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I paid $600 for that cute red Suzuki 500 and a helmet in August 1985. Don't, don't... don't you, forget about me. That $600 bought me a lot of getting around from August through April of 1986. Just 9 short months. 9 months of riding my first real girlfriend back to her group home after spending the night with me, getting me back home just in time to watch coverage of the Challenger exploding over Florida, white plumes billowing over and over again all day. 9 months of riding through the roughest weather to my job at the bar on Thursday evenings. Nearly blown over on Pine Street by a cross wind wailing down 3rd Avenue. I laid it down on black ice with a cute girl on the back and I still have two marks on my shin all these years later. That bike was just big enough to take on the freeway, but the wheels wobbling on the bridge decks made me think that longer alternate routs weren't that bad after all.
Two weeks after I bought it, in the middle of August, an early morning rain shower had slicked the road just right. In that short time it had become my habit to take my helmet off once I'd left the navy base where I was living. But looking at the morning sun glinting off the wet road, rainbows of summer oil pooling in the pock marked asphalt, this time I had second thoughts and kept going. Driving on in the humid morning, a half mile down the road I came around a bend to find 3 cars stopped on an overpass where there was no light or stop sign. A driver had stopped, perhaps confused by the on and off ramps of the freeway below. To avoid a collision I stomped my right foot onto the brake, which on a motorcycle, is the rear brake, the brake on the wheel with the least traction. The last thing I remember is falling backwards, arms outstretched, sky swinging into view. For that split second of eternity I was weightless.
I woke to find someone pulling on my arm. I was flat on my back but my arm was being pulled with such force that my shoulder shrugged off the road in rhythm to the tugging. At first I thought, "what day is it?" Maybe it was Friday, but maybe it was Sunday, Friday? Sunday? Friday? Sunday? Panic! Amnesia? What's my name? Tons of information about me, my name, my address, my whole life, rushed into the void that time had left, but I still didn't know what day it was. But that didn't matter so much. After all, that's what they make calendars for. Finally I focused on the man still pulling on my arm. I let him pull me to my feet, and looking around, I saw several cars had pulled over, drivers staring at me. My face became a furnace, glowing down my neck. Shame sered my cheeks, weighed on my eyelids, I had lost control. Helplessness is a bed of broken glass for me. Someone called out "Are you OK?" Seriously. Are you going to take the word of the person who was knocked out? "Uh, yeah, I'm fine." I gave a half hearted wave, the reluctant celebrity. I had no idea how long I'd been unconcsious on the road. And I was too ashamed to ask. No one had cell phones, no one had called for help. The man who'd pulled me up helped me put my bike back on its wheels. It wouldn't start of course, no gas in the carburator. I walked it home, couldn't get away from the scene of my ignominy quickly enough.
I slowly pushed my bike the mile back to my house, dizzy, mind racing, heart pumping the whole way. The rest of that day I was scared to death I would die in my sleep. I knew just about that much about concussion. For two weeks I woke up with the spins, no matter where I slept. About a week after, I was changing the oil in the motorcycle with the help of a friend in his back yard. He showed me where the plug unscrewed so I could do it by myself next time. I bent over to look and the grass flew up and hit me in the face. It took a bit to realize I had fallen over as soon as I my head and heart had aligned. 2 weeks after, I went to a party at a friend's and 1/2 a glass of wine did horrible, unspeakable things to me.
Before the concussion I had a nearly photographic memory. The injury shaved a point or two off my average. To this day I have regular word finding problems. I attribute this to the injury, though most people don't notice and it could be the stress of having a brain too full of the come and go of daily life and work.
Over time the cost of maintenance--oil changes, front forks, tires, new tabs, not to mention the motorcycle endorsement I never bought--all of this added up to a charge I could not afford to pay. $600 bought a lot of good times and getting around, wind in my hair, bugs in my teeth, riding friends around Volunteer Park. It also bought a ride to the end of the road I was ready to take.
Two weeks after I bought it, in the middle of August, an early morning rain shower had slicked the road just right. In that short time it had become my habit to take my helmet off once I'd left the navy base where I was living. But looking at the morning sun glinting off the wet road, rainbows of summer oil pooling in the pock marked asphalt, this time I had second thoughts and kept going. Driving on in the humid morning, a half mile down the road I came around a bend to find 3 cars stopped on an overpass where there was no light or stop sign. A driver had stopped, perhaps confused by the on and off ramps of the freeway below. To avoid a collision I stomped my right foot onto the brake, which on a motorcycle, is the rear brake, the brake on the wheel with the least traction. The last thing I remember is falling backwards, arms outstretched, sky swinging into view. For that split second of eternity I was weightless.
I woke to find someone pulling on my arm. I was flat on my back but my arm was being pulled with such force that my shoulder shrugged off the road in rhythm to the tugging. At first I thought, "what day is it?" Maybe it was Friday, but maybe it was Sunday, Friday? Sunday? Friday? Sunday? Panic! Amnesia? What's my name? Tons of information about me, my name, my address, my whole life, rushed into the void that time had left, but I still didn't know what day it was. But that didn't matter so much. After all, that's what they make calendars for. Finally I focused on the man still pulling on my arm. I let him pull me to my feet, and looking around, I saw several cars had pulled over, drivers staring at me. My face became a furnace, glowing down my neck. Shame sered my cheeks, weighed on my eyelids, I had lost control. Helplessness is a bed of broken glass for me. Someone called out "Are you OK?" Seriously. Are you going to take the word of the person who was knocked out? "Uh, yeah, I'm fine." I gave a half hearted wave, the reluctant celebrity. I had no idea how long I'd been unconcsious on the road. And I was too ashamed to ask. No one had cell phones, no one had called for help. The man who'd pulled me up helped me put my bike back on its wheels. It wouldn't start of course, no gas in the carburator. I walked it home, couldn't get away from the scene of my ignominy quickly enough.
I slowly pushed my bike the mile back to my house, dizzy, mind racing, heart pumping the whole way. The rest of that day I was scared to death I would die in my sleep. I knew just about that much about concussion. For two weeks I woke up with the spins, no matter where I slept. About a week after, I was changing the oil in the motorcycle with the help of a friend in his back yard. He showed me where the plug unscrewed so I could do it by myself next time. I bent over to look and the grass flew up and hit me in the face. It took a bit to realize I had fallen over as soon as I my head and heart had aligned. 2 weeks after, I went to a party at a friend's and 1/2 a glass of wine did horrible, unspeakable things to me.
Before the concussion I had a nearly photographic memory. The injury shaved a point or two off my average. To this day I have regular word finding problems. I attribute this to the injury, though most people don't notice and it could be the stress of having a brain too full of the come and go of daily life and work.
Over time the cost of maintenance--oil changes, front forks, tires, new tabs, not to mention the motorcycle endorsement I never bought--all of this added up to a charge I could not afford to pay. $600 bought a lot of good times and getting around, wind in my hair, bugs in my teeth, riding friends around Volunteer Park. It also bought a ride to the end of the road I was ready to take.
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