06-14-2019, 02:00 AM
It's always very sad when you know someone who was in a motorcycle accident. And, it shakes those around us that it may happen to us as well. Years ago, after listening to me brag at the office about how quickly I could get to and from work, and wasn't trapped in traffic like my poor, foolish car-bound mates, a young coworker said "I want to do that too." His commute was much further than mine. I gave him my speech about "are you sure?", and "get your wife/girlfriend's approval", etc. I mentored him, helped him pick out his first bike, helped him get set up for the MSF course, select gear, etc. All too soon, well before I would have let him, he showed up to work on that bike. Later that evening, transitioning freeways, and having a commanding view of the 55 north from the 405 south, I could see red lights coming up. He had left a few minutes before me, and I already knew what I was about to see. There was my coworker, shaken but not stirred, talking with authorities while his bruised SV650 was leaning on the center divider. My heart sunk until I learned that he was not badly injured. His fiancee made him sell the bike immediately.
One of the reasons I had avoided visiting the memorial on my street was that I might look at the portrait that was propped up on the curb and recognize the rider. There are plenty of group rides, hangouts and meet-ups in the area, and you get familiar with people.
A few nights ago, my wife and I took our normal neighborhood walk, and went by the memorial. Looking at the picture, I didn't recognize the poor fellow, but there was, a week later, still a very large outpouring of love on the curb. Candles, flowers, cards, notes, and little things, like packages of food he must have liked. Very sad.
My wife could see me analyzing the remnants of the crash clean-up, and looking at a fresh scrape in the road. She said "I know that guy must have been going fast, and I know that's not how you ride." That was reassuring, at least.
One of the reasons I had avoided visiting the memorial on my street was that I might look at the portrait that was propped up on the curb and recognize the rider. There are plenty of group rides, hangouts and meet-ups in the area, and you get familiar with people.
A few nights ago, my wife and I took our normal neighborhood walk, and went by the memorial. Looking at the picture, I didn't recognize the poor fellow, but there was, a week later, still a very large outpouring of love on the curb. Candles, flowers, cards, notes, and little things, like packages of food he must have liked. Very sad.
My wife could see me analyzing the remnants of the crash clean-up, and looking at a fresh scrape in the road. She said "I know that guy must have been going fast, and I know that's not how you ride." That was reassuring, at least.