Diesel Blues

EAST COAST HAPPINESS,
The Alpha Biker, Preacher Chuck D. Editorial Columns - The Alpha Biker Editorial Column Up until the time I started my bike that afternoon I was fully convinced that I was bulletproof in all aspects of life. I was in control of all outcomes and those outcomes were a direct result of my actions. Basically, there was no one to blame but myself for my successes and failures.

In a very specific part of my life, motorcycling and covering long distances on two wheels in any conditions, I am a master craftsman born of my own self apprenticeship. I had grown confident in my abilities to the point of being cocky… hell… I knocked out over 30 thousand miles last year on a Springer with apes… no windshield… no face shield… and I hit as much snow as I did rain… I am the Alpha Biker for Christ’s sake… I am fuckin’ unstoppable! Can I get a hell yeah?!

Well, as it turns out… not so much…

So I am off on my trip from Cape Cod to Richmond, VA with a stop over in Long Island to broadcast the Biker Lowdown radio show side by side with my bro LJ James. The bike is loaded and I am off. I roll along the back roads of the Cape for a few minutes before coming to the on ramp for the Mid-Cape Highway. I hit the on ramp hard like I have this particular on ramp about 10,000 times before. The corner comes up fast in a decreasing radius fashion getting tighter as you roll through it. The trees along the side of the road limit visibility as I rush into the turn.

Things become a little surreal as the next thing I know my ass is now on the pavement sliding down the on ramp beside my motorcycle. The fucked up thing is I swear we are both picking up speed and still confused as to why the hell my ass is not on the seat of the Springer… as was the intended result. Then we hit the guardrail… slap! … whap!… crack! (with Batman sound effects). The bike hits first and I then pile in behind it. I quickly come to my feet and look behind me to see a large box truck fishtail to a stop a few yards back.

What the fuck is going on here!!!!

I quickly look myself over… no blood, no breaks, but I am covered in a black oily substance that smells like… like… like… fucking diesel fuel!!!! God-fuckin’-damnit! Some asshole left the cap off his left side tank and sloshed diesel all down the tightest portion of the on ramp turn. MOTHERFUCKA!!!!

Instincts kick in. I gotta get the fuck outta here before the cops show! Stuff shit back in the saddlebag, get the bike upright, get it fired… gotta go… gotta go… gotta go. Then it hits me as three guys hop out of the moving truck to help out… 1) I am sober… 2) All my shit is straight… 3) I am not “riding dirty”… 4) I didn’t hurt anybody else or damage anyone else’s shit… and… 5) It wasn’t my fucking fault! I drop the thought processes back to DEFCON 1. Stand down… stand down… no one’s going to jail this afternoon.

Now I am just pissed. What fucking douche bag decided not to notice the 50 gallons of diesel he left on the on ramp. The movers help me pry my bike out from under the guardrail. We talk about my shit luck and how apparently my wreck was so smoothly performed the they thought it looked like something out of the movies. Excellent… fucking excellent… maybe I could be so lucky that caught it on a cell phone and I could be a YouTube star… fuck me. I do appreciate their help though. Picking an 800 pound bike back upright is one thing. Dragging it on it’s side out from under a guardrail by yourself is another.

I limp the bike back home and inspect it for damage. Both the Springer and I have looked better, but it’s not so bad. Life goes on… this time.

This was a humbling experience. While I still don’t doubt my two-wheeled abilities, I now am reminded, yet again, that sometimes luck is more important than skill… and sometimes … that luck is bad… and yes… sometimes it happens to you.


~ THE END ~