The Rush Gorgeous, black and fresh, the pavement clung to the last of summer's heat like an enchanted lover. The air was so fresh and cool my leathers seemed to disappear. And the sky, it was perfect. Just enough feathery white clouds filled it to cause the sun to appear from everywhere and nowhere all at once. It was late September and the weather was that of riders' dreams. As rode through the outskirts of Orangeville the needle on the gas gauge of my beloved SV hovered at one-eighth, I had covered more miles than it seemed, still, I pressed on. I planned on heading down Airport road, over to Terra Cotta Corners, while just over 2km, are some of the most enchanting, most technical corners this side of Deal's Gap. When I was greenhorn to the world of sport bikes I would spend hours pacing back and forth through them over and over again. Every time I would refine my lines ever so slightly, picking up a thousandth of a second here and a hundredth of a second there until I knew each inch of the corners intimately and my bike became part of me. To ride Terra Cotta was to return home -- all was familiar, all was welcoming, all was safe As I turned onto I remember the first time I felt the rush, it was nearly 10 years earlier, and I was only 16. I was out riding my beat up, half dead 1980 CM400E/T. What P.O.S. that bike was, looking back a toaster was closer to being road worthy than it was. That didn't matter at the time though because I was on two wheels. I was having pure enjoyment. You know, the kind of enjoyment of the moment that cannot be bought, cannot be simulated and cannot be forced. It can only come from pure, uninhibited, innocent fun. I remember thinking it could not get any better than that, and then it did. As I piloted the CM through an unassuming S bend I pushed a little harder than I had done before, pushing the bike and myself to our limits. As I transitioned from the left into the right the rear suspension began to bounce like a sugar-high child on a trampoline. With each downward movement of the suspension the foot peg ground into the pavement releasing a shower of sparks. With each upward movement a momentary loss of traction caused the rear tire slid out. During that brief moment in time, the rush came. Not just any rush but thee rush. It came over quickly and completely but without force. My adrenaline level raised and swallowed me whole into a warm buzz. Every nerve in my body become acutely aware of the bike's every move. My mind dropped every though that wasn't necessary to keeping this ill-conceived contraption from impacting the black blur that was the pavement. Absolutely everything was gone except riding. It was two-wheeled nirvana. From that day forward I understood the true lure and appeal of motorcycles, the true love that is rooted so deeply in every genuine motorcyclist. I continued down I rolled along the straight at the top of the hill in first gear. I had done this run enough times to be able to time it so that I didn't catch up to the cages until the third straight. "19 I would like to be able to tell you exactly what happened, every little thought, sight and sound but I can't. I can't remember anything after corner two. I remember finishing off corner two, then instantly my memory goes to fuzzy images of the inside of an ambulance. I could see cupboards stocked with medical supplies and could feel that I was in a moving vehicle. I can remember talking to the ambulance attendant, I said to him, “Please don't cut my leathers”, to which he responded, “You are repeating yourself again. You've already said that 5 times and no, I still don't know how your bike is.” Then there is some more missing time, after which I remember staring at the tile ceiling of the hospital room. My head was absolutely pounding; it was so bad that I was having trouble focusing my eyes. There were sharp, burning pains shooting from my lower back like a thousand knives cutting in every direction at once. Over the years I have broken over 25 bones and have more scars than I can count, and all of that put together would have been comfort compared to this pain. After a 3 hours in the hospital, 6 x-rays, 2 crutches, and as many pain killers as they would allow, I managed to make it outside to have a much needed smoke and talk to the cage driver that witnessed my acrobatic performance. Based on what he said, what I can remember before I entered the corner, and a few logical assumptions here is what probably happened. I started into corner three, the sharp, downhill left-hander at ten tenths causing just a little bit of slide from the rear tire, mistake number one. As I approached the apex I noticed the oncoming, running the corner wide but, still in his lane. Although my tires were still in my lane my head was in his, mistake number two. This left me two options: whack my head off his lights at 30mph or move. I adjusted my line to avoid him but, when I let of the gas to avoid running wide on my new line the rear regained traction and high-sided me, strike three. I impacted the road headfirst, instantly knocking me unconscious. When the rest of my body caught up my right hip struck the ground with such force that I ended up with a bulged disk and pinched a couple nerves. Not one of those perfect fall days after all. So, is there a moral to this story? Yes, there is. No matter how well you know the road, your bike, and yourself the street requires room for error. “Until you bite it hard you will never completely understand the consequences of your actions”. While based on real events this story is fictional |