It's in between storms here in Wisconsin at the of April, and with the uncommonly good weather (70c) I decided I would go for a ride. I made sure to
tell her not to put the kids to bed before I got back. Besides, I had just received a part for my BMW s1000r supernaked motorcycle all the way from
England, and I needed to mount the beast for a third and final time today, in between storms.
I hopped on and fired it up, the new exhaust making her her scream unlike I've ever heard before, save for two times today prior. I'll stay off the
highways, my mind murmuring to itself. It's getting dark and the Wisco-drunks like to come out early so they can run home as if they were never at
the bar that day, their teenage children learning life's most important lessons on their own.
I left with a right-handed turn out of the driveway, leaning into the first turn and still glistening from the new engine note being stroked out of
the new tailpipe. This new part was worth the hundred for such a pleasurable audio experience.
First light. The air is moist in between the rains, and the breeze perfectly cools my body to a near-balance above the quickly-rising engine heat
below me. It's an amazing balance that would be thrown off at highway speeds. Good choice to stick in town. Green light.
The cars in the oncoming lane make their way through, with one turning right, which I wait for. It passes through the intersection and like a
choreographed dance, I'm already letting off the clutch to engage the drive motion. The car makes the turn but just then...
A MASSIVE Ford F-350 Extended Cab/Bed pulls out from the opposite garage, adjacent to the intersection and just now one exceedingly closing lane from
my position, still attempting to make the left-handed turn. Damn, he doesn't see me.
Braking hard mid-turn, a classic no-no, but still very much reasonable considering this is only my 8th month of riding ever, nearing 40 years old, it
turned out rather well, for me. I don't think mad man was feeling the same about the outcome. Nope, I think to myself, as he floors the truck's
pedal and sends the 3 ton torque machine hurtling forward, passing the lady who I just waited on in the beginning of my turn and nearly hitting
I passed the car on the right, now in the right lane, following the mad trucker at snails pace. He brakes and then floors it again, now changing
lanes and pulling in front of the lady driver who is by now terrified. I've had enough of this.
I accelerate next to him, and throw up my left hand. What the hell are you doing, I scream so the motorist could hear me. Bad move.
The trucker begins to lane check me. He gradually starts moving his truck over into my lane. I look down to asses how close he was because often
really large trucks in this area will have bits and things hanging off the sides. Yeah, don't look down when you're riding a motorcycle. My estimate
is he was around 8-12" from hitting my bike, with about 1ft of road left before the curb. Mother#er, I yell loudly, my temperature rising and heart
rate increasing steadily. I just can't learn my lesson, can I?
This next time, well, I'm just happy to be writing this honestly. Things could've turned out differently. This next lane check did it. He moves
over hard and fast this time, squeezing my exit window at a rapid pace. Thank God I bought a fast ass motorcycle. I twist the wrist and gun it. My
front tire gently hovering the worn, Detroit-quality road. My rear wheel takes the shift of weight and digs in hard. The bike escapes the danger
with nary an inch to spare, my rocket accelerating to near 100mph in the span of less than 100ft. I'm not sticking around for this guy. Happy to
escape with my life and a quartermile ahead, I squeeze the front brake hard, coming to a fast stop where I kick down the kickstand, killing the bike.
I hit the hazards promptly and get off the bike, reaching for the phone at the same time. I want this guys' plates. He's getting a call.
Happy to have saved my life one moment, now empowered with the idea of getting retribution and justice, served up, I take quick note of his license
plates. Wisconsin Plate Number *****. He stops quickly, the four massive brakes bring the large vehicle to a surprisingly quick stop. He rolls down
the window. Early 50's, monstrous in size. He might've laid this road +35 years ago. Still, his age showing.
What the hell are you doing? Trying to get someone killed? No, he said, I don't know what the # you're talking about, playing stupid. Bull#, I tell
him, you lane checked me two times! Oh, you're a sensitive mother*&^%#, huh, he asked. But now I've got your plates. Great, he exclaims. Make sure
you get both of them! I tell him I'm going to call the police and he drives away, extolling obscenities behind him through his rear window.
I follow through with my threat. I dial dispatch with shaky hands and a woman answers, her voice calming me ever so slightly. I explain in a hurried
voice the events which just took place. Punctuality on display, a patrol comes by just then, and I tell dispatch I'll handle it. A young, very
pretty officer steps out. I begin again to tell my tale, finishing it with an amazing-feeling recital of the mans license plates. She hears me well,
and tells me she's going to cite him for reckless driving. She tells me to be careful, and I tell her I'm going home to put the five kids in bed.
She hands me a card and I get the bike out of the busy intersection right-turn lane, shutting off the hazards.
Taking the short drive home, I quickly start to drain. It was an emotional experience and during my fear and hate, I forgot how scared I was. It
hits me. Thank God for the cool breeze which quickly dries my eyes and the single drop which started to form. Rage returns. Pulling in I call the
wife down via cell from the upper floor and explain the moment. We put the kids to bed and I decided after a smoke to write this blog.
I get about halfway through the first three paragraphs and the phone rings. It's the officer. She found him and had a talk with the gentleman,
re-affirming me of my short-term faculties when I recounted the numbers to the officer just under an hour ago. But wait, somethings wrong. She's
crying. She's crying? She proceeds to explain to me that the man was an asshole, and she wrote him a ticket for reckless driving. But then her
chief called ten minutes later, 10, and had the ticket pulled.
I tell her this obviously sounds like someone I don't want to mess with. I explain I'm going to attach a camera to my helmet and directly file suit
should something like this happen again.
Am I wimping out? Should I let the power structure be? Local boys can ruin you.
Your thoughts, ATS?
edit on 26-4-2017 by Tempter because: sp
edit on 27-4-2017 by DrumsRfun because: swearing in title