04-10-2018, 01:37 PM
In the early 60s I had a motorcycle buddy Mark Lavine. He and two riding buddies had visited a gypsy who told them they were all going to meet early deaths. Probably had something to do with the motorcycle gear they were wearing.
While riding on the Queensway, an expressway here, he and one of the friends Paul stopped to help a lady with a flat tire. Unfortunately for Paul he forgot to kick his side stand back up after changing the wheel. At the next exit the side stand caught and his bike pitched him into a concrete light post killing him instantly. As my father use to say, "No good deed will go unpunished". My mother was upset after hearing about the accident on the radio because she thought it was me.
One year later to the day Mark and the other buddy were driving on the 401 (a busy 4-lane highway) from Toronto. The buddy had moved to T O and built a chopper there. He was riding it back to Ottawa to show everybody, when he got hit from behind by a drunk driver. Mark called the his buddy's mother from the hospital to tell her son had been in an accident but he was OK except for a broken leg. He died later that night of a blood clot.
The following year Mark remained in the house afraid to go out on that day. But a week later he was cave exploring with some friends, and fell down a 90 foot coal shaft. Fortunately he only broke his ankles. But I cannot image the terror he must have felt while falling into the darkness of that shaft for that length of time thinking he was going to die.
While riding on the Queensway, an expressway here, he and one of the friends Paul stopped to help a lady with a flat tire. Unfortunately for Paul he forgot to kick his side stand back up after changing the wheel. At the next exit the side stand caught and his bike pitched him into a concrete light post killing him instantly. As my father use to say, "No good deed will go unpunished". My mother was upset after hearing about the accident on the radio because she thought it was me.
One year later to the day Mark and the other buddy were driving on the 401 (a busy 4-lane highway) from Toronto. The buddy had moved to T O and built a chopper there. He was riding it back to Ottawa to show everybody, when he got hit from behind by a drunk driver. Mark called the his buddy's mother from the hospital to tell her son had been in an accident but he was OK except for a broken leg. He died later that night of a blood clot.
The following year Mark remained in the house afraid to go out on that day. But a week later he was cave exploring with some friends, and fell down a 90 foot coal shaft. Fortunately he only broke his ankles. But I cannot image the terror he must have felt while falling into the darkness of that shaft for that length of time thinking he was going to die.