Forty Eight Hours…

…three motorcycle accidents, two of them fatalities.

In all three instances, it was idiots in cars at fault, turning left in front of oncoming bikers.

A couple of days ago, an oncoming compact car crossed the center line, aiming for me.

Yes, I said aiming for me. It was not random inattention. He saw a biker, and was determined to fuck with him. I eyeballed the bastard for several hundred yards and held course, all the while making plans for evasive action. A good lean and a lot of throttle when he got close (too close for him to react), and I missed him by a wide margin. He was damned near all the way in my lane, and sneering right at me as he flashed past.

I’ve often said that my ambulance would be better equipped with twin watercooled .50s and a snowplow bumper than it would with lights and siren. The same goes for my bike. In a just world, the compact driver should have been greeted with a 180 grain salute to his driving habits, right betwixt the headlights…and I think we know exactly what headlights I’m referring to.

But that would have meant shooting with my weak hand, and lots of ambulance paperwork, and I don’t do ambulance paperwork on my day off.

*sigh*

If I hadn’t spent the past fifteen years dodging idiots who do stupid things – both purposely, and by accident – when they see an ambulance with its lights on, it would be enough to make me paranoid.

That is, more paranoid than I already am.

I figure that’s a good thing, if not an entirely equal tradeoff for the lack of protective sheet metal around me.

Update: Make that five motorcycle accidents, and three fatalities. Same cause as before, except that the last two bikers’ reaction time was not helped by the alcohol n their systems. I took care of the lucky one, if you could call a mangled leg that’ll likely never allow him to ride a bike again lucky.