True Confessions
As I was shopping for vegetables at the Farmers Market in Raleigh on Wednesday afternoon, I was approached by three gentlemen of about my age.
"Hurt the bike?", one asked.
"Pardon?"
Pointing at my bandaged hand, he enquired again, "Hurt the bike when you wrecked it?"
"Oh, nothing serious. Knocked the signal lights off, bent the gear shift lever and damaged the foot pedal, all on the left side."
"Whatcha riding?"
"Sportster."
"How jado it?"
"Pilot error by an inexperienced rider."
The big court comes to the courthouse in Sparta once a month.(That's the one where Sheriff Taylor gives Deputy Fife a real bullet to keep in his shirt pocket in the event things get out of hand.) Anyhow, I've always wanted to sit in without having been ordered to be there, as an observer, just to see how court works, and this session had a number of interesting felony cases (including first degree murder) on the docket.
So, about 9:00 am I set out for town on Buster. It was a cool morning and I was wearing jeans and a jacket over my shirt.
I took the middle of three routes to town that I've taken many times. I had plenty of time and was in no hurry, just enjoying the ride.
About two thirds of the way into town I was on Wolfe Road, a road connecting Pine Swamp to Grandview. Near the end of the road I had just made a long downhill turn to the right. I seem to remember having passed a car. Anyhow, I had drifted to the right edge of the road near the bottom of the hill. At that point I became increasingly aware of the extent of the upcoming left turn. I made a hard left turn with counter-steering. I'm almost certain, however, that I counter-steered too much. As a result, I remained too near the edge of the road and when I encountered an accumulation of sand at the bottom of the hill, Buster slid out from under me to my right, onto the grass, as I continued my forward motion straight ahead. Here is a video of Wolfe Road made at about the speed I was traveling.
My exit from Buster left my body in a position perpendicular to the direction I was traveling. I remember an in-flight "Gosh Darn" as I approached my landing. My left hand struck first and I recall an "Uhhfff" as my upper left arm absorbed the impact against my left rib cage. My old football instincts took over as I tucked my arms and straightened my legs for the ensuing roll. I could hear my helmet doing its job as I rolled along the side of the road in the grass.
Now, Rummage raced motorcycles when he was in college and broke two arms in a crash. The crash itself did no damage, but he tried to stand up while he was still going about 35 mph. Because folks cannot run that fast, he naturally fell forward, breaking his arms. So it was as I was rolling along the side of the road, I remembered his story and reminded myself to be sure that I had quit moving before trying to stand up.
I came to a stop and layed quietly as I assessed the damage. I had remained fully conscious and could feel and move all my limbs. No bones were poking through anywhere. I felt no pains internally or in any joints. There was no blood to be seen. In fact, the only thing that looked amiss was my left hand. It was sporting several strange little mounds at odd places on it and didn't seem to be fully functional.
What to do? Well, I began collecting objects about me. My watch here, half of my glasses there. Motorcycle parts. Cell phone. Then I stood Buster up on his stand and headed off on foot to Alleghany Memorial Hospital in Sparta. My hand grew in size but never really hurt on the 3.2 mile trek. My ribs only began to show the first pains of trauma while waiting for the ER physician.
X-ray images were captured and the diagnosis of a broken hand and bruised ribs was made. I was given a prescription for Vicodin and sent on my way.
By the time I got back downtown, folks were spilling out of the courthouse for lunch.
Ruined my day.
"Hurt the bike?", one asked.
"Pardon?"
Pointing at my bandaged hand, he enquired again, "Hurt the bike when you wrecked it?"
"Oh, nothing serious. Knocked the signal lights off, bent the gear shift lever and damaged the foot pedal, all on the left side."
"Whatcha riding?"
"Sportster."
"How jado it?"
"Pilot error by an inexperienced rider."
The big court comes to the courthouse in Sparta once a month.(That's the one where Sheriff Taylor gives Deputy Fife a real bullet to keep in his shirt pocket in the event things get out of hand.) Anyhow, I've always wanted to sit in without having been ordered to be there, as an observer, just to see how court works, and this session had a number of interesting felony cases (including first degree murder) on the docket.
So, about 9:00 am I set out for town on Buster. It was a cool morning and I was wearing jeans and a jacket over my shirt.
I took the middle of three routes to town that I've taken many times. I had plenty of time and was in no hurry, just enjoying the ride.
About two thirds of the way into town I was on Wolfe Road, a road connecting Pine Swamp to Grandview. Near the end of the road I had just made a long downhill turn to the right. I seem to remember having passed a car. Anyhow, I had drifted to the right edge of the road near the bottom of the hill. At that point I became increasingly aware of the extent of the upcoming left turn. I made a hard left turn with counter-steering. I'm almost certain, however, that I counter-steered too much. As a result, I remained too near the edge of the road and when I encountered an accumulation of sand at the bottom of the hill, Buster slid out from under me to my right, onto the grass, as I continued my forward motion straight ahead. Here is a video of Wolfe Road made at about the speed I was traveling.
My exit from Buster left my body in a position perpendicular to the direction I was traveling. I remember an in-flight "Gosh Darn" as I approached my landing. My left hand struck first and I recall an "Uhhfff" as my upper left arm absorbed the impact against my left rib cage. My old football instincts took over as I tucked my arms and straightened my legs for the ensuing roll. I could hear my helmet doing its job as I rolled along the side of the road in the grass.
Now, Rummage raced motorcycles when he was in college and broke two arms in a crash. The crash itself did no damage, but he tried to stand up while he was still going about 35 mph. Because folks cannot run that fast, he naturally fell forward, breaking his arms. So it was as I was rolling along the side of the road, I remembered his story and reminded myself to be sure that I had quit moving before trying to stand up.
I came to a stop and layed quietly as I assessed the damage. I had remained fully conscious and could feel and move all my limbs. No bones were poking through anywhere. I felt no pains internally or in any joints. There was no blood to be seen. In fact, the only thing that looked amiss was my left hand. It was sporting several strange little mounds at odd places on it and didn't seem to be fully functional.
What to do? Well, I began collecting objects about me. My watch here, half of my glasses there. Motorcycle parts. Cell phone. Then I stood Buster up on his stand and headed off on foot to Alleghany Memorial Hospital in Sparta. My hand grew in size but never really hurt on the 3.2 mile trek. My ribs only began to show the first pains of trauma while waiting for the ER physician.
X-ray images were captured and the diagnosis of a broken hand and bruised ribs was made. I was given a prescription for Vicodin and sent on my way.
By the time I got back downtown, folks were spilling out of the courthouse for lunch.
Ruined my day.
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