Motorcycles and Angels?: The Crash
About
a
month
later,
I
found
out
I
needed
to
have
my
tonsils
removed
so
I
decided
to
fly
back
home
for
the
operation.
My
brother
had
just
bought
a
brand
new
‘07
Suzuki
SV1000,
so
I
figured
it’d
be
a
great
excuse
to
go
home
and
check
out
his
new
toy.
I
got
back
the
day
before
my
operation,
so
he
and
I
could
spend
the
day
riding.
He
came
over
in
the
morning
and
we
suited
up—I
had
my
armored
jacket,
gloves
and
helmet,
but
left
my
boots
back
in
Chicago—I
hopped
on
his
bike
and
he
took
my
father’s
Harley
Soft
Tail.
We
started
off
conservatively,
but
I
began
to
push
the
pace
as
I
grew
more
confident
on
his
wheels.
We
rode
aggressively
but
we
were
careful
not
to
cross
over
the
line
into
recklessness.
His
bike
was
fun
but
I
wasn’t
all
that
impressed.
It
wasn’t
sluggish
but
it
felt
heavy
while
cornering
and
its
V-Twin
engine
meant
it
had
low
end
grunt,
but
the
torque
quickly
faded
as
the
RPMs
increased.
After
an
hour
or
so
we
took
a
break
from
the
sun’s
heat
and
discussed
our
plan.
We
were
going
to
head
south
towards
my
Mom’s
house
to
visit
and
have
some
soft
drinks,
it
sounded
good
to
both
of
us.
My
brother
took
the
lead
and
we
started
down
the
hill
at
a
brisk
pace.
As
we
approached
a
bend
in
the
road,
traveling
at
around
35mph,
I
noted
two
side
streets
on
the
left
side
with
a
sedan
at
the
furthest
waiting
to
make
a
left
hand
turn.
I
flashed
my
high-beams
a
few
times
to
make
sure
she
saw
us
and
we
moved
to
the
outside
of
the
lane
to
prep
for
our
turn.
My
brother
passed
her,
and
entered
the
turn.
As
I
began
to
pass
her
I
felt
a
strange
prickling
on
my
neck—I
glanced
at
my
left
mirror
on
impulse
and
my
eyes
went
wide
with
shock.
I
saw
the
green
paint
of
her
car
and
it
knew
it
was
way
too
close.
Suddenly
it
felt
like
a
commuter
train
smashed
into
the
rear
portion
of
my
bike,
and
everything
started
to
move
very
slowly.
I
felt
the
rear
wheel
yaw
out
hard
to
my
right;
I
pushed
the
right
handle
bar
with
all
my
strength
in
a
futile
effort
to
keep
the
bike
upright.
But
I
knew
it
wasn’t
going
to
recover.
The
bike
was
in
major
structural
trouble
but
despite
that,
in
some
kind
of
sick
joke,
the
rear
tire
somehow
managed
to
regain
traction
and
began
what’s
called
a
high
side
crash.
The
dynamics
of
the
crash
are
when
the
rear
wheel
slides
and
then
suddenly
grips
again,
what
you
essentially
have
is
a
catapult
effect—the
bike
goes
end
over
end
and
the
rider
is
launched
off
the
saddle
like
a
rag
doll.
As
I
flew
over
the
handlebars,
my
left
thigh
jammed
into
the
windshield,
lacerating
it
through
my
jeans
sending
me
into
a
spin.
I
smashed
into
the
guardrail—with
the
bike
in
hot
pursuit—like
a
bat
out
of
hell;
the
force
was
so
intense
that
I
can’t
even
describe
it
with
words.
Oddly
enough
as
I
hit
the
rail,
I
clearly
remember
smelling
the
burned
rubber
mixed
with
asphalt,
there
was
no
pain
at
that
point
just
the
unsettling
sensation
of
air
being
blasted
out
of
my
lungs.
It
must
have
been
an
awful
sight
to
see.
I
hit
the
rail
perpendicular
with
my
hip,
my
body
twisted
around
and
over
the
guard
rail,
when
I finally
stopped
rolling I
was nearly
10
feet
from
the
road.
My
laced
shoes
were
thrown
from
my
feet,
one
of
which
couldn’t
be
found.
Once
I
hit
the
ground
I
remember
my
first
thoughts
as
clear
as
day.
“Oh
my
God
is
my
back
okay?”
and
then
more
morbidly
“God,
don’t
let
me
die
in
front
of
my
brother.” In
a
panicked
moment,
I
couldn’t
breath.
I
forced
myself
to
relax
and
the
oxygen
started
to
flow
again.
I
flexed
my
fingers
and
toes,
everything
seemed
to
move
but
I
was
hurting
all
over.
My
arm
felt
like
it
was
broken
and
I
didn’t
dare
try
to
move,
despite
the
fact
I
landed
in
a
batch
of
thorn
bushes.
My
brother,
who
heard
everything
happen
behind
him,
dumped
his
bike
and
ran
over
to
where
I
lay.
The
first
thing
I
said
was,
“Call
911,
and
make
sure
that
chick
doesn’t
get
away.”
He
was
relived
I
was
still
alive.
The
EMTs
were
on
scene
within
minutes
and
they
rushed
me
to
the
hospital.
I
checked
out
well—luckily
my
head,
neck
and
spine
hadn’t
received
any
damage.
I
ended
up
breaking
two
fingers
and
my
big
toe,
there
was
a
puncture
wound
on
my
right
hip
plus
some
road
rash
and
superficial
flesh
wounds
on
my
feet.
My
elbow
was
badly
bruised
and
nearly
broken,
but
the
doctors
credited
my
jacket
for
absorbing
enough
of
the
blow
to keep
it
in
tact (Cortech
GX
Air,
in
case
anyone
is
shopping
around).
When
they
finally
put
me
in
the
recovery
room,
my
whole
family
was
waiting
for
me.
I
had
an
idea
of
what
happened
but
I
asked
my
brother
what
he
saw.
He
told
me
the
woman
pulled
out
too
early,
clipped
my
rear
wheel
and
I
went
sailing
into
the
guard
rail.
I
blinked.
I
couldn’t
believe
it.
That’s
almost
exactly
how
my
drifter
friend
went
down
in
his
accident.
I
was
speechless.
I
don’t
think
I
could
have
done
anything
to
avoid
the
accident,
save
maybe
quitting
riding
altogether,
but
the
fact
that
this
was
foretold
a
month
prior
sends
shivers
of
uncertainty
into
my
belief
system.
I
suppose
this
could
be
a
huge
coincidence,
but
my
gut
tells
me
something
else
is
at
work
here.
I
don’t
know
exactly
what
that
is,
but
maybe
there
is
something
larger
at
work
in
this
world.
I’ve
thought
multiple
times
that
I’d
figured
out
the
answers,
but
that
always
seems
to
be
disproved
one
way
or
another.
Who
knows
what
all
of
this
means?
Maybe
the
choice
to
believe
in
something
doesn’t
come
from
you
head,
but
your
gut?
Honestly,
I
don’t
know.
Maybe
I’m
just
being
stubborn
but
what
I
do
know
is
I
clearly
don’t
have
the
answer
to
anything
involving
a
higher
power,
or
lack
there
of.
But
I’m
sure
with
time
I’ll
figure
it
out.
What
I
do
know
is,
I
was
very,
very
lucky
to
walk
away
from
that
mess.
If
I
hadn’t
spun
off
the
windshield
and
hit
the
guardrail
the
way
that
I
did,
I
could
have
had
massive soft
tissue
damage and
been
in
a
world
of
hurt.
Not
to
mention
the
flying
450
pound
bike,
that
missed
me
by
mere
feet.
It’s
a
miracle
I
made
it
out
of
that
with
only
three
broken
digits.
My
brother’s
brand
new
bike
was
totaled
in
the
wreck.
He
had
full
coverage
on
the
motorcycle,
but
since
he
wasn’t
riding
it
at
the
time
of
the
accident
he
only
received
about
half
of
the
money
he
was
due.
He
hasn’t
replaced
it
yet.
And
to
the
dismay
of
my
family,
I’m
still
riding.
It’s
more
of
a
practical
decision
than
anything
else.
I
don’t
have
the
money
for
a
car,
and
I
need
a
way
to
get
to
work
and
class.
The
one
thing
that’s
really
changed
however
is
that
I
don’t
joy
ride
anymore,
when
I’m
on
that
bike
it’s
all
business.
Once
I
graduate
and
start
making
better
money,
I’ll
with
out
a
doubt
invest
in
a
car.
Anyway,
it’s
kind
of
a
surreal
story
so
I
thought
I’d
share
it
with
you
guys.
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