skill, as well as trust in a partner that it’s shared with. Any deviation raises the odds of failure.
When I read your title, I wondered how bad can the bike be for Doug to use a word as strong as hate. Reading this sobering story it is more than justified. I didn’t see that ending coming. That would have been a hard ride home and I am sure a tragic death such as this in your young life has probably influenced your life since.
Every bike has a story, and this is a sad one. Despite decades of riding and hundreds of thousands of miles, I’ve nevr lost a friend in a motorcycle crash. I was on one ride, maybe 30 years ago, where a friend of a friend of a friend was killed, by an oncoming car, though I believe it was the rider who was over the centerline. I didn’t see it happen … only the aftermath. A tough day and a difficult 100 mile ride home.
Thanks for this story. Incidents like this are why my wife asked me a decade ago to quit riding, and I haven’t been on a bike since.
A very sad story indeed. I personally have only ridden a motorcycle for maybe 1 week in 1975 and it was my brother’s Honda CB 550 four. Around the town of Pacific Beach, at 30 mph, was fine. Out on the freeway at 65 mph for a whole 5 minutes was unnerving to me and I never rode again. Still a Honda CB 350 for short around the town jaunts is tempting even though street traffic can be extremely hazardous.
On the other hand my brother still rides his motorcycles from the Chico area down to SFO for work at the age of 63. He has been driven off the road, in the past, by semis along US 5. Nonetheless, he continues, has about 20 bikes, some rare Indians, and rebuilds them when not working as one of the top senior diagnostic mechanics for a major airline. However, to his credit, he is a very capable and accomplished rider.
There’s a time-honored flying adage: “There are old pilots, and there are bold pilots, but there are no old, bold pilots”.
I would imagine the same applies equally to motorcyclists.
If I may make the assumption, I can understand where your brother is coming from. The day he dies is the day he realizes he cannot ride anymore.
Even if he’s still breathing and walking a decade later.
At first, I thought this would’ve been a story about a bike that you just thought was a disaster in terms of everything a bike should’ve been. Then I get to the end, and I realize the hate is far more palpable. The tragedy of death, especially for those you become close to, can create an inescapable miasma over things that are impossible to disassociate from, no matter how minor they may seem. It’s also sobering to read, as my previous roommate from school always told me about the dangers of motorcycle riding as he had a Honda Rebel and was using that to go everywhere he could, so he knew the risks and was willing to share with me. I’ve been contemplating the desire to learn to ride a motorcycle, I always told myself I was aware of the risks, but this story told me that there’s still more I need to learn.
Doug, this was tough to read. I’m very sorry for your loss. I’ve not been on the parkway, but we did visit Shenandoah National Park, which is just north of there, last year. Beautiful scenery, and fun to drive even in our Sentra.
A friend of a friend passed away in a motorcycle accident last year, I’m pretty sure everyone that rides knows of at least one who has. I still have my 77 GS400, but I haven’t ridden it in several years. Insurance is expensive, and I no longer have any friends that ride. Now when I want to go out on two wheels, I have a couple mopeds. Not as much fun as a motorcycle, but they have their charms, such as only costing $5 per year in MI to register.
Every spring I get the idea to get another motorcycle and always the next day there is a local news item about a motorcyclist getting killed. A couple of days ago I was thinking about it again and that night on youtube while looking at motorcycle reviews there were motorcycle crash videos on the side column where riders doing nothing wrong were smashed into by cars coming out of nowhere. Or road ragers doing it on purpose. Scared me off again.
Damn, I can understand why you hate that bike.
I rode for a few years and considered myself a competent rider, but I got married in ’93 and figured I had pushed my luck enough. I still miss it sometimes.
I’m sorry you lost your friend.
Powerful and scary, I’ve had some miserable rides in the rain and some minor crashes but never a fatality. Personally I never liked cruisers and their form over function style since I imprinted early on cafe racers. I still have and ride my 1978 BMW R100S, which is almost the total antithesis of a 750 LTD. I’m one of the last of my motorcycling friends to still ride. I’m fortunate to have a spouse who likes riding and finances that never required selling the bike like a friend n the 90s.
I’ve found bicycles more dangerous since I have been on several large event rides with serious injuries and one with a fatality. This doesn’t stop me riding bicycles either. I accept that there is risk in life and those are risks I’m willing to accept, unlike rock climbing which terrifies me.
A powerful story Doug. I think you did your friend justice by sharing it here. I knew 3 people who died in Motorcycle wrecks. While not close friends, they still made me think hard about the risk/reward ratio of riding bikes. As intoxicating as the acceleration and freedom must be, I always felt too exposed on a bike. I’ve been a passenger from time to time though, so I do think I understand the draw. If I were going to ride I think one of those classic Indians with the full fender covers would be it. They are just so incredibly cool.
Man, that story hit. I’ve been fortunate in my 43 years riding to never have a group ride end that badly, although I have lost a few brother to motorcycle accidents over the years.
Although I’ve ridden a number of Japanese in-line four cruisers, and I love cruiser motorcycles, I’ve always disliked that specific genre. Kawasaki’s and Suzuki’s were the worst, most likely thru the marques having the smallest development budgets so they basically took their UJM’s, added a stepped seat the ensured you couldn’t shift around on a long trip, pseudo-ape hanger bars that felt neat sitting on the showroom floor but were bent in a manner the guaranteed wrist pain within a half an hour down the road, and a chassis modified to fit the seat with little to no consideration about how they handled at speed.
Quite frankly, these bikes were built for around town bar-hopping on a Saturday night, not real motorcycle riding. They sold, however. Nowadays when I find myself an old Japanese four cylinder to put back on the road as a cafe racer, invariably the bike turns out to be a ‘Custom’ or an ‘LTD’ or ‘Special’ (Yamaha). No thanks, I’ll look elsewhere.
One the Japanese went to V-twin and V-four designs, specifically designing frames to work with the intended design, their cruisers got a lot better.
Oh yeah, my worst injury was twelve years ago – on a bicycle, a ’73 Gitane Tour de France. Rear derailleur spring failed causing the chain to lock the rear wheel highsiding me over the bars. Broken wrist and a fair bit of surgery to repair.
high siding would be from, front brake locking up, you would be in a skid from back
This piece was beautifully and sensitively written. I was impressed by your ability to vividly evoke the beauty, sublimity really, of the experience of cycling, punctuated by the sad ending to this particular trip. This poignant story gave insights into the lure of cycling that I might never have appreciated otherwise. It was generous of you to share it with the rest of us, that must have been difficult, thank you.
Thanks, it was indeed tough to write. It sat in the draft folder for a long time before PN noticed it and asked me about it.
That was a difficult year, but it turned out to be sort of a reset button on my life, and a lot of great stuff has happened since so you never know.
DougD:
You’ve been contributing on here a while, and have finally chosen to come forward with this weighty piece. Thanks for having the courage, and trust in this community, to share an emotionally difficult story and bear your pain again for the benefit of the rest of us.
For me, should my 12 year old son ever show an interest in riding motorcycles, I will make sure he reads this, (as well as some about rides to BC lurking in the depths of this site) to understand the range of possibilities.
Doug, I’m late to the discussion but thank you for this story. Like some of the others have said, the path this story took was quite unexpected.
Thanks for sharing this.
I have been riding since 1960. Now in my mid seventies I still ride. I ride differently than I used to. Before it was all just for fun. Now I ride to get where I am going. Also now instead of a large bike I ride a small scooter. It works well for riding in a small town in Mexico. I will continue to ride as long as I can. I do love the feeling of freedom being on a two wheeler.
The last picture you described as a 1970 750 is actually a KZ 900, I had a KZ 650sr in 1978 it was an inline 4 cylinder as was the KZ 900, the KZ 750 was a vertical twin initially around that time during the 1970’s, after 1978 they made KZ 550 and KZ750 and no more KZ 650, the KZ 750 LTD that you show with the pull back bars and king queen seat was styled as the KZ 1000 LTD was and the KZ 650 sr, the 650 sr was not called an LTD for some reason but it had a 16 inch rear tire and wheel with 3 discs, the later KZ’s had a drum in back usually. In 1976 the KZ 650 was the fastest bike from 750cc on down.
Forgot to mention: The bike that chick is washing is not a Harley-Davidson. The primary side is all wrong. Can’t quite figure out what it is (the top end isn’t matching any shape that immediately comes to mind), but my best guess is a Yamaha Venture Royale V-4. Which isn’t holding up, because there’s no pipes coming out the left side, which would be mandatory on that model.
Plus, I’ve got no respect for a guy who’ll expect his ol lady to ride on a stinking little pad like that.
Yeah, just didn’t look right to me either but not being a cruiser guy I wasn’t sweating the details. Turns out it’s hard to find a photo of a lady washing a motorcycle that you can post on a website like this one 😉
Well that took me by surprise. Not a happy reading and I get why you hate it. I too have a dislike of specific vehicles but for milder reasons. Every now and then I consider going back to biking – for not too high a price, you can get a modern bike and they are NOTHING like that piece of s&%t, what with ABS, traction control, modern suspension and frame etc. But then I think again.
Just read this compelling write up. Sad your friend was killed. Always feel uncomfortable riding in groups, tends to make you take risks to keep with the other riders, as you so well pointed out. I’ve taken a few spills over the years but with no real injuries. But the idiotic maneuvers constantly distracted drivers pull these days ( recently had one of my Jettas damaged by a careless suspended license uninsured driver) has led to my motorcycle collecting dust for the last couple of years, and at age 63 I think I’m done riding at this point. Lots of near misses over the years, and the body gets less tolerant of injuries as we age. I almost skipped Doug’s article, glad I didn’t.
The story has a very Jack Keourac [On the Road; Big Sur etc] feel to it. It is stories such as these that always reaffirm my decision to enjoy motorcycles at a cruising speed and, for the most part, no faster. I see these little pricks on their ridiculous “rice rockets” gunning it to either impress themselves or someone else. I immediately think, now there is someone whose biking career won’t last long.