End of the road

[the Ferret]

I think I was more aware riding today because of this thread.

[GoldOxide_imp]

I think I was more aware riding today because of this thread.

I believe I would agree with that testament today. No unnecessary "greedy" moves.

[peterbaron]

I hate this thread.

Maybe the following is all "too out there", but it's been on my mind...

This IS a difficult thread. We enjoy our bikes for many reasons: the simple thrill of flying, the places we go to we otherwise wouldn't, learning about the mechanics of our spacecrafts, the friendships that develop who share a passion, the sense of freedom an outing offers up, the satisfaction of working on them to whatever degree we do--and we all could add many more ideas.

We rack up miles, experiences, trips, adventures...perhaps years and years on our bikes. And we do this all the while knowing that "IT" could happen on any given ride. We simply think "but it won't happen to me, not today". Yet we know it does happen to someone. I suppose a cyclist's decision to ride is similar to surfers who takes their chances knowing that a shark could utterly ruin their day, their very future.

So we block it out. IT happens to unknown "others" and we're reminded through the news reports, we're reminded that once again it happens to others and we remain convinced that while it could happen to us...it won't. Not today, not to me.

And then...VLJ starts a thread "End of the road" and before we even open it, a sick sense of dread begins to form. Now it has happened to one that we "know" as well as one can on an internet forum. Our thought process (promise?) of "not today, not to me" seems hollow, false. VLJ's reality reminds us of our vulnerable-ness "out there". So it is a difficult thread. But a good one. For it makes us ask ourselves the questions we need to ask if we're to continue to enjoy the ride.

May you continue to progress towards complete recovery.

Maybe the following is all "too out there", but it's been on my mind...
This IS a difficult thread. .....
And then...VLJ starts a thread "End of the road" ....
May you continue to progress towards complete recovery.
Very well said Pdedse and so true.
I tip my hat to you.

[emptysea]

If I had two spinal surgeries due to motorcycle crashes, I wouldn't give myself the opportunity for the third. I commend VJL for his commitment to the activity he loves and applaud his commitment to the people he loves.

[GoldOxide_imp]

Jeez. Reading about the numerous Forum members who have endured and returned from severe accidents - hats off to you. Definitely feel fortunate, not a perfect score, but better than anything requiring surgery.

[Chuckk_imp]

when I was in a pretty bad crash and didn't know if I would ever be able to ride again, I thought maybe I could at least work on bikes, maybe restore them and then sell them.. then move on to another.. most of us enjoy the tinkering on the bikes we have.. at least I do !! .. thankfully, I can still ride and tinker too !!.. bring on the mods and gadgets ..
chuckk ..

[Mtneers]

There are those that have wrecked and those that will. I’m one that has when I was 22. I’ve been riding since I was 8. Even though I wasn’t seriously hurt, I went to the emergency room as a precaution for x-rays. I came around a curve too fast and lost it in a culvert. My head slammed into the bank, split the face shield and bent the front wheel and forks under the frame. A 1979 Yamaha 750 Special that was two weeks old. The worst part of the whole ordeal was that my parents were coming to dinner the next day. Not only did I have to explain the marks on my face, but that I had purchased another motorcycle. The bike was repaired. My dad sent me a check to pay off the loan and told me to sell the bike, which I did. The note also had a strong message “to never buy another motorcycle”. I still have his handwritten note. I stayed away from cycling for about 10 years while our sons were growing up and playing sports. When they got in their late teens, I eased back into by buying a used Honda CT90, then a Kaw KLR250 and so on until I bought a Goldwing a few years ago. My youngest son had a Yamaha dirt bike and we went trail riding several times. Even though I love riding, I feel fortunate to have traveled coast to coast without incident. I think about what could happen and how it would affect my life, my son’s lives or my wife’s. It also haunts me still today that I went against my dad’s wishes for me to quit riding. I’ve told several people it would be a great sport if wasn’t for distracted drivers. Cellphones seem to have compounded the problem.

I guess I’ll keep riding as long as I’m able or find it as a means of enjoyment. But, that one accident almost 40 years ago keeps me honest and from attempting to ride beyond my skill level.

Ride safe.....


Sent from my iPad using Tapatalk

[Stichill_imp]

The way to think about the consequences of a serious accident is from the perspective of hindsight after the fact. Would you or wouldn't you have made a different decision about riding? Is it foolish to risk health and quality of life in pursuit of exhilaration?

On the flip side is to think about the consequences of being at the end of your years, reflecting back on your life. Would you or wouldn't you have made a different decision about riding? Is it worth the sacrifice of a life filled with exhilarating experiences in exchange for a few more years of safety and comfort?

It's a judgment we all have to weigh for ourselves...risk vs. reward, regret vs. satisfaction, exhilaration vs. security. For those who are still young, the risks are extremely great...they have their whole lives and an infinity of choices ahead of them. For those who are older, most of life's miles are in the rear view mirror. There are fewer years of life left to risk, but those years that are left grow more precious with each passing day. We start to wonder if we are spending them wisely or risking them foolishly for ephemeral thrills.

On balance, I feel more complete as a man having been and being a rider. There would be a big hole in my life if I stopped riding, that would have to be filled by something else. If I'd never been a rider, it hurts to me to think of the many irreplaceable moments of scenic grandeur, adventure, delightful surprises, hardships overcome, and hearty camaraderie among men that would never have happened. I wonder what other pursuits could have given me similar experiences. Honestly, there are a few that come to my mind: hiking, canoeing, kayaking, and camping for example.

It all comes down to: why do you have a body in the first place? Is the purpose of your body to carry your brain around and keep it safe, or is it to carry your brain around and expose it to all the gusto and wonderment that the world provides, even at the risk of its future health and safety?

[GoldOxide_imp]

Well worded, and strikes the right chords Stich.

[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vEx6lxFJlAQ]

[VLJ_imp]

If I had two spinal surgeries due to motorcycle crashes, I wouldn't give myself the opportunity for the third. I commend VJL for his commitment to the activity he loves and applaud his commitment to the people he loves.

My thoughts, exactly. The reason I had to stop riding sportbikes, or even sporty standards like my Street Triple, wasn't because I'd grown tired of them, or afraid of them, or anything of the sport. Nope, it was simply a matter of physiology. Following my second neuro-spinal fusion procedure, I was left with C1 and C2 as my only flexible vertebrae above the fixed-solid reconstruction. C3 through C7 are fused together and plated with titanium. They can't move. As a result, I can no longer tilt my head at the angle necessary to ride any bike that enforces even a semi-aggressive forward-lean riding position.

The docs told me that if C1 or C2 blow out, I will be left with no ability to turn my head at all, up or down, left or right...nothing. In order to see anything, I'll have to turn my torso like some robot from a 60's-era Sci-Fi TV show. I'm getting a preview of that reality right now, wearing this cervical collar. It's not good.

And now I've broken C1 and C2. We're hoping they will heal, and no surgery will be required.

I'm cutting it too close.

Quote:I commend VJL for his commitment to the activity he loves and applaud his commitment to the people he loves.
And yet I remain torn, precisely for the reasons stated so eloquently by Stichill and Pdedse, and also by mickey.

I love riding, obviously. I'm not some novice Baby Boomer whose kids are finally out of the house, and wifey has finally given me her reluctant permission, so now I'm free to scratch that motorcycling itch, and I just managed to get into a bad crash within my first year or so of riding.

Not at all. I've been riding for forty years, sometimes at a reasonably high level. In general, I have not been a casual rider. Along with guitar, motorcycling has been my primary hobby for most of my adult life. In fact, when I had Stage IV-A cancer and lost the use of my body for a year, including any dexterous use of my hands, the very first thing I did once a bit of feeling returned to my extremities upon the conclusion of the radiation and chemo treatments was I went right back out and bought another motorcycle, and a new guitar. (Knowing I would be on disability for a long time, with no decent income, I had to sell everything I owned to get through that period.)

I knew I wouldn't really be "me" again, until I was riding again. It was too much a permanent part of who I am.

To a degree, I still feel that way...but not so much now. As mickey and others here have stated, there is a difference between hopping right back on that horse when you're in your twenties or thirties, vs doing so when you're older, and the majority of your best riding years are behind you. Increased real-world responsibilities, physical-condition realities, a diminishing of the need for speed, etc., all cast a different light on the situation.

I was already attempting to morph into that new, more laid-back kind of rider, with the CB1100. As a younger man, a track-day junkie, an idiot who lived for ripping in the coastal canyons and mountain roads, I never would have given something like my CB1100 a second thought, even despite her obvious aesthetic beauty. Now I'm loathe to part with her, even though every common-sense fiber of my being tells me to listen to my loved ones and get off this dangerous merry-go-round.

I had convinced myself that I could go to a slow, relaxing bike and eventually slide into mickey mode, full time, with no regrets. Just take it easy, enjoy the ride, and, above all else, be safe. Take no unnecessary risks. Stop being stupid. Keep those remaining healthy vertebrae secure.

Be an adult.

Yeah, well, great. In all my years of being an idiot, I never got clobbered. None of my previous crashes involved collisions, and none were really all that physically damaging. Even the crashes that caused the need for the neuro-spinal reconstructions didn't result in anything that the docs caught at the time. It wasn't until a decade or so later that MRIs revealed the shattered vertebrae.

Now, this. I was only doing thirty-five mph, in a straight line, on the dullest, quietest country road imaginable. It was literally the safest-seeming stretch of road a motorcyclist could ever hope for. We all know such roads. They're the ones that allow you to sit up and stretch out your tired limbs while taking a mental breather.

A safe zone. Nothing bad can happen here. Bright noon sunshine, clear visibility, smooth asphalt, no blind turns, no stop signs, no cross-traffic, no driveways, nowhere for deer to hide. No worries.

Flash of a red bumper. Crazy pain. Flying through the air, dreading the landing, hoping you don't get run over by oncoming traffic. Crazier pain upon sticking the landing. White-hot pain and even crazier mortification, lying on grainy asphalt in nothing but one sock and your underwear, the paramedics having cut your super-expensive riding suit to shreds in an effort to remove it. Crazier-still mortification, once the hospital stint begins. Constant degradation. First-for-me degradation.

Now, a future of uncertainty.

I don't know how I feel, or even how I should feel. I don't know what to do.