Death of a Boulevard

I guess it’s time to write about the bad week of smashing up the Boulevard, but have no fear, all is well that ends well. At least carries on well, as nothing has ended, even the Boulevard will go on in some form, rebuilt or chopped up for spare parts.

In truth there were two incidents, not linked other than they happened within the same week, if you count Sunday as the start of the week. I had just joined a motorcycling club, http://www.meetup.com/RollingThunderRiders, and my first ride with them was supposed to be the Cannonball 500, ride (http://www.cannonball500.ca). I set out at 6.20 a.m. on Sunday morning with every intention of doing the 800 km ride, in 12 hours, over some of the best motorcycling roads in the province and winning an ‘Iron Butt’ badge (way better than a Noddy badge). No sooner had I started out when it started to rain, very softly, but enough to make me stop at the gas station a few blocks from home and don the suit, the green rain gear outfit. I was planning to ride up the 400 motorway to the starting point for the group at Barrie Harley Davidson, so wasn’t keen to start off the day soggy and cold. I had barely travelled two blocks beyond the gas station when the Boulevard fishtailed, I could not have been doing more than 15 km/h, one moment I was riding, the next I was sliding on my ass on the tarmac with the motorcycle on top of me. It is said that the most dangerous time to ride is just after it starts to rain, there is just enough moisture to lift the oil and make the road as slippery as oyster snot, no shit Sherlock.

When all the motion came to an end my right leg was trapped between the engine and the road, fortunately it had not yet got very hot so I didn’t get burnt, but it still took me a few moments to wriggle free. It was then that I realized that I was not going to ride much further that day, the pain in the back of my leg (backside actually) was pretty excruciating, definitely a torn hamstring. A car stopped and a guy got out and helped me get the bike upright, more correctly he picked up the bike, the only useful thing I could do was to put down the kickstand, I couldn’t even assume the position to lift it. My Good Samaritan was a motorcycle rider himself so he knew how to do this job, which was a bit of luck – thanks sincerely whoever you are.  It took me another 5 minutes of teeth gritting pain to get my leg over the bike so that I could ride home. Getting off the bike was unpleasant, but nothing compared to the contortions and shooting pains that accompanied de-robing of the rain gear and boots.  It seems that I had taken the brunt of the fall and the Boulevard came off unscathed.

By Wednesday it still hurt when I did things like climb stairs, bend down or walk at any speed above a slow amble, but the pain level had subsided substantially and when I sat on the motorcycle, after a bit of fancy maneuvering,  I could hardly feel any pain at all. I felt strong enough to join the club’s Wednesday evening ride, the route that had been posted looked like a really nice ride, lots of lovely twisties through some gorgeous countryside. Most of the miles I have ridden, I have ridden solo so I was really looking forward to doing a group ride. We met-up at the pre-arranged place and there was general ‘hey fellow well met' stuff. Not all guys and a decent mix of bikes, the ubiquitous Harleys of course, but lots of other makes and types, adventure tourers, sports bikes, even a 250 cc dirt bike. By the time the 6.30 p.m. KSU (kickstands up) time rolled around, the group was about 18 or 19 strong.

Rolling Thunder Riders Meet-up - 'Hey fellow well met stuff' 

It felt marvelous to move out in such a large formation, no longer the lone ranger at the mercy of the cars, but now part of the cavalry and afforded respect and consideration. The group travelled at a fair clip…the slinky effect is a little tricky to deal with and I realized that although not entirely a novice rider, I was a rank beginner as far as riding in a large group is concerned. There are skills I had not yet developed, group riding has its own dynamics and I was wholly unused to it, still I felt reasonably confident I could pull it off. In any event it was a lovely evening, I was doing what I love most, in the company of others that love to ride and we were riding through what can only be described as a fairytale setting, hills and dales, neat little farms and rich forests. I was having the time of my life. We were riding west on Dufferin County road 17 a few clicks passed Mansfield, approaching a U bend at the bottom of a hill when one of the fairytale creatures came out of the forest and crossed in front of me. I did not swerve, it was not close enough to warrant that, but I took the corner too wide. I know I could have recovered from that, I just needed to lean hard and hit the gas with a small boast and I would have been through, but for reasons not revealed to me, that did not happen, instead I looked.  

Yes, damn my eyes, I looked. The most important lesson they taught us in motorbike school (Georgian College M1 Exist Weekend Course) was, ‘look where you want to go, do not look where you don’t’. It is if your eyeballs are steering the bike. This may seem like a load of BS for those who have not leaned to ride a motorcycle, but it is absolutely the truth. The one sure fire way to hit a pothole is to look at it, just as it is to hit a patch of gravel on the edge of the paved shoulder. I looked, I hit that patch, went rapidly from the vertical to the horizontal and the Boulevard’s front wheel struck an upright of the barrier. That is what saved me from serious injury, and the fact that I was properly dressed with mesh jacket, strong high boots, gloves, jeans and full face helmet. Apart from deep embarrassment, a reversal of the hamstring injury recovery and a funny, very sensitive lump on my right thumb, I walked away unscathed. Physically unscathed anyway.

I must admit to some emotionally scathing, my confidence took a serious knock. I even considered, well perhaps not entirely seriously considered, but the thought did cross my mind to quit the whole motorcycling business, you know the thing, it’s a sign, got off lightly this time, next time it won’t be quite so rosy. Then there are the ‘what ifs’, like what if the bike had missed the post and gone under the barrier and it was the soft polony meats of the not-so-easy-rider that whacked into the hard steel. Then I am reminded of one of my late father’s favorite sayings, ‘What if your aunt had balls? She would be your uncle!’ What if’s are just idle musings and as I have zero belief in angels, guardian or otherwise, or any gods or other mystical beings for that matter, reading a sign into any event is just a load of codswallop, whatever that may be. I know that riding a motorcycle is dangerous and that even the most experienced and cautious rider can end up in the morgue from a motor cycle accident, or worse, survive as a deeply disabled person, but the same fate could befall me right now as I type this very sentence. Risk of heart attack, stroke, cancer, kidney failure and the more exotic (Legionaries, Ebola, HIV and so on) purely health disasters that can strike are ever present especially at my age, not to mention all the other risks. I could die from something as banal as choking on a chicken bone, I think I’d rather hit that barrier.     

I often complain about the lack of quality in this blog, I must now talk about finding quality in this experience, and apart from the lack of quality in my own riding, there has been quality aplenty in everything else. From the group that abandoned the ride in order to stay with me until tow trucks and police arrived; to one guy (thank you Shawn) that ordered a tow on his own CAA membership; to a pair of female police officers, off-duty, that stopped and made sure that all was in order and nobody was hurt; to the Dufferin County cop that took my statement; to the tow truck driver that took me home at 2 a.m. and to State Farm Insurance that handled the claim expertly and generously. Honestly I can say that apart from ruining the Boulevard, personal pain and embarrassment and a terrifying few moments this has been a pretty positive experience... fucking weird isn’t it?    

Apologies for the dearth of pictures - the good stuff, pictures of wrecked Boulevard seem to have been erased from my phone, perhaps a good thing.