Yesterday was kind of rough but made me feel alive. Sitting at home was getting to me so I took off on the bike to explore new roads. Well, technically not new because I’ve been down them before in a car but new to the bike. I found some very twisty ones through groves of knurled oaks, sunlight dappling the bumpy pavement, cows getting plump off of vivid green grasses. Very serene and peaceful as I zipped by. At the end of one of these roads I found a bridge across which was one of the entrances to the Henry Coe Park. A locked gate secured the rest of the way so I paused and walked around for a bit. A small stream gurgled under the bridge and down the embankment from the road I could see a few portions that will be good swimming holes in the summer. There were a few cars parked here as well but I saw and heard no one except the buzz of insects and chatter of birds. Winds caused the trees to rustle and rub dryly on each other.
Cautiously speeding back the way I came I took another fork and found myself in a shallow valley on a road hugging the sides of the hills. More black and brown shaggy cows dotted the fields and barns rose up behind trees. Narrow as the road was I stayed sharp, eyes ahead taking in the views through my peripherals and keeping the bike near the right side of the road. This spelled my doom. On taking a blind left corner I felt the back tire skid and then the front and with no road to my direct front, only barbed wire fence, I performed a lowside to the left. At this point everything was very fast and all I really remember was my helmet hitting and scraping, me going “UUNNUGH”!, and the sounds of metal on road. After my body stopped rolling I immediately got up and started walking in a jerked sort of manner tearing off my gloves and helmet, swearing at nothing and laughing at the same time. Right at that moment a park ranger truck came over a hill and trundled towards me. He stopped and helped me get the bike out of the shallow ditch it was nestled in as if it needed a nap, and gave me a ride to the ranger station not five minutes up the road. There they had a land line allowing me to call a local tow and wash some blood off my arms.
Back at the bike I assessed the damages and although she’s looked better cosmetically she’ll still run. The headlight lens was now several small headlight lenses and both clutch and front brake lever were broken off. Tracing the path of scraps in the gravel I think that I actually ripped the levers off myself, not seeing where they would have made contact with the road. In about fifteen minutes the tow truck showed up and a diminutive bi-specaled man clambered down from the enormous cab. Dressed in reflective road gear he set about getting tie downs and adjusting the trucks ramp. We got my bike up no problem, though I had to struggle with her to find neutral, and in no time we were off.
Back home grandpa sat in his chair as usual, peering at me wordlessly, and I got my tools from the bedroom to begin stripping off broken motorcycle parts. Pain began setting into my knees and hips so I didn’t last long bending and kneeling. Sadly, I pushed my bike into her shed, wires spilling out of her front like colored spaghetti, and wrapped her in a blue plastic cover. Latter in the evening as the sun was casting its pinks in the hillsides, flooding the atmospheres with warmth, I got a call from the restaurant letting me know that they expect me at 4pm sharp on Sunday. Money for parts was the first thing I thought and dinner never tasted better.