Me and Motorcycling (Part 5)

More Procrastination:

An hour later, the bike slowly purred into the driveway, and Iain met me at the back door. "I'm really sorry" he said, "but I've just dropped your bike." I thought he was joking, but then I noticed that his face was white, and his hands shaking. He seemed to be unhurt, but he was definitely in shock. He continued talking as we walked into the back yard to look at the bike. "The bike felt so sweet, and I was so excited about riding again that I got a little carried away. I tried to make the (90 degree) turn onto Kingston Mills road at around 90km/hr. I realized I was going a little too fast when I got the front wheel skipping off the ground. I tried to save it, but it went out from under me. At least I managed to hold the tank off the ground when we went sliding off the road. And if it makes you feel any better, that is one sweet-handling bike."

Looking at the bike, I could immediately see that he hadn't been joking, as it bore the unmistakable signs of a low-speed spill (he had scrubbed off a lot of the initial speed before the impact occurred): the rear brake pedal and the front brake lever were bent, and the instrument pod holding the speedometer and tachometer was broken, along with other, mostly minor, damage. I could also see that he hadn't exaggerated about his efforts to keep the tank undamaged, as it didn't have a mark on it. That told me that that not only had he the presence of mind to realize (mid-accident) that the tank was the most expensive part in jeopardy (racers appear to be pretty adept at adding up the crash damage total while still in the midst of falling off. Okay, I exaggerate a little); but that he had put in a truly heroic effort to keep the tank undamaged, and damage to the rest of the bike minimized, by holding as much of it off the ground as he could, while sliding along the ground in the face of oncoming traffic. Now that his initial shock was wearing off, he also realized that he had broken or dislocated one of his fingers in doing so.

My initial desire to strangle Iain was tempered by that and a few other factors: Accidents happen, and he had done his best to minimize this one. In addition, he had actually done more of the prep work on the bike than I had, due to his much greater knowledge of bike set-up. I was more upset because "my baby" was hurt, than from the actual extent of the damage. In fact, thanks to his introducing me to the fireman, I had already purchased some of the parts that I would need. The rest would (as I discovered later) cost me a little more than $1000, which really is not a lot where motorcycle parts are concerned. I also remembered that it was his Wedding Anniversary; and realized that his wife, a no-nonsense Down-Easter, would probably strangle him herself. I suddenly lost my frustration and became much more sympathetic. It was now early twilight, so I shooed him homeward, and put everything away for the evening.

In any case, that was past, and there we were a couple of weeks later, loading the now-gleaming bike into the back of the truck. We would be off to Shannonville very early, so all tools had been packed as well, and my gear had been checked and re-checked, to make sure that I had everything I needed.

To be continued...