06-29-2026, 09:49 AM
(This post was last modified: 06-29-2026, 09:51 AM by Gone in 60.)
On Friday, my CB1100 brought me some mental solace, along with a bleeding skull and visual distraction for work.
Friday started out as a an easy run with an anticipated early end, which would have ended with a long bike ride to the beach. But, an emergency call right after I finished my sandwich around the corner from our drop-off point at a medical research center kicked the day into a 350 mile, eight-hour stint in the saddle. Along the way, I saw something my mind couldn't shake loose.
A few locals will know where I'm talking about, but The 134 freeway narrows a bit and forms a chicane where it swings under The 5, and it's a magnet for accidents. I imagine cars going too fast in the middle of the night are caught unaware by the quick right turn and lose control. More than once, I've been stopped by CHP in that spot as they hold up all traffic to let a tow truck drag a wrecked car away. But Friday the sight was horrific. A low-boy flatbed and a crane on the shoulder, reaching for something that must have crashed hard enough to have gone into the bushes away from the roadway into a shallow ravine. One lane on the left side was open, and as I crawled past, concentrating on the cars to either side of me, I caught a glimpse of a mashed up wad of something dark blue being brought up by the crane. For a solid 1/8 mile past the spot pushed to the right shoulder was a strewn mess of suspension parts, wheels, shattered plastic and other bits.
Moved on past the mess and made my delivery. The emergency call turned me around to head back in the other direction, and I started rolling. When I was about 15 miles East of the accident site, I came up behind that low-boy flatbed truck from earlier, being escorted by two CHP cars, one in front and one behind. On the truck was a twisted mass that, to my best guess, was once a pick-up truck. I'm a truck guy and I couldn't tell what kind it used to be. I could tell that resuers had peeled sheet metal away from what was the cab to extract the occupants. I used to be an insurance accident scene investigaor many, many moons ago, and am a bit jaded when it comes to car crashes, but this image shook me.
Got home at the end of the day, and all I wanted was some garage therapy to clear my mid of that image. What better way than to polish the headers on my CB. I hadn't since the DGR, and the gold tinge was starting to give way to those tiny little black dots. Grabbed a rag and my Blue Magic, leaned over, and thunk. Yup, banged my head into a fin on the cylinder head. I have the worst up-close depth perception. I bang my head a lot. But 20 minutes later, my pipes looked sweeter than ever, and I felt pretty good!
I don't consider myself an entertainer, but when I give a two-hour tour at the museum, I realize that a group of people will be staring at my bald head for most of that time, as noise comes out of that head, spewing car stuff. If you are in a position where people stare at your head, and it does not have hair on it, it's probably a good idea to avoid activities that damage the head. Or heck, just wear a hat. The Petersen dress code specifies "no hats or headgear are to be worn with the provided uniform". But, I wear a hat. My head usually features some sort of distracting scratch, scrape or gash. Nobody has ever told me to remove my hat. They know that there's probably something nasty under there. Five out of 10 times, it's come from my CB1100. Whacking my head on the engine polishing pipes, detailing, or doing maintanence. The other five times are from the combined fleet of cars and bikes. I get bit by the CB1100 most frequently.
I selected a fine Goorin flat cap for Saturday morning's tour, kept my wound under said hat, and all was well. It is imperative to keep a collection of black hats if you're going to wear them over a head that might give it a drop of blood or two. Won't show.
My cat loves me. We play and he'll bite me in the process. I know he doesn't mean to harm me. We have a level of trust, and when we spend time playing, he knows he can give me a bite every now and then and not be punished for it. I hope my CB1100 thinks of me in the same way.
Friday started out as a an easy run with an anticipated early end, which would have ended with a long bike ride to the beach. But, an emergency call right after I finished my sandwich around the corner from our drop-off point at a medical research center kicked the day into a 350 mile, eight-hour stint in the saddle. Along the way, I saw something my mind couldn't shake loose.
A few locals will know where I'm talking about, but The 134 freeway narrows a bit and forms a chicane where it swings under The 5, and it's a magnet for accidents. I imagine cars going too fast in the middle of the night are caught unaware by the quick right turn and lose control. More than once, I've been stopped by CHP in that spot as they hold up all traffic to let a tow truck drag a wrecked car away. But Friday the sight was horrific. A low-boy flatbed and a crane on the shoulder, reaching for something that must have crashed hard enough to have gone into the bushes away from the roadway into a shallow ravine. One lane on the left side was open, and as I crawled past, concentrating on the cars to either side of me, I caught a glimpse of a mashed up wad of something dark blue being brought up by the crane. For a solid 1/8 mile past the spot pushed to the right shoulder was a strewn mess of suspension parts, wheels, shattered plastic and other bits.
Moved on past the mess and made my delivery. The emergency call turned me around to head back in the other direction, and I started rolling. When I was about 15 miles East of the accident site, I came up behind that low-boy flatbed truck from earlier, being escorted by two CHP cars, one in front and one behind. On the truck was a twisted mass that, to my best guess, was once a pick-up truck. I'm a truck guy and I couldn't tell what kind it used to be. I could tell that resuers had peeled sheet metal away from what was the cab to extract the occupants. I used to be an insurance accident scene investigaor many, many moons ago, and am a bit jaded when it comes to car crashes, but this image shook me.
Got home at the end of the day, and all I wanted was some garage therapy to clear my mid of that image. What better way than to polish the headers on my CB. I hadn't since the DGR, and the gold tinge was starting to give way to those tiny little black dots. Grabbed a rag and my Blue Magic, leaned over, and thunk. Yup, banged my head into a fin on the cylinder head. I have the worst up-close depth perception. I bang my head a lot. But 20 minutes later, my pipes looked sweeter than ever, and I felt pretty good!
I don't consider myself an entertainer, but when I give a two-hour tour at the museum, I realize that a group of people will be staring at my bald head for most of that time, as noise comes out of that head, spewing car stuff. If you are in a position where people stare at your head, and it does not have hair on it, it's probably a good idea to avoid activities that damage the head. Or heck, just wear a hat. The Petersen dress code specifies "no hats or headgear are to be worn with the provided uniform". But, I wear a hat. My head usually features some sort of distracting scratch, scrape or gash. Nobody has ever told me to remove my hat. They know that there's probably something nasty under there. Five out of 10 times, it's come from my CB1100. Whacking my head on the engine polishing pipes, detailing, or doing maintanence. The other five times are from the combined fleet of cars and bikes. I get bit by the CB1100 most frequently.
I selected a fine Goorin flat cap for Saturday morning's tour, kept my wound under said hat, and all was well. It is imperative to keep a collection of black hats if you're going to wear them over a head that might give it a drop of blood or two. Won't show.
My cat loves me. We play and he'll bite me in the process. I know he doesn't mean to harm me. We have a level of trust, and when we spend time playing, he knows he can give me a bite every now and then and not be punished for it. I hope my CB1100 thinks of me in the same way.
You know what? I actually would like a pickle.