Motorcycles Are Dangerous, Pts III-V
OK, I have to take a break from the chronological blog for a moment. Right now I'm back at Watson Lake after a very sobering couple of days of riding back south.
There is a very nasty construction site just outside of Haines Junction that I had to go through (again) yesterday. When I first passed through it, I hardly enjoyed it, but it was fairly dry and tolerable. Now, however, since it NEVER STOPS RAINING, it was a mess. When I pulled up to the Flag Woman (more on that phenomenon later), she stopped me and looked concerned.
"It's a real mess up there. You're gonna have to go real slow and be real careful."
Any mud? For me it is all about the mud - there's not much you can do on a streetbike if you hit heavy mud. You might as well just get off the bike and kick it over to save yourself from injury - the results to the bike will likely be the same.
"Oh, yeah - it gets really bad it some spots. We've had guys wiping out in it all week."
Lovely.
"Yeah, we had one guy get a broken arm yesterday, another guy broke his leg the day before...it's a mess, so be real careful."
Fuck. Fuckity fuck.
Well, in the end I made it through OK. I had the presence of mind to drop the air pressure in my tires, and I think that made a huge difference (thanks again for bringing the air compressor to Seattle, Dad, and for attaching the alligator clips. I owe you a lawn mowing or two). I did still almost dump it a couple of times, and the DL and I were COVERED in mud by the end (remember that mud wrestling scene in "Stripes"? That was me yesterday). But we made it through and carried on in the unending rain to Whitehorse.
Today was very depressing. When I left Whitehorse, it was sunny and warm and I was in a good mood (the rain makes me really, really depressed) when I hit the road. Well, naturally that couldn't last, and before I'd gone 100 miles I was soaked again. After I'd gone about 200 miles, I stopped into a little roadside diner/gas station/motel/bar/everythingrolledintooneplace for some hot coffee and soup. Between the combination of the unending rain and the cold temperatures, I really needed it. The break did me good, and I was back on the road about a half an hour later. I was ready to ride the next 85 or so miles to Watson Lake, where I would make a decision about whether to press on or have yet another light mileage day because of the shitty weather.
Once I'd gone about 20 miles, traffic came to a halt, with RVs and semi-trucks lined up as far as the eye could see. I rolled to a stop and shut off my engine and tried to stay warm. A moment later, the driver of the RV in front of me came by and asked if I knew what was up. Since I had no idea, he went to ask the driver of the semi behind me. He came back a few minutes later and told me that there had been a bad accident. A motorcycle had collided head-on with a truck up the road, and the biker was killed instantly.
"Yeah, he was probably going too fast and forgot about how slippery these roads get and became a hood ornament for that truck." I almost got off the bike and beat the motherfucker right there. How DARE you talk about one of my brothers like that? This guy just DIED, you stupid redneck fuckwad, and you're calling him a hood ornament? And who the fuck knows what happened - maybe the truck crossed the centerline, you piece of shit.
I might have waved to this guy earlier today. Now he was dead.
Actually, if I hadn't stopped off for soup back there to warm up, that could be me. He likely passed through right around when I turned off. Who knows - maybe it was just his time, maybe Death was waiting in that curve and wasn't leaving without a biker today.
A few minutes later (after the helicopter carrying the corpse passed overhead), traffic started slowly moving. The trucker I was talking with recommended I cut in front of everyone and go to the front of the line. "Hell, I'd do it if I wuz on a bike," he drawled.
I started my engine and cut into the oncoming traffic lane (they weren't letting opposing traffic through yet, so I was safe) and passed about 100 RVs, trucks, and cars. I cut back into the line just by the accident scene, and what I saw will haunt me for a long time. The pickup truck was parked on the other side of the road and the front end was mashed in pretty badly. On the side of the road in my lane was a demolished silver Harley, the front end just destroyed. Then I saw a guy from a road crew with a shovel throwing dirt on the fluids in the road. I'm so very glad that there was already enough dirt there so I couldn't see what those fluids were.
Revisiting this now, I'm about to cry. I'm thinking of that silver Harley. Was it a birthday present from his wife? A little mid-life crisis thing he'd dreamed about for years? I just imagine how the guy must have felt the first time he got to ride that bike, how he felt being on the Alaskan Highway on what may have been a "dream ride" like mine, and then I think about the terror he went through in that split second before he hit the truck when he must have known that everything - everything - was over for him.
Yes, motorcycles are dangerous.
Yet tomorrow, I have to get back on the DL and ride in the coldest, wettest weather yet (I actually had to stop about 15 miles from Watson Lake today because I could no longer feel my fingers or toes and I'll be damned if I'm gonna lose a digit because IT NEVER STOPS RAINING UP HERE). I also have to go through one of the worst construction zones on the Alaskan Highway, a section that I hated when it was dry and will be just awful now because of the rain.
I'm honestly getting a little tired of this. I really am looking forward to getting home, but I have to make it through tomorrow first.
Wish me luck.
There is a very nasty construction site just outside of Haines Junction that I had to go through (again) yesterday. When I first passed through it, I hardly enjoyed it, but it was fairly dry and tolerable. Now, however, since it NEVER STOPS RAINING, it was a mess. When I pulled up to the Flag Woman (more on that phenomenon later), she stopped me and looked concerned.
"It's a real mess up there. You're gonna have to go real slow and be real careful."
Any mud? For me it is all about the mud - there's not much you can do on a streetbike if you hit heavy mud. You might as well just get off the bike and kick it over to save yourself from injury - the results to the bike will likely be the same.
"Oh, yeah - it gets really bad it some spots. We've had guys wiping out in it all week."
Lovely.
"Yeah, we had one guy get a broken arm yesterday, another guy broke his leg the day before...it's a mess, so be real careful."
Fuck. Fuckity fuck.
Well, in the end I made it through OK. I had the presence of mind to drop the air pressure in my tires, and I think that made a huge difference (thanks again for bringing the air compressor to Seattle, Dad, and for attaching the alligator clips. I owe you a lawn mowing or two). I did still almost dump it a couple of times, and the DL and I were COVERED in mud by the end (remember that mud wrestling scene in "Stripes"? That was me yesterday). But we made it through and carried on in the unending rain to Whitehorse.
Today was very depressing. When I left Whitehorse, it was sunny and warm and I was in a good mood (the rain makes me really, really depressed) when I hit the road. Well, naturally that couldn't last, and before I'd gone 100 miles I was soaked again. After I'd gone about 200 miles, I stopped into a little roadside diner/gas station/motel/bar/everythingrolledintooneplace for some hot coffee and soup. Between the combination of the unending rain and the cold temperatures, I really needed it. The break did me good, and I was back on the road about a half an hour later. I was ready to ride the next 85 or so miles to Watson Lake, where I would make a decision about whether to press on or have yet another light mileage day because of the shitty weather.
Once I'd gone about 20 miles, traffic came to a halt, with RVs and semi-trucks lined up as far as the eye could see. I rolled to a stop and shut off my engine and tried to stay warm. A moment later, the driver of the RV in front of me came by and asked if I knew what was up. Since I had no idea, he went to ask the driver of the semi behind me. He came back a few minutes later and told me that there had been a bad accident. A motorcycle had collided head-on with a truck up the road, and the biker was killed instantly.
"Yeah, he was probably going too fast and forgot about how slippery these roads get and became a hood ornament for that truck." I almost got off the bike and beat the motherfucker right there. How DARE you talk about one of my brothers like that? This guy just DIED, you stupid redneck fuckwad, and you're calling him a hood ornament? And who the fuck knows what happened - maybe the truck crossed the centerline, you piece of shit.
I might have waved to this guy earlier today. Now he was dead.
Actually, if I hadn't stopped off for soup back there to warm up, that could be me. He likely passed through right around when I turned off. Who knows - maybe it was just his time, maybe Death was waiting in that curve and wasn't leaving without a biker today.
A few minutes later (after the helicopter carrying the corpse passed overhead), traffic started slowly moving. The trucker I was talking with recommended I cut in front of everyone and go to the front of the line. "Hell, I'd do it if I wuz on a bike," he drawled.
I started my engine and cut into the oncoming traffic lane (they weren't letting opposing traffic through yet, so I was safe) and passed about 100 RVs, trucks, and cars. I cut back into the line just by the accident scene, and what I saw will haunt me for a long time. The pickup truck was parked on the other side of the road and the front end was mashed in pretty badly. On the side of the road in my lane was a demolished silver Harley, the front end just destroyed. Then I saw a guy from a road crew with a shovel throwing dirt on the fluids in the road. I'm so very glad that there was already enough dirt there so I couldn't see what those fluids were.
Revisiting this now, I'm about to cry. I'm thinking of that silver Harley. Was it a birthday present from his wife? A little mid-life crisis thing he'd dreamed about for years? I just imagine how the guy must have felt the first time he got to ride that bike, how he felt being on the Alaskan Highway on what may have been a "dream ride" like mine, and then I think about the terror he went through in that split second before he hit the truck when he must have known that everything - everything - was over for him.
Yes, motorcycles are dangerous.
Yet tomorrow, I have to get back on the DL and ride in the coldest, wettest weather yet (I actually had to stop about 15 miles from Watson Lake today because I could no longer feel my fingers or toes and I'll be damned if I'm gonna lose a digit because IT NEVER STOPS RAINING UP HERE). I also have to go through one of the worst construction zones on the Alaskan Highway, a section that I hated when it was dry and will be just awful now because of the rain.
I'm honestly getting a little tired of this. I really am looking forward to getting home, but I have to make it through tomorrow first.
Wish me luck.
posted by Mathew Elsner at 2:12 AM
6 Comments:
OK that is enough of this nonsense. You have had your fun. I am sure that Dr. A, Ph-De-er., is really happy while reading this stuff about dead bikers. I certainly am. Dumbass. Get a ride with FOUR wheels and a roof. And a nice stereo and climate control. Hopefully, that won't tip over and send you flying whenever you hit a patch of mud. Jackass. Back to Brooklyn with your ass. Back to your imagined speed race over the 59th street bridge. At least that is paved. Well, most of it. Don't argue with me. Just do as I say. Now. Really. Jackass.
Yo Matt,
ignore that jackass bmoney and finish the ride you've been dreaming of. Just do it safely, however it needs to be done, and get your ass back to Brooklyn so we can fucking have a beer and celebrate your god damn amazing trek! Just because he's too much of a pussy to do cross-country without a roof over his head doesn't mean shit. I will personally whip his ass for being such a bitch, when he finally gets it out of that bumfuck hicktown backwater.
Hey, bmoney, your an asshole. Your kind don't care how dependent you make us on foreign oil as long as you get your spoiled way. To hell with everybody else.
Your ID says it all, you gutless bitch.
Your lack of compassion is also the cause of a lot of problems in this world. Just so your cowardly ass get what it wants.
Jackass? B you hurt my feelings...and schwartzy-boy....ohhh schwartzy, how you make me long for patience. Alas, I have none. So, go take an amoco unleaded ultimate pump, stick it in your big fucking mouth, and suck on it. How is that for compassion, douche? And you missed the boat a bit on me being the cause of all the world's problems...I only WISH I was. But thanks anyway. Good luck with the psychic thing schwartzy...you are 0 for 1 so far. Get back on your training wheeled schwinn and go away.
Everyone-
OK, kids, shows over, nothing to see here...
While I definitely appreciate differet opinions (and the occasional outrageous insultfest), I'd prefer to keep this blog about bikes, riding bikes, and, in particular, my kick-ass ride. If you wanna talk about something else like oil politics (a fave of mine) or whether someone is a jerk or what kind of panties Paris Hilton wears (none, as far as I know), go to www.blogger.com and you can rant to your heart's content.
Ride One!
Don't give up what you got going. I have dreams of traveling out myself one day.
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