It was the week before college graduation, and my friends and I had been drinking all afternoon. We were just starting to talk about dinner when a guy named John walked into the bar. He was still wearing his motorcycle helmet.
I didn't know him, but my friends did. Somehow, dinner thoughts turned to a local favorite: Brooks BBQ (it still ranks as the best I've ever had). Since no one wanted to leave the bar, John offered to go pick it up. For reasons I can't remember, he needed an assistant, and since I loved motorcycles (my first boyfriend and I used to ride his dirt bike all over the fields in upstate NY), I volunteered.
John was the only one who hadn't been drinking.
It was a 10 or 15 minute ride on the expressway, and on the way there, John's spare helmet was merely resting on my head. The straps were left dangling.
Brooks BBQ - Oneonta, NY
After we picked up the food, we were about to take off when John happened to notice the straps hanging down on either side of my head. He scowled at me, said something about how dangerous that was, and tied them extra tightly for emphasis.
We were halfway back to the bar - doing 60-65 mph on the expressway - when I felt the bike begin to swerve from side to side. I got mad because I thought he was showing off. I didn't think it was funny at all.
Turns out the back tire had just blown. Luckily, John was a good enough rider that he kept the bike from somersaulting. Instead, he tried to ride it out (thus the swaying). In the end, the bike fell on top of us and we slid for I don't know how long. I would guess maybe 20 or 25 yards? Who the hell knows - it could have been 50.
When the bike finally stopped, I got up and started walking. Luckily, there weren't a lot of cars on the road. It seemed like less than a minute before some woman stopped and picked me up and took me to the hospital.
I just left. I don't remember a single thing about the accident or what it looked like. I found out later that John had been pretty seriously injured.
It was a good thing John tied my helmet so tightly, because one entire side was shaved off by the time we stopped. The strap had made deep cuts into my chin. My jeans and sweatshirt were torn clean through, and my left cheek, arm and leg were missing quite a bit of skin. I'll never forget the wire brush they had to use at the hospital to get the rocks and grit out of my face. Painful.
That was the last time I was on a motorcycle: May of 1985 (Damn ... 22 years? Yikes). I did drive a moped once (I was vacationing on an island and had no choice), but then I got scared and crashed it into a brick wall. I was also a passenger on a moped once (in Hawaii last April, with Bambi driving), and I was quietly terrified.
Being around Tea these last few weeks has made me want to get back on a motorcycle (well, a dirt bike, anyway). I have no desire to be on the road, but the idea of paths and trails sounds fun. The problem is, her bikes seem too big.
Well, Tea has solved that problem by acquiring a 1978 Yamaha YZ80. It's not a gift or anything, but it's being kept at my house and she's going to teach me to ride it.
It's yellow. I like it. I'm going to scrub and polish it until it's shiny.
If it turns out I'm too chicken to ride it, well, at least I'll be able to enjoy looking at it.
3 comments:
she bought you a bike!!! Surely, that is just a twist on the UHaul joke
If that's the best bbq you ever had, you've never been to Texas or Tennessee. Or else the rose-colored glasses of long-ago memories are coloring your judgment. :-)
xoxo,
ESM
p.s. I just came back from Ithaca and drove right past Oneonta. I thought of you!!
hey do you have any more pictures of that yz80 that you could possibly send me for comparison? i recently bought a similar bike and i cant quite figure out what year it is, but i think its a '78. if you have some you would be willing to send, that would be awesome.
thanks..
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