I know you're out there. I dream of you.
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You remember: you were in the slowest lane on the bay bridge that day, and I was in the lane next to you. I was cruising along, listening to my favorite song, when you decided you wanted to be in my space. Now, not that I blame you for wanting to be in my space per se, as my space is always a good place to be, but had you any training in basic physics you would have known that two bodies cannot occupy the same space at the same time. Where you so attracted to me that you just had to get closer?
Since I HAVE had basic physics, I opted to avoid riding my Harley up the tail pipe of your little black bomb as you changed lanes right in front of me. I braked hard. Luckily for me, you saw me in your rear view mirror, and graciously took off at full power to allow my bike and I enough room in the lane to complete our manuever. I'm sure you saw my bike go down at at 54 miles per hour, and then flip over, throwing me up and over the heads of passing cars and into the space you had kindly just vacated for me...
It was an interesting sensation...watching you speed away...as... I ... flew ... through ...the air...only to land...in the second lane behind you...and roll like a pencil for 150 feet...while my bike slid behind me, grinding all the metal off on one side until it looked like my bike had been sliced by some cosmic laser. My leather armor was ground down to the kevlar, and my helmet made the most pecular ka-thunk-ka-thunk-ka-thunk as it rolled down the freeway, with me still strapped into it.
And yes, I remained conscious the whole time as my left wrist shattered in 6 places and my toes broke from rolling like a pencil at (an estimated) 47 miles per hour. Laying there, stunnned, I thought of you as I looked up at the bay bridge cables suspended in the sky...Best yet was standing up in the middle of the commute, dizzy and bloodied, staring down 6 lanes of astounded traffic, and walking back into the cars try to find my bike. (Friends sent me email later, telling me I had been reported as dead...I bet that was exciting for you, wasn't it?) I was especially touched by the woman who, as I walked past her car, dazed, called out that I should get to the side of the road as I was slowing down traffic (!). The highlight of my morning was looking at her, calmly thanking her for her concern (I believe I said something to the effect of "Thank you princess, I'll try to remember that..."), and promising not to get too much blood all over her nice, new car (Does blood take the paint off cars, the way eggs do? I never did find out...)
Ah yes, you are indelibly imprinted in my memory. And I bet you are wondering to yourself - did she get my license plate number? Will the highway patrol motorcycle cops who took off after the black bomb a few minutes later show up at my door late one night, and cart me off? You'll just never know will you...or, maybe you will.
So now it's been 5 weeks, tomorrow. My bike will be out of the shop on Thursday. I took my cast off this weekend myself, to ensure I would have enough grip strength to squeeze the clutch lever when I pick up my bike, and come looking for you.
Yes, I AM watching for you. And so are all the motorcycle cops on the bay bridge. And we WILL find you. Little. Black. Honda. Watch in your rear view mirrow for the flash of that blue Harley.
PS: In contrast - I want to thank the lady who was behind me when I took the dive - not only did she stop in the lane behind me, she called in the accident, and stayed parked behind my bike protecting it until the CHP and I could pick it up, then went on her way after having saved my bike from even more damage without even waiting for me to thank her. Oh, and also to that other motorcyclist on the race bike who came up and offered to help me...you both ROCK! I am in your debt!
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*laughing wildly* Are you SURE you want to contact me?