Ambulance Driver Files A Day in the Life | Kelly Grayson
…but when.
Monday, June 23, 2008, 5:45 pm, I joined the fraternity of riders who have unwillingly sacrificed hide to the Asphalt Gods.
I laid my bike down.
Relax, folks. I’m okay, other than missing a couple dozen square inches of dermis. All I can say is, thank God for dressing for the crash, and not the ride. My armored riding jacket saved me some serious boo boos. If my chaps had been on my body rather than back-ordered, I might have escaped unscathed. As it is, all I have is a semi-nasty case of road rash on my right forearm, thigh and calf, and a serious case of Pink Leg (that’s where ordinary, everyday Red Ass has spread to adjacent parts).
I went into work early the other day, with the intention of dropping by one of the nursing homes to pick up some paperwork I had forgotten from an earlier shift. I dropped off my gear at the station, told my relief I’d be back in an hour, and hopped back on my bike for the 15 minute jaunt down the interstate to Decubitus Manor to pick up the aforementioned forms.
I was coming out of a pretty tight turn on the interstate on-ramp, accelerating fairly hard, when I caught a flash of something; a spot on the pavement, perhaps bathtub-sized, and coated with a layer of pale road construction dust. I saw it early enough to register, and cringe inwardly at what it probably was, but not early enough to keep from running right through it in the middle of a tight, accelerating turn.
It was right about then that, as LawDog would put it, things began to get “Biblically pear-shaped.”
I felt the rear tire lose traction and slide around to my left, and thought, “Hmmm, this might be problematic.”
Got off the throttle, shifted my weight, and succeeded in getting the bike back under me and in some semblance of control, only to discover that I was headed straight for a six inch curb at 35 mph, with no hope of avoiding said curb. It was either hit it and get launched head first into interstate traffic, or lay the bike down.
I chose Option B, and commenced my version of the street luge, sans luge, of course. My asshole broke suction with the seat with an audible “pop”, my bike skittered down the pavement, bounced off the curb and came to rest in the middle of the on ramp, and I followed somewhat less gracefully behind, trying desperately to keep my feet in front of me and cursing like a sailor.
I got up and walked over to my bike, picked it up and rolled it out of the road. Aside from a few gouges on the end of the right handlebar and brake lever, a broken right mirror mount and bent right foot peg, and a scuffed saddlebag, it was unscathed. Even started right up and ran fine.
I however, was not so unscathed. Once my pride had recovered, I dug my cell phone out of my pocket, called our field operations stuporvisor, and told him what happened. I declined his kind offer to send one of our ambulances to my location, and told him I’d likely be an hour or so late to work after I rode home and changed into some new uniform pants.
Got the bike home, pounded the foot peg back into place with a hammer (looking none the worse for wear, thankfully), tucked the broken mirror into my saddlebag, and changed pants. Aside from an epic bruise and a few palm-sized abrasions (I’d post pics, but you ladies are not ready to see the hotness of my tanned and muscled thighs), and being sore as hell, I’m fine.
A dose of JB Weld this morning, and the mirror mount was fine, too – at least until I can order a replacement. Considering that the battery on this bike cost $169, I’m betting that a new mirror mount/right brake lever assembly will set me back about a hojillion or so.
Before any of you ask, no, it’s not gonna convince me to stop riding, no more than a negligent discharge would convince me to stop shooting. It will induce me to be a little more wary of hidden road dangers, though. I figure that’s a good thing.
A few well placed hammer whacks to a bent foot peg: No charge.
Tube of JB Weld to repair broken mirror mount: $4.99
Hard won experience, at the expense of little more than wounded pride: Priceless.