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Do I dare resurrect this thread? Took a bit of flack over it the first time . . .
Sigh. I find that I must.
Witnessed another counter-steering (lack of) accident last night.
I was headed east on Campbell from Arapaho when I got passed by a zip-splat. I was probably going 50mph, and he passed me taking half my lane (glad I do not wobble) going at least 75mph.
Now, I ride a Valkyrie, and rode an XS before that. I have lost track of how many hundreds of thousands of miles I have ridden. Suffice it to say that I lost any desire to prove anything long ago, and though I do ride aggressively, I rarely rise to this type of bait. The only inclination I had to keep up with him was the sudden desire to stomp his smart @$$ into the ground for splitting my lane unannounced (you are free to kill yourself, please do not take non-combatants with you).
I know what I am capable of, so basically shook my head and sighed.
This route is a long downhill, then around a sweeping left turn . . . over a bridge, sweep right, and up a hill to a stop light..
REAL speed is not advisable due to some cross-streets and the stop-light, but any competent MC rider should be able to make this corner well in XS of 100MPH.
He entered the sweeping left in the far left of the lane, and I could see him leaning off the bike for all he was worth. He still rapidly and inevitably moved toward the right in the corner. He never managed to pull the bike over very far . . . he should have made this corner easily.
Oh crap! Not another one. Please . . . not another one . . .
I have seen a lot, but you never get used to this (at least, I hope I never am able to get used to this . . .). With crystal clarity and in slow motion I charted his course. The guard rail was directly in his path.
I found myself screaming "STEER GODDAMMIT . . . STEER!" and grabbed a handful of throttle to get to him faster . . . as if there was actually anything I could do . . .
Of course, he could not hear me, and it would not have helped if he could . . . he did not know how to steer . . . and part of the freedom of riding is that you are beyond reach . . . and help . . . while you are actually riding.
As he approached the curb you could see him twisting his body away from the right . . . kind of shying away from the rail . . . as if that could help . . . it still was not too late . . .
And then it was.
Too late.
A couple feet from the curb he actually put his right foot down and tried to push away from the curb . . . at 70mph or so . . .
That kind of flipped him horizontal on the bike.
Then panic set in . . . and maybe that saved his life . . . see, he grabbed a handful of front brake at the same moment the bike impacted the curb . . . the bike hit the guardrail, and flipped over forward, chucking him OVER the railing. He cleared it by about 4 feet! The bike nestled into the rail hard and slid along it for about 50 feet, coming apart is it slid. The red plastic that says Kawasaki is the only remains readily identifiable.
Our lucky hero landed hard on his back in the grass on the other side of the rail, feet sliding first, and somehow promptly sat upright, sliding on his butt. He then slid into the alley and came to a stop against a fence in the grass on the other side of the alley. The then collapsed back onto his back with an obviously unconcious "flop". His helmet hit the concrete alley with a resounding "thunk".
I had already slid "The Dragon" to a stop, and was calling for help on the cell phone. 300-pound biker dudes are not supposed to have to wipe tears from their eyes.
Once I was sure they had the location and situation, I stuffed the phone in a pocket (still on) (they try to keep you on the line forever for some reason) and ran for the downed rider.
Note that you do not normally move victims unless they are in danger where they are. I am first-aid trained and have had some experience working in a trauma center, and normally would not have moved him.
Two things changed my mind, and confronted me with a delimma I that had not occurred to me before regarding the move/no-move decision.
1) He was coming around and was beginning to move his head and limbs.
2) And the delimma . . . He was laying partially in a fire ant mound, and they were beginning to swarm all over him!
I dragged him out of it and onto the concrete, and began frantically brushing the ants off him, concentrating on getting them away from his head. Those of you that have not encountered these things, beware. They are a serious threat. They attack by the millions. They have been known to kill livestock, and people too, particularly if they are prone to reactions to insect bites. They will go for anything, but eyes and other soft tissues are favorite targets.
He has road rash on both butt cheeks, though not as bad as you would think . . . he had a wallet in one back pocket and a checkbook in the other. A little more rash on his back, and right arm, but nothing serious. Torn jeans, shirt, underwear. Cracked helmet.
His hands are pretty scraped up, despite his gloves. And it took him about ten minutes to get his air back.
Me and him both have about the same number of ant bites.
He declined treatment when the ambulance showed up, and used my phone (now blessedly free of a whiny voice saying "Please sir, stay on the line . . .") to call for a ride. I asked him if he was going to learn to steer now, and suggested that this painful lesson was unnecessary, and that an MSF course would be highly advisable.
His response was not polite . . . initially.
Right before his ride picked him up, while we were watching the wrecker driver chuck the three big pieces and numerous smaller parts of his bike onto the flatbed, he asked me if I knew what he had done wrong. A contructive conversation followed.
Maybe he learned a lesson after all.
And my dreams won't be peaceful again for a few days . .
Sigh. I find that I must.
Witnessed another counter-steering (lack of) accident last night.
I was headed east on Campbell from Arapaho when I got passed by a zip-splat. I was probably going 50mph, and he passed me taking half my lane (glad I do not wobble) going at least 75mph.
Now, I ride a Valkyrie, and rode an XS before that. I have lost track of how many hundreds of thousands of miles I have ridden. Suffice it to say that I lost any desire to prove anything long ago, and though I do ride aggressively, I rarely rise to this type of bait. The only inclination I had to keep up with him was the sudden desire to stomp his smart @$$ into the ground for splitting my lane unannounced (you are free to kill yourself, please do not take non-combatants with you).
I know what I am capable of, so basically shook my head and sighed.
This route is a long downhill, then around a sweeping left turn . . . over a bridge, sweep right, and up a hill to a stop light..
REAL speed is not advisable due to some cross-streets and the stop-light, but any competent MC rider should be able to make this corner well in XS of 100MPH.
He entered the sweeping left in the far left of the lane, and I could see him leaning off the bike for all he was worth. He still rapidly and inevitably moved toward the right in the corner. He never managed to pull the bike over very far . . . he should have made this corner easily.
Oh crap! Not another one. Please . . . not another one . . .
I have seen a lot, but you never get used to this (at least, I hope I never am able to get used to this . . .). With crystal clarity and in slow motion I charted his course. The guard rail was directly in his path.
I found myself screaming "STEER GODDAMMIT . . . STEER!" and grabbed a handful of throttle to get to him faster . . . as if there was actually anything I could do . . .
Of course, he could not hear me, and it would not have helped if he could . . . he did not know how to steer . . . and part of the freedom of riding is that you are beyond reach . . . and help . . . while you are actually riding.
As he approached the curb you could see him twisting his body away from the right . . . kind of shying away from the rail . . . as if that could help . . . it still was not too late . . .
And then it was.
Too late.
A couple feet from the curb he actually put his right foot down and tried to push away from the curb . . . at 70mph or so . . .
That kind of flipped him horizontal on the bike.
Then panic set in . . . and maybe that saved his life . . . see, he grabbed a handful of front brake at the same moment the bike impacted the curb . . . the bike hit the guardrail, and flipped over forward, chucking him OVER the railing. He cleared it by about 4 feet! The bike nestled into the rail hard and slid along it for about 50 feet, coming apart is it slid. The red plastic that says Kawasaki is the only remains readily identifiable.
Our lucky hero landed hard on his back in the grass on the other side of the rail, feet sliding first, and somehow promptly sat upright, sliding on his butt. He then slid into the alley and came to a stop against a fence in the grass on the other side of the alley. The then collapsed back onto his back with an obviously unconcious "flop". His helmet hit the concrete alley with a resounding "thunk".
I had already slid "The Dragon" to a stop, and was calling for help on the cell phone. 300-pound biker dudes are not supposed to have to wipe tears from their eyes.
Once I was sure they had the location and situation, I stuffed the phone in a pocket (still on) (they try to keep you on the line forever for some reason) and ran for the downed rider.
Note that you do not normally move victims unless they are in danger where they are. I am first-aid trained and have had some experience working in a trauma center, and normally would not have moved him.
Two things changed my mind, and confronted me with a delimma I that had not occurred to me before regarding the move/no-move decision.
1) He was coming around and was beginning to move his head and limbs.
2) And the delimma . . . He was laying partially in a fire ant mound, and they were beginning to swarm all over him!
I dragged him out of it and onto the concrete, and began frantically brushing the ants off him, concentrating on getting them away from his head. Those of you that have not encountered these things, beware. They are a serious threat. They attack by the millions. They have been known to kill livestock, and people too, particularly if they are prone to reactions to insect bites. They will go for anything, but eyes and other soft tissues are favorite targets.
He has road rash on both butt cheeks, though not as bad as you would think . . . he had a wallet in one back pocket and a checkbook in the other. A little more rash on his back, and right arm, but nothing serious. Torn jeans, shirt, underwear. Cracked helmet.
His hands are pretty scraped up, despite his gloves. And it took him about ten minutes to get his air back.
Me and him both have about the same number of ant bites.
He declined treatment when the ambulance showed up, and used my phone (now blessedly free of a whiny voice saying "Please sir, stay on the line . . .") to call for a ride. I asked him if he was going to learn to steer now, and suggested that this painful lesson was unnecessary, and that an MSF course would be highly advisable.
His response was not polite . . . initially.
Right before his ride picked him up, while we were watching the wrecker driver chuck the three big pieces and numerous smaller parts of his bike onto the flatbed, he asked me if I knew what he had done wrong. A contructive conversation followed.
Maybe he learned a lesson after all.
And my dreams won't be peaceful again for a few days . .
I'm sure you'll still be able to keep ahead of them with the brute force of your XS!
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