High-Sided

So, where shall I begin?

Ah yes. Would you like to know how it feels to be in a motorcycle accident?

Ok, Let us all recount our worst, most painful, scariest automobile incident.

Got it? Good.

I want you to imagine driving thirty miles-per-hour down the road, and seeing someone pull out in front of you. What do you do? You slam on your brakes. Perhaps your car skids, perhaps not.

Remember the feeling in your arms? When you hit the brake pedal, you also tensed the muscles in your arms and shoulders...bracing for impact, so to speak.

Now, remember the moment of impact.

The JOLT.

The sudden STOP.

The instant PAIN in your neck.

The ANGER.

Now, remember looking at your car and seeing the damage. Remember the SADNESS.

Remember the AMBULANCE.

Remember seeing the WRECKAGE being towed away.

Ok, with me still? Grand.

Imagine being in a car with no doors, roof, windshield, or floorboards...or seat belts.

Imagine driving this car at thirty miles-per-hour, when someone pulls out in front of you.

You slam on your breaks, but the car not only skids, but it fish-tails. You tense your arms and try to shield yourself from the impact, but alas...

JOLT.

Because you don't have seat belts, you don't STOP.

Your body keeps moving, and eventually you hit the ground. Safety gear or no, you still feel PAIN. You are still alive

The ANGER you feel toward the driver of that car is palpable. Drivers of cars never seem to notice the motorcyclists, until it is too late.

The police officers try to convince you to get on the AMBULANCE...that the medics will help you. Believe me, they will try, and they just might make you feel better for a while. But the pain will come back.

Finally, you look at the WRECKAGE of your bike. Irreparable damage. the pieces of your motorcycle are scattered in the roadway, occasionally being driven over by passersby.

Now you don't have a mode of transportation. You can neither go forward nor back, except...on your own two feet.

And now you know what it feels like to be in a motorcycle accident.

Along those same lines, a parable:

High-Sided

He was conflicted...

He hadn't been on the bike in about a week. He felt like a ride.

But, something kept pulling at him, something pressing, upon which he could not put his finger.

Perhaps, it was the cool weather...it was December, after all, and even though this is Texas, it still was rather cold.

He put on his riding jacket and boots...and walked out to the bike.

"No, I'm just gonna drive."

He walks to the truck, and backs out of the driveway. As he is departing, he glances at his bike...and hesitates.

Before he realizes what he is doing, he pulls back into the driveway and parks the truck. He climbs out, and walks over to the bike and mounts up. The strange feeling is still present, but this is going to be a fun party and he wants to enjoy every moment of the night.

Let's Ride!

Turning onto the main thoroughfare, he accelerates to, oh about thirty miles-per-hour.

Then, as if yanked by some invisible rope, the mustang darts across three lanes and completely blocks his route.

He clutches (54321!) while hammering the front break, and easing the back.

There is no hope for evasive maneuvering. He is going to impact.

As he is about to impact, the image of his girlfriend comes to his mind.

Oh, shit. This is it...

JOLT. The bike comes to a sudden STOP.

But, our rider still goes. He grips the handlebars and the inertia force of his pulling on the bars, actually lifts the rear wheel of the bike off the ground, before smashing back down. He doesn't let go, and comes back down on the ground, getting his leg caught under the high side of the bike, as it topples. He feels the PAIN in his leg and his hands.

He is filled with ANGER at the other driver.

He is filled with SADNESS that his bike is destroyed. But he is alive.

The AMBULANCE comes and tells him what he needs to do. "Go to the hospital!"

All he can see is the WRECKAGE, being rolled over and over again by passersby.

I've felt the jolt...felt everything stop. I feel the pain, anger, and sadness.

I do need help, but nothing seems to help...and I'm left with the wreckage.

A Fool's Errand

Welcome.

I do not expect you to read this, for all I required was a place to write...and an audience is neither a requirement, nor a request. However, seeing that you have stumbled upon this journal, permit me, as a gesture of decency, to welcome you.

Let's begin.