Walking the Edge II

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  Posted by Edgewalker54 April 17, 2012 - Filed in Personal Ride Stories - 1,085 views
  

  OK, I call this one "The Day I Dropped It".

  I was in a hurry. Back then, I was always in a hurry. Had to be at work before 6 am. Had to pickup the kid by 3 pm. Always stopped to pickup my nightly 12 pack of brew and then blasted for the house. Had to beat the ol lady home so the kid and me could have some quality time. Three stooges reruns were always the best or Loony-Toons (Meep-Meep, I tot I taw a puddytat). He knew “Woop-Woop-Woop” before he was 5.
  
  I was riding a Suzi 2 stroke water-cooled 750 at the time. Some will remember it as “The Water Buffalo”. Damn that thing was fast! When I bought it I told the guy “This is the money I got from my insurance settlement for the theft of my Harley. It has to be fast and have some class.” He blinked a couple times and said, “Well, if ya want fast...” As I was headed out for the test drive (Ride-it-like-ya-stole-it), he said “Make sure you have a good grip before ya crack ‘er open!” I thought to myself “Yeah, right.”
  
  I blended into traffic and hit the next right. It was 3 lanes, 50 mph and medium traffic. I turned the corner, shifted into 3rd and cracked the throttle WFO (wide-freekin-open). The three carbs thought about the command for 3.2 nanoseconds and responded with a full-on, 3rd gear wheelie. As the tach needle approached the “Eject Warp Core” zone, I knew enuff about wheelies to keep my feet on the pegs, don’t back off too quick and if need be, shift to maintain the wheelie. I hit 4th and feathered the front end back onto the pavement.
  
  As I was paying the guy my cash for the ‘Buffalo’, her nickname by then, I remarked “Scooter shur does track straight in a wheelie.” He grinned and asked if I had been in second or third. “Third” I told him. His eyes widened and I added “Yeah, hadda shift into fourth cuz of the red line...” He just stared at me, shook his head and handed me the paperwork. But this story is really about the day I dropped it. Hard...
  
  As I went out headed for work that fateful day, I dropped into the saddle and my mind was everywhere but where it should have been. On the ride, I knew it was going to be a hot one when I got off work so I left my leather riding jacket in the closet and took out my “Hot Weather” jacket. The closest I can come to a description is “Naugahyde”. Don’t know how many Nauga’s were in one coat but there weren’t enuff...
  
  I blasted out of the garage and made the freeway in minutes. As I merged into southbound traffic I could feel the old familiar rush. “The NEED For Speed!” Oh man, tain’t nuthin like it, is there? So after jockeying for the lead with a few cages, I hit a big open spot in traffic. I had 24 miles of freeway to do in a short time, so I opened her up. Since the dealership incident, I had only pulled a few wheelies and had learned how to keep the front wheel in contact with the tarmac.
  
  I had taken the Buffalo to the century mark a few times and she always seemed rock solid. So that was the number that I was shooting for when the traffic fell behind. I stroked her gear box and ducked slightly down. She did not have any type of fairing or windscreen so I was “In the Wind”. I was used to it and as I went past the only other on-ramp between here and work, I had just attained 100 mph. I saw from the corner of my tearing-eyes, a guy coming onto the freeway riding a Kaw 900 with full fairing and lowers too.
  
  I gave him a nod and added a few more rpm to the tach. The bike was doing what all two wheelers do at 100 mph. Twitches in the steering, wavering slightly because of the truck ruts in the surface and the ever-present “WAAAAAAAA” of the megaphone exhaust. As I moved back into the right lane I could hear him coming and as I looked into my swirly mirror... he PASSED ME!
  
  Oh I Don’tThinkSo! I grabbed a handful of throttle and shot off in hot pursuit! As I was approaching him from the right, he glanced back at me and shook his head. I saw him twist the wick and crouch down behind his wind screen. I gave the throttle a twist... and hit bottom. So I laid down on the tank and put my feet on the passenger pegs (they wouldn’t stay up so I got used to them). I kept glancing at the speedo & tach and the bike was now going right at 120 mph. That was the fastest I had ever gone and I was scared sh*tless and loving it all at the same time.
  
  As I slowly caught and passed him, he grinned and shook his head. He was done and I had WON! YES! I still remember that feeling, hope I never lose that memory. Oh, that’s right, this story is named “The Day I Dropped It.” When I do something, I do it all the way!
  
  When I knew that I had won, I backed off the throttle and sat up slightly. WRONG! That action led to a high-speed front end wobble and a sudden clinching of every sphincter in my body. I shifted my feet to the forward pegs & grabbed the handle bars and hauled back with all my might. I slightly bent the bars, but it continued to VIOLENTLY slam from left-to-right and I knew that I was going to bailout. As my mind reached this decision, I looked at the wildly whipping speedo, it read 110-120.
  
  Then, a certain calm settled over me, I knew I was going down.... Hard! I glanced left at the Kawi rider and I saw that his eyes were wide open, could see his lips moving but that’s right when I bailed out. I went off the right side, arms in front of my (un-helmeted) face and that’s when I struck the pavement. My chin hit first and yanked my head to the right. My body responded by rolling to the left and I actually flew up into the air and landed on my back.
  
  Jammed a chunk-o-pavement into my hip, but I was too busy getting ready for the next ‘Hit’. I came down hard and banged my chin again. I knew that if I wanted to stay away from the guardrail I was going to have to flatten out. I spread my arms and legs as wide as they would go, kept my head up and looking the direction I was sliding. Never look at the guardrail going past me at a blur, always looking forward.
  
  As I was sliding, I heard the sound of “tinkle-tinkle” and of course the sound and smell of my clothes heating up and disintegrating. All the while, hearing my bike in the background. SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEETTTTTTCCCCCHHHH, then a pause as it flipped up into the desert air. A resounding BANG as it came back to earth elicited a grimace from me because I knew that was not a good hit. People who stopped to help told me that the bike had gone 50 feet in the air before it slammed back to earth. Probably closer to 20’ but still not a good thing.
  
  So here I am sliding down the tarmac and I’m smelling my clothes burning, I’m still hearing “Tinkle-tinkle” in the background and I’m wondering when am I gonna stop? FINALLY, I come to a stop in the ‘entertainment’ and as I stand up, there are already 2 cages stopped and the guy I was racing has pulled over too. I immediately go to the Buffalo and what I see is NOT good. I picked her up and realize the forks are gone, handlebars are SERIOUSLY tweeked and the bottom end is thrashed. So I won’t be riding away from this one.
  
  Folks are all around me, trying to get me to sit down and, of course I’m ignoring them. Just keep looking at the bike and how bad the damage is. Finally one of the folks that stopped said “HEY! Have you looked at yourself?” So I look down at myself and realize why they are all concerned. My Fake-Leather jacket is tattered and barely hanging on me, both sleeves are basically gone and a good portion of the back is laying 50’ from me.
  
  I’m not wearing my chaps (I was in a hurry, remember?) so my Levi’s are shredded on the front, all the way to my skin. Oh, my skin... It has just started to checkin with me and it is P*SSED OFF! Both forearms, the palms of my hands, the top of both thighs and knees are starting to scream “This isn’t good!” To top it all off, the scrape on my chin and the top of my forehead are starting to dump copious amounts of blood and I’m starting to see black spots. So I sat down.
  
  An ambulance was about a mile behind us and saw the whole thing. As they slid to a stop with lights flashing, I saw one of the folks that worked where I did. I asked them to get one of the guys in the motorpool to bring a boom truck and get my bike. They agreed and took off to take care of this important task. I couldn’t afford impound fees and I knew that I could get the bike home from the factory “Lay-Down” yard.
  
  I allowed the medics to treat and transport me but all I could think of was the bike. When I reached the hospital, I told them I didn’t have medical insurance and the remaining hour and a half was spent “Cleaning” the wounds. Oh man, even now my hands are not steady and my adrenaline levels are going up. It was a harbinger of the pain to come. They gave me 30 Darvocett to help with the pain. I laughed and knew that I would be visiting my “Local Pharmacist” for the needed pain relievers.
  
  I healed up over the span of two months and the bike was delivered to my apt the  day after the wreck. Some bros wheeled her into the livingroom, where she sat for the ultimate indignity... Dismantled and sold for parts and then, scrap metal. It killed me to do it because I really liked that bike! Then, medical bills sucked up all of that and almost $1000 more. I had lost my job because of the wreck, I owed the hospital and ambulance more than I could pay and I didn’t have a bike that I could escape on when the situation got to me.
  
  It was a bleak coupla months that passed in a haze of pain killers, food I could barely keep down and the knowledge that I didn’t have a bike anymore. Then, I realized that the “Tinkle-Tinkle” was the sound of my wallet chain coming apart.  About two months after the wreck, there was a honk out front and a banging on my door. A Brother had come across a Yamaha Virago in trade for some stuff. He knew I was going crazy without a scoot and thought it might help me out.
  
  To me, he was a drink of cool water in the desert heat. I kissed his ugly mug and within a few minutes I sitting astride a running motorcycle. Ah, thank you Brother! So I went back inside and carefully put on my ‘Fighting Gear’. Leather jacket (I always ride with one now), chaps and leather gloves. Remember, I was still covered with scabs and the memory of the wreck haunted me daily. Pushing all that aside, I kicked the Yama-Jama into gear and pulled out into traffic.
  
  I had fifty miles on the clock when I realized that I needed to be at home, soon! As I rolled into the driveway and then into the dining room (where I parked all bikes) I knew that there was no other place I wanted to be. Astride an iron beast; that was the only place to find freedom. I rode that bike for almost six months before I bought the 45” Harley trike. That’s a whole ‘nuther story...
  
  Lessons? Always dress for the ‘Slide’ not the ride, two wheels moves the soul and there ain’t anything better than a Bro with a scooter he picked up, just cuz he knew you needed one.
  
  LiveLoveRideRepeat
  
  Edge “Tuff Enuff” Walker