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Vroom! Wham! Arrgghh!

How Not To Buy A Motorcycle

The CTM1 and his buddy were looking at a used motorcycle some citizen had for sale. The petty officer low-balled the guy just to get negotiations started and was flabbergasted when he accepted the offer. Having unexpectedly hooked this tuna, the petty officer was not about to let him get away. So, to keep him from changing his mind, the Sailor stroked him a check, pocketed the pink slip, straddled the bike and started out for home right then. After all, it was only five miles from his house. So what if he had never taken a motorcycle safety course? So what if he hadn't driven a motorcycle for years? So what if he had been drinking, and was on an unfamiliar bike? So what? Here's what: driving too fast for conditions, the motorcycle and its crew took a curve too wide and over-corrected badly to get back on line. About that time the bike and the biker parted company and the bike proceeded to slide 75 feet into a ditch followed in close formation by the former motorcycle driver in a pair of scorched and smoking Levi’s. He spent 11 days in the hospital because of head and ankle injuries and major road rash. (February ’95)

Our First Attempt At Multi-Media

Have someone lean close to your ear and go, "ooooooooooot ... Oooooooooooot ... Ooooooooooo ..." while you read the next report. Now, picture yourself astride a screaming 600cc motorcycle doing about 60 as you lean into a curve. The wind is in your face and you are feeling good, man. Suddenly, ("whiff!") a 25-mph warning sign flashes by. You step on the rear brake with your highly- studded leather motorcycle boot and ("rot ro!") it locks up. The bike snaps left then crashes. There you are: 90 degrees left- wing-down, skidding across the blacktop, squeezing that motorcycle like Suzanne Somers on a thigh-master, with the guard rail and the shoulder of the road headed your way at the speed of heat. Suddenly, (motorcycles do the darndest things) the cycle pops upright, briefly, then immediately crashes onto its right side. Somewhere between 90 degrees left-wing-down and 90 degrees right-wing-down you get ejected and continue the journey by air. Well, almost. Actually, you land a little short of the guardrail and break your leg as you slide under while your bike slams into it and bounces back into the roadway. Lying there, with your leg bone no longer connected to your knee bone, you have plenty of time to consider the consequences of your actions as you drum you fingers in the dirt and wait for the ambulance to arrive. Now - let your buddy read the report and you do the sound effects. (February ’95)

Lying There In The Rain With People Staring Down At You

The ET1 was navigating the rain-slicked streets on his motorcycle when a dog dashed in front of him from between two parked cars. He tried his best to avoid the mutt, and he did, but managed to wreck his bike while doing so. Not much of a story you say ... And maybe you're right. Of course, if this were the movies and not real life, I suppose Sylvester Stalone or Arnold Schwartzenwhatsit (or their stunt doubles) would bounce up from the wreckage, brush themselves off, kick the dog and swagger off down the rainy street. But that's not the way it happens in real life. No, in real life what happens is: you dodge the dog, you crash your machine, it falls on top of you and you're trapped between the bike and the blacktop. As you scrape across four lanes of traffic at 35 mph, the blacktop begins to eat through your Levis, and then starts peeling large pieces of hide off your leg. As you and your bike and your leg crash into the curb on the opposite side of the street, you contrive to be in a position that insures your kneecap gets completely shattered in the process. Then, just to add insult to injury, the dog trots over, sniffs at your broken bones, renders a three-legged salute, scratches a little gravel onto the trash pile that used to be your bike and wanders off. That's real life. No slo-mo, no stunt double, no swaggering away with a dog impaled on the pointy toe of your cowboy boot, no freeze frame, no rewind. Just lying there in the rain with people staring down at you. Just lying there in the wreckage and the rain waiting for the ambulance to come and haul your sorry self away. And, oh yes, in real life you: miss your deployment, lose your sub qual and the doctor says you're going to be crippled for the rest of your real life. (March ’95)

A Testimonial For Motorcycle Helmets

A GM3 hit the brakes on his motorcycle to avoid a collision with a car. He then laid the bike on its side and fell off. The motorcycle continued forward and went under the car. So did the GM3, whose head was run over by the car's tire. He got up and walked away. I said, he got up and walked away - no serious injuries. Something of a testimonial for motorcycle helmets, I reckon. (April ’95)

Why Would Do People Wear A Reflective Vest And Then Cover It Up Completely With A Back Pack?

A CTI3 was heading home from work on her motorcycle when a truck suddenly swerved into her lane. She couldn't avoid the crash and hit the truck behind the passenger door. The force of the collision threw her off her bike and she landed along side the road with a broken leg. If she hadn't been wearing all her protective equipment she'd have been killed. But, the driver of the truck said he never saw her. Which is something else that confuses me. Why would do people wear a reflective vest and then cover it up completely with a backpack? Or, why would anyone buy a vest with the reflective stripe on the bottom so that it is totally obscured by the third tier of seating on the back of his gold wing? Not all of us in cars are trying to run over all of you on bikes; but, you gotta give us a hand here. Help us out. Think. If you wear a reflective vest and your passenger doesn't, 50% of your effort to improve your conspicuity is wasted. Duh. (May ’95)

Eight Bad Moves on a Motorcycle

A 19-year-old Lcpl was drinking (first bad move) and riding a friend's motorcycle (second bad move). He didn't have a motorcycle license (third) and had never taken motorcycle training (fourth). He was weaving in and out of traffic (fifth), and speeding (sixth). While straddling the line marking the lanes (seventh), he rear-ended a car (eighth) and was launched over the bike. He spent three days in the hospital recovering from road rash and swollen knees. This story would be longer, but I’m running out of fingers and toes. (June ’95)

We Only Wanted to Give You a Warning, Fellah, But.

Late one Saturday night, a GSE2 was drunk and riding fast and loud on his motorcycle. When the cops got after him he panicked and led them on a short, violent, high-speed chase, at speeds above 100 mph. He lost control of his bike, (they always do) skidded into a curb, hit a sign, was thrown 50 feet, and smashed head first into a brick wall. The force of the blow split his motorcycle helmet right down the middle; but his only injuries were a broken ankle and scraped arm. Considerably more humble and contrite at the police station, he admitted drinking a six-pack. Too bad, really. The cops weren't planning to give him a ticket at all ... Just warn him about his speed and his loud muffler. Wanna know the cost of this relatively minor accident? Well, Evil Knevil is out about $6,000 for his highly polished motorcycle, the state of Virginia wants 200 bucks for a new sign, and you and I, as citizen-taxpayers, are $20,000 lighter in the wallet because of his medical expenses. I'm clueless as to what a new motorcycle helmet costs; but I’ll bet, whatever it costs, this guy will gladly pay. (September ’95)

Two More Melons Saved by Helmets

A DCFN took his buddy, an HT3, for a motorcycle ride. Both had taken motorcycle safety courses and were wearing protective equipment. During their ride, a Detroit special whipped in front of them. The bike hit the car then rolled and bounced for 90 feet. The DCFN was caught between the car and bike -- he crushed his knee and injured his hip. The passenger flew over the car -- he broke his leg. Paramedics had a lot of trouble removing the cracked and deformed helmets from both men. But, because of those helmets, neither had cracked and deformed skulls. (October ‘95)

Dodging the Motorcycle Safety Class But Not Dodging a Wreck

A drunken Marine staggered out of a bar, straddled his Harley, buckled on a beanie helmet and roared off into the pre-dawn darkness. He straight-lined a curve, crossed the median and the opposing traffic lane, and then smacked into a raised asphalt curb, which launched him in one direction and his bike in another. Those macho little beanies may be de rigueur for you guys on Harleys but they don't do diddly to protect your coconut, amigo. This guy spent more than two weeks in the hospital while doctors wired his cracked skull back together, sewed up his ripped esophagus, set his broken jaw, then drilled and pinned his fractured hip.

That's bad enough, you know? But it's the rest of the story that makes an old safety weenie's shoulders sag. This near-death experience happened less than 12 hours after a safety stand-down that included a brief emphasizing motorcycle safety and the designated-driver program. This ... Person attended the enlisted safety council meetings where the subject of drunk driving was discussed at length. There's more. When this guy checked into the command, he said he didn't own a motorcycle and didn't intend to buy one. Thus, he slithered out of taking the Motorcycle Safety Course - not that it would have done any good. (March ’96)

Medical Board ... Permanent Loss To The Command ... Etc.

Word around the FFG's mess decks was that this OS striker was planning to buy a motorcycle from another crewman. He'd never owned a bike nor attended motorcycle safety school, and, the senior enlisted members of his chain of command knew it. All of them tried to dissuade this lad from making such a foolish move. Now I’d sure like to be able to report to you that he took their advice and waited until he got some training before he bought the bike, but that aint the way it happened.

This youngster, convinced he knew better than the old wheezers who were telling him to wait, hopped on the bike - sans any protective equipment - roared off, sideswiped a Dempsey dumpster, and carved a four by two by one and a half inch deep gash into his right leg. ("a little arpeggio, there, pierre ... Oooohhh, give me something to remember you by ... ")

Orthopedic surgery ... Medical board ... Permanent loss to the command ... Etc., etc.,

Ok! So it doesn't always work. But at least these guys were trying and, short of tack-welding the kid's belt buckle to a stanchion, I don't know what else they could have done. (No, I don't know if they tried duct-taping him to his rack.) Anyway, I just wanted to say, thanks to those of you who tried to make a difference. (June ’96)

En Route To His Fourth Day Of Training As A Motorcycle Safety Instructor

A third class was traveling a winding mountain road on his Honda. For some reason that is unexplainable, he let his bike drift over the centerline and into the other lane where he crashed headfirst into a lady driving a brand new Pathfinder. He ended up plastered tightly to the front of her Nissan like unto a hood ornament; but, because he had on all the right protective gear, he survived and suffered only a broken wrist, a concussion and a messed-up knee. All the right gear, all right ... But then I don't know why you would expect less from a guy who crashed whilst en route to his fourth day of training as a motorcycle safety instructor.

P.S.: He flunked. (September ’96)

You Are Not Required To Buy A New Motorcycle To Destroy It.

You can always borrow your buddy's.

Like the third class who, without asking, pocketed the keys off the dining room table in his friend's apartment, walked down stairs, and threw a leg over his buddy's new 750cc Suzuki. This guy didn't have permission, he didn't have the training, he didn't have a license, he didn't have a helmet, and he didn't have a clue. But that didn't stop him. What stopped him, actually, was a wall. But, that comes a little later.

So, he gets out there and he straddles this thing and he gets it started and he gives it a couple of vroom-vrooms and off he goes on a grand tour of the apartment complex's parking lot.

All is well.

Until (uh-oh!) Around the corner comes this very large car making a big, sweeping turn into its parking slot. He tried to steer around it, but he wasn't so very good at steering, see? Suddenly he finds himself plowing through some sand and some rocks and heading right for this Chevy parked innocently nearby. He's got it bore-sighted. Whammo! He hit that car so hard he tore its bumper off. The bumper, in turn, smashed into the car's windshield just as our pale (and getting paler) rider flew off the motorcycle and crashed into (you guessed it) the wall ... Of an adjacent apartment building.

Messed that motorcycle up something awful. But hey, what are friends for? (January ‘97)

All The Aerodynamic Qualities Of A Broken Brick

While zipping around the motocross, a Marine - with zero dirt bike experience - took a right at the first turn onto what he thought was a starboard fork in the track. It's not that he was altogether wrong, you see, it's just that it wasn't much of a fork - more of a pickle than a dinner fork. By the time he got to the first rise, the trail sort of stopped and the good Sergeant found himself unexpectedly airborne - trying to hover - six feet above an uncharted ravine. But he wasn't having much luck cause, even at full throttle, that Kawasaki had all the aerodynamic qualities of a broken brick.

When the front wheel of the Sergeant's motorcycle re-encountered the earth, it stopped; as did the rest of the bike. He didn't. No, he kept going through the handlebars until he speared himself face-first into the dirt and debris at the bottom of the ravine. Broke his face up, and his head, pretty badly. (March ’98)

A Second Lieutenant Lands On His Melon

A second looie was out riding his motorcycle when a child suddenly darted in front of the bike. The Lieutenant swerved instinctively, missed the kid, crashed into the curb, flew off the motorcycle, and landed on his head - which was fine seeing as how he wasn't using it for anything else like thinking or as a storage rack for his helmet.

Took 40 stitches to close the head wound. (June ’98)

Breaking in a New Bike. Literally

I've been feeling a little neglected lately. Haven't had the hell's angels on my case for quite some time, so here's some bad juju motorcycle stories for your information and your education. (These things always stir up the biker lobby.)

Petty Officer First Class was breaking in her new bike when she leaned into a pretty sharply curved off ramp at about 40 mph. Next thing she knows, she looks behind her and here's this pick-up truck right on her tail. Now what? She fears if she down shifts, slows, or puts on the brakes this guy will rear-end her. But, if she speeds up to get away from him, she won't be able to control her bike in this abrupt curve. Alas, with all this dithering about what to do, she forgot to drive her new Harley and crashed headfirst into the guardrail.

The pick-up? Never stopped.

How someone on a motorcycle could not see and then smash headlong into the back of a school bus stopped, with all its lights blazing, at a railroad crossing is beyond me. Yet, a lance corporal did exactly that. No sign of braking or attempted evasion, not the first skid mark. He just slammed right into the back of that big, yellow, blinking-lighted school bus at about 40 miles an hour.

And then he died.

The Third Class was racing down the boulevard on his motorcycle doing 65 in a 35 mph zone. He leaned his bike into the left turn lane in an attempt to circumvent slower traffic ahead of him, as he stole a glance at the traffic behind. He looked up just in time to see a Jeep stopped right in front of him, waiting to make a left turn. They hit with such force that the Jeep was propelled 29 feet from the point of the collision. The motorcycle flew another 50 feet. But the Sailor stayed right there until the paramedics pronounced him dead at the scene. (March ’99)

The Sailor, The Hog, And The Deer

The petty officer was on leave, visiting his folks, riding his beloved Harley, and having a wonderful time

Visiting old haunts and even older friends.

Early one evening, this properly attired, perfectly sober Sailor was on his way home when he found himself riding behind a dump truck that was spitting rocks all over the highway. So, rather than risk getting smacked in the faceplate with one of these pre-cambrian missiles, the second class cracked the throttle on his bike, zipped around the truck, and slipped easily and safely back into the right lane.

That is to say, he would have slipped easily and safely back into the right lane, had not a doe, (a deer, a female deer) that had been standing unseen alongside the road, decided it was her turn to cross the highway. Her first leap carried her directly into the side of the Sailor's motorcycle. She didn't make a second.

The Sailor, the hog, and the deer all ended up in a tangled ball alongside the road. The hog was destroyed, the deer was doe and the Sailor broke two bones in his spine and may be permanently disabled. (August ’99)

Why They Don't Tow Motorcycles

It seems this Marine managed to run out of gas on his motorcycle and was wearily pushing it alongside the road when a Good Samaritan happened by with an offer of help.

All the Marine really wanted was a lift to the nearest bank where he could negotiate an equity loan on his house in order to buy a couple gallons of gas. But his new best friend wouldn't hear of it.

"Here," says he, "tie this rope to them handlebars. I'll hook the other end to the trailer hitch on my pick-up and tow you there".

Warily and with no small amount of trepidation, the corporal did what he was told.

Off they went. Twenty miles an hour ... Thirty ... Forty ... Forty-five!

"That’s enough!" thought our Marine as he fumbled frantically with the rope then cast it free.

Free, maybe. But not far. Only far enough for it to bounce off the pavement then intertwine itself in the spokes of his front wheel - which stopped soon thereafter. Of course, the rest of the bike didn't stop. The fork, the gas tank, the motor, the Marine and the rear wheel kept going until they were acted upon by an equal and opposite force which, in this case, was the earth - into which they crashed.

But at least the Marine won't have to mortgage his house to buy gas anymore. I mean, what would he put it in? (July 2000)

Scary Places I Can Think Of

A couple weeks ago, I nominated the base hobby shop at noon as one of the scarier places I can think of. Continuing that line of thought, here's another: the parking lot at the enlisted barracks. These seemingly innocuous pieces of pavement have seen more than their fair share of terrifying episodes and mishap-produced bloodshed. Particularly when the following two elements are present: first, an E-2 with no motorcycle experience who is thinking about buying a motorcycle from a buddy, and second, a buddy stupid enough to hand over the keys.

Don't even need words to tell this yarn, folks, because the numbers can do all the talking. Let's look at them in order, from the highest to the lowest:

Dollars of damage to borrowed motorcycle: 3,000

Cubic centimeters in motorcycle's engine: 599

Number of yards traveled before smashing into embankment: 75

Lost workdays due to broken arm and assorted abrasions: 42

Number of feet above ground that E-2 ended up in a nearby tree after flying off the motorcycle: 10

Number of days of experience that the E-2 had riding motorcycles: 0

Chances that he ended up buying the motorcycle: 0

And lest you think this guy was doing something unusual, here's an addenda. An ICFN was cruising on a borrowed motorcycle just before midnight. The patch of sand that he hit was wonderfully soft.

Unfortunately, the very next thing he plowed into--a Chevy Suburban--was the opposite. Here are his numbers. Miles per hour over the speed limit: 7. Fractured ribs: 8 (also assorted punctures, lacerations and fractures to various body parts including lungs, liver, clavicle and femur). Days spent watching soap operas on a hospital teevee: 26. Days of motorcycle training: 0. (November ‘02)

The Opposite of Protective Gear

The novice motorcyclist, putt-putting along at 28 mph on a neighborhood street, was comfortably togged out in shorts and a short-sleeve shirt. His comfort was cut short, however, by a medium-sized mutt that sauntered in front of him. The motorcyclist promptly laid down his brand new bike, just as Fido set a personal best for the across-the-street dash. The dog was unscathed. The motorcyclist slid ten feet down the street, lacerating and abrading himself from stem to stern, and getting a clear object lesson in why the Navy requires the motorcycle-safety course (which he hadn't taken) and a whole bunch of ppe that bears no resemblance to what you wear to the beach in July. A helmet, for example, is guaranteed to keep you from finding out first hand that macadam doesn't taste like macadamia nuts. (December ’02)

If This One Doesn't Make You Think "Moron" and "Death Wish," I Don't Know What Would

This one is both easy and hard. The details are easy: a Sergeant, no helmet, doing a high-speed wheelie on his motorcycle. Smashed into a parked car, massive head trauma, grave condition, death probable. The hard part is resisting the urge to launch a barrage of bitter reprimands. I am biting down on my belt, taking ten deep breaths (and that ain't easy with your teeth clenched), and trying to stay calm.

All of the training, research, data, analysis and experience available, and it comes down to this? Wheelies while speeding with no helmet? (February ’03)

17 Years Of Experience. Or Is That One Year, 17 Times?

Sheesh.

Other words escape me, because I’ve just read the hair-raising tale of an AM3 who was putting his 2002 Yamaha through its paces, which included (sound fx: theme from "dragnet") wheelies.

At least he’d picked a nice, sunny day, and a smooth, dry road. As near as the local mishap sleuths could determine, he had taken a motorcycle-safety course five years ago, but it had either worn off or never quite worked to begin with.

He was blasting along with one narrow piece of rubber on the pavement and the other wobbling along in midair at about 35 mph. At some point during the exciting and amusing exercise, the rear wheel finally figured out how to win its endless race with the front wheel by out-accelerating it. The rear wheel went forward, the front wheel went up and over the top backwards, and the AM3 commenced bumping and bouncing along the road, clearly in third place. He sliced the bejabbers out of his right knee and ground a few layers of bark off his arms, legs and hands. I’m not entirely sure how many layers you have, come to think about it, but a jacket and gloves—which he wasn’t wearing—would have helped. He also banged up his other knee. The injuries netted him 21 days of surgery and healing, and netted his shipmates 21 days when he wasn’t at work.

The report said he had "17 years experience riding motorcycles." I take this to mean that someone was letting him ride a motorcycle when he was five years old. That certainly sounds promising. I’m sure you develop all sorts of good habits at that age.

Well, some people have 17 years of experience. Others have one year, 17 times. Or less and more. (October ’03)

Ow! Glub, glub! Splash!

Off-road, off-duty, then off work, off your feet and flat on your back looking up at a nurse, part seventeen. This one features an AT1, riding his 125cc Suzuki off-road in California. He accelerated through a curve, and I mean "through" literally, because he emerged on the far end going way too fast and heading for a pond. Opting to try to avoid a swim, he leaped off the motorcycle but slammed his knee into a foot peg.

Not sure what the sound effect for a broken leg is, but I imagine this one was accompanied by a shriek of pain, a "glub glub!" and the splashing of a frantic dog paddle. Lost-time estimate for this aqua-cycle stunt: 33 days.

He hadn’t taken the regular motorcycle safety course. Hadn’t taken the off-highway motorcycle course, either, which isn’t required unless you’re riding your motorcycle on base, but is (according to the message) "highly recommended." I know an AT1 who will now second that emotion. (December ’03)

Listen Up! Dirty Harry and Alexander Pope Are Speaking!

Our April fools stunts so far have involved people who did something to someone else, but there’s equal opportunity for foolishness when it is self-inflicted. Consider the tale of an STG3 who had been the proud owner of a 750cc motorcycle for one whole week. He was scheduled to attend the motorcycle safety class, but figured he’d get some in-the-saddle experience first.

Trying to catch up to another rider as they left the base, he got to experience taking a corner too fast, sliding in dirt, bouncing off a cement retaining wall and flying off the bike. He was wearing a motorcycle helmet, boots, leather jacket, gloves, and a reflective vest, but he still ended up breaking both arms and his collarbone, and severing some nerves and arteries. He is now partially disabled and his Naval career is over.

As with any other exciting and non-mandatory activity involving cliffs, whitewater rapids, snow-covered mountains, noisy engines and adrenaline, the point isn’t to avoid them. The point is to do them in a way that ensures you will be able to keep doing them for a long time, thereby accreting all sorts of great memories and priceless experiences to share with those you love. And the way you do that is by being smart and getting smart.

Granted, this means starting at something less than whatever is the equivalent of turning the volume knob up to ten. As Dirty Harry said, "a man’s got to know his limitations." add to that this salient quote from Alexander Pope: "a little knowledge is a dangerous thing."

If you don’t follow this advice, you run the risk of self-inflicting some other limitations, such as how well your arms and legs work. You’ll be living with them for a long time, and you probably won’t be doing much rappelling or wake surfing. In the case of motorcycles, take the class before [bold/all caps/underlined] you start riding. (April ’03)

Repeat "First, Pull Off The Road" A Hundred Times

An E-6 was vrooming along on his new Yamaha one pleasant Friday evening in Aiea Heights, Hawaii, which was most appropriate because the first part of the name sounds a lot like what he hollered when a bee flew into the gap between his collar and helmet and quickly began registering its discontent.

Please hold this image in your mind-the E-6's eyes the size of baseballs, his arms and legs flailing, the bee limbering up its stinger and busily searching for a tender spot-while we review the bidding. First, the E-6 was wearing a helmet, boots, reflective vest, long pants, and gloves (the weak point in this ensemble-namely a sturdy jacket-would soon make its absence felt). Second, the E-6 hadn't taken the motorcycle-safety class yet. He was within the three-month grace period.

"Grace" was nowhere to be found as we return to live action. The E-6 gropes for the bee with his left hand. He guns the throttle with his right, the motorcycle lurches, and he tumbles off the back. At this point, the pain from the bee sting on his chest is subsumed in the larger pain of the road rash that results from his skidding to a halt on the pavement.

One day in the hospital, and five days off work. Plenty of time to shop for a leather jacket and to repeat "First, pull off the road" a hundred times. (August '03)

Another Not-So-Funny Story Involving A Borrowed Motorcycle.

An EN2 lent his Suzuki 600 to an IC2, who had told his friends, family and shipmates that he'd had experience riding motorcycles, but that it had been a while since he'd ridden one. He didn't have a motorcycle license nor was there any record that he'd taken motorcycle-safety training. He also didn't have a helmet, boots, long pants, long-sleeved shirt or reflective vest.

What he did have was his buddy's permission to take the motorcycle out for a spin around the Navy housing area where he lived. The IC2 stalled it on his first try, but instead of heeding this proof of his inability, he persisted and got it started. His route and speed thereafter are unknown, at least until he crashed into a parked van at a city intersection, veered into a fence, flew off the motorcycle and slid underneath a parked truck. He was dead when police and paramedics arrived.

At some point, it should become screamingly obvious that motorcycle test-drives should be left to the discretion of motorcycle dealers, who are in an excellent position to judge the ability of the applicant and evaluate the odds of that person having a wreck. I'd suggest a large parking lot as a likely spot, as opposed to, say, flying through the streets of San Diego. The only response to, "Hey, lemme ride your motorcycle for a minute," is "No." If it is a good friend, you don't want to take a chance at him getting hurt, not to mention your motorcycle getting wrecked. If it isn't a good friend, then you shouldn't care whether he gets mad at you. (August '03)

Is A Motorcycle Really The Vehicle Of Choice After Midnight When You've Been Drinking?

An E-5 met up with some buddies to shoot pool and quaff a few at a bar at around 2200. Two and a half hours later, he headed home. Did he run into some debris in the road on a highway exit ramp? Yes. Did he then lose control of his Kawasaki? Absolutely. Did he fly off the bike and tumble to a halt on the pavement? Yes. If he had been wearing a helmet, would it have kept him from slicing open his scalp, cutting his chin, and breaking teeth? Yup. And if he had been wearing a jacket and gloves, would they have kept him from scraping the skin off his forearms and hands? Yup. These mementos and two fractured vertebra put him in the hospital for three days, off work for a month, and with a possible disability and more LIMDU on the horizon. Is a motorcycle the vehicle of choice after midnight when you've been drinking? You tell me. (September '03)

The Lack of a Sign is a Weak Excuse

Traffic signs offer all sorts of useful info and timely warnings. But that doesn't mean they will give you all the info you need and warn you about every hazard. Signs just augment your usual defensive driving. They help you deal with the idiocies of other motorists and anticipate the bumps, curves, potholes and confusing conditions that an average trip tosses your way.

Thus, to my way of thinking, the lack of a sign is a weak excuse for, say, vroom-vrooming into a dark intersection in rural North Carolina on a Harley "Fat Boy" and finding that, whoa, the road is turning and you aren't, and ka-whump, that's the curb you're slamming into. The rider, a GMSC, goes flying, Harley gets totaled. The senior chief breaks some bones and is away from work for a month.

Makes you think. Motorcycle safety course graduate, wearing all required gear, not tired, sober, road clear and dry, just after dinner time. And even with all these pluses, things go kerflooey.

Like I say, if you're relying on a sign to keep you honest, you're out where the ice is getting thin, or the curve is getting sharp, ask yourself: How far do your headlights reach? How quickly can you turn? How good are your brakes? Answer these questions, then decide how fast you can go. It may not seem that fast, but it beats walking. It also beats riding in an ambulance while someone else shovels up the pieces of your Harley. (January '04)

OK, So You Might Not Do Anything Dumb, but How About Everyone Else Out There on the Road?

An E-7 motorcycle instructor was riding down I-95 in Florida with thirteen buddies from his riding club. As all good instructors should, he was setting the right example: full-face helmet, steel-toed boots, leather gloves, blue jeans, and a long-sleeved shirt. The sun was shining, the road was dry, and his 2003 Harley was purring along nicely. In short, a perfect time for some pea-brained motorcyclist (not part of the group) to cut through the traffic ahead, get clipped by a car, and tossed like a sack of Idaho's finest into the chief's path. The chief instantly went down onto the highway at 65 mph, a rather unsettling predicament, what with the usual flotilla of interstate traffic roaring up behind him. He slid 100 yards and then crawled off the road without being hit by any cars. I imagine he was singing hymns of praise for protective gear and considering having "expect the unexpected" tattooed on his right bicep.

He ended up with enough injuries to put him in the hospital for seven days and off work for two months, but it could have been a whole heckuva lot worse.

The next time someone says, "I don't need P.P.E. because I'm not going to do anything dumb," remember that there are about a bazillion others out there who might. (February '04)

Don't Tell Me You're Going to Take a Passenger Along

OK, folks, power up your desktop Risk-O-matic Machine, plug in the following parameters, and tell me when the alarm goes off. We have an ET3 in Italy, proudly surveying his new motorcycle, recently delivered to his villa. He has carefully scheduled the motorcycle-safety course for the following week. It is a nice Sunday afternoon. So far, so good, eh? The green status light on your Risk-O-matic Mhould be calmly blinking.

Now add this variable: He dons his helmet, jacket, and gloves. At this point the light on your Risk-O-Matic should be yellow. He is wearing protective gear, usually a good thing, but he seems to be intending to go for a ride, which is not a good thing. And to compound the risk, he is going to have his 15-year-old brother-in-law as a passenger.

If the light isn't red and the klaxon on your Risk-O-Matic isn't blaring right now loud enough to make you reach for some foamies, return it immediately for repair or replacement. Because, in extremely short order, the ET3 is going to do a mini-wheelie, the passenger is going to bite the dust, the Sailor is going to slide back, which is going to make him twist the accelerator, which is going to produce a mega-wheelie. The motorcycle is going to flip over, and the Sailor is going to get dragged down the street until he lets go.

Which left a vacancy in the motorcycle-safety course the following week, because at that point the ET3 still had at least a month (and as much as 6 months) of medical treatment and recovery. (March '04)

Ever Wonder How Fast Is Too Fast?

Speed-limit signs give one answer. Assuming you are driving down a Mark 1, Mod 0 street on a normal day, and assuming a three-year-old on a scooter doesn't zoom out in front of you from between parked cars, and assuming you aren't going to spend 20 seconds with your eyes off the road, rooting around on the floorboard looking for that new CD you just bought, speed-limit signs are dependable.

But just to make things interesting, let's say you are vrooming down a mountain near San Diego on your new Suzuki. Let's say you have had no motorcycle training and just enough experience to put you in the a-little-knowledge-is-a-dangerous-thing category.

Here goes. Brrrummm, brrrummm (Gene, cue sound of wind whistling past helmet). OK, switchback turns ahead. Maybe 20 mph is slow enough. Nope, you almost lay it down on the very first curve and barely recover. Better try 15 mph for that next one. Just lean into it and. Hey, what the.? How can slower be worse? Get upright, apply the brakes, reflect on the fact that it still feels fast, wonder where that gravel came from, and slide out-of-control toward the guard rail.

Isn't time compression amazing? All sorts of things happen in such a short period of clock time when it is combined with enough confusion, fear and adrenalin.

There's always time to panic, for example. Squeeze some black out of the front brake grip. Do a forward half-gainer along with the motorcycle, which is now more of a projectile than a vehicle. Hit the ground, separating a shoulder and spraining an ankle. Spend five days away from work and two weeks on LIMPDU (that's the newly approved name for limited duty due to leg injuries).

Yes, you were wearing a helmet, leather jacket and riding gloves. And yes, your command had held safety standdowns, offered training, run spots on CCTV and in the plan of the day, and had provided the motorcycle riders course. But somehow, you found a way to miss the message and wreck a motorcycle before taking the class.

So how fast is too fast? Dunno. I know a way you don't want to find out, though. (April '04)

After Enough Drinks, It Doesn't Matter How Much Experience You Have

OK, so far we've established: drunk-bad. Inexperienced-bad. Experienced-usually good. Drunk and experienced-still bad.

Such as the IT1 who had been riding motorcycles for 25 years, had a motorcycle license and had been to the safety class. He apparently was looking forward to an upcoming deployment and had planned a party for that Sunday evening with his wife. But the Sailor didn't make it, because the cops found him after he hit a light pole. He died from a broken neck. He had gone for a ride on his Harley in the afternoon. He wasn't wearing his helmet (although he'd had it on when he left). He had missed a turn and crossed two lanes of traffic before hitting the pole. His B.A.C. was 0.30. A fatal lack of judgment and coordination.

After enough drinks, it doesn't matter how much experience you have. (July 2004)

Why To Wear A Motorcycle Helmet, Chapter 124

Our facilitator this time is an airman who has navigated his motorcycle out to a dirt trail amongst some trees and bushes. He had some experience on motorcycles "as a youth," whatever that means, and was wearing a helmet, long pants, gloves, boots, and goggles. He accelerated and the motorcycle leaped forward. Would have been most exhilarating if it weren't for the fact that his body wasn't accelerating quite as quickly as the machine, which caused him to twist the throttle even more, which produced even more forward motion, et cetera.

A quick farewell to the motorcycle, which roared off solo. A quick face-first hello to some dirt and rocks. Even with goggles, which don't appear to satisfactorily replace a face shield, the Sailor needed a dozen stitches in his left eyelid. (July 2004)

Sticker No, Passenger Yes--Oh Yeah, That Makes Sense

OK, so novice bikers who haven't taken the motorcycle-safety class aren't allowed to drive on base. However, they can carry passengers, as long as they commit this idiocy outside the gate, and can find someone dumb enough to trust them.

Such as the ADAN on a new 600cc Yamaha, with an airman recruit temporarily on the rear saddle. As the road curves left, the ADAN verifies the presence of gravel and the absence of traction. He locks up the brakes and the bike goes horizontal. Net: two active-duty left knees down the drain. The E-3 spends two days in the hospital and a week off work. The E-1 spends two days in the hospital and three weeks off work. (July 2004)

More Proof That the Posted Limit Is a Guide, Not a Guarantee

2200 on a Saturday, 40 miles off base, on an unfamiliar country road, cruising on a 1450cc Harley. Suddenly, the fog gets real bad, real quick. Posted speed limit is 45 mph. Does that mean as long as you don't go faster than 45 mph, you'll be fine?

You can ask yourself that question as you reach a sign showing the road makes a sharp right turn. You have just enough time to see that L-shaped arrow on the yellow background as your motorcycle plows majestically straight ahead, into a ditch.

And you can further reflect during your six days in the hospital and 35 days off work. (May 2004)

Coming to Rest in a Ditch

Got one of the shortest mishap reports of all time the other day. Nothing like getting right to the point, uncluttered by superfluous prose. Here's the entire narrative: "Member driving motorcycle. Member drifted right off the road and struck a road sign and came to rest in a ditch."

Of course, there were just a couple of teeny details omitted. It was two and a half hours after midnight. He hadn't taken the motorcycle safety class. And his BAC was 0.24.

Short and sweet. Just like the ride, except for the "sweet" part, because he spent three days in the hospital and an estimated two months off work. (November 2004)

Wile E. Coyote Goes for a Short Ride

Dateline Berlin, starring a couple of fellows we'll call Bob and Frank. Bob owns a motorcycle and often carries passengers. The local gouge for heading out the main gate and turning left is to look out for the double-decker buses that stop directly after the light. Keep this in mind as we watch Bob giving Frank a lift.

Note that both are properly togged out in the required safety gear. Also note that Bob likes to gun his Honda off the lights. Usually not a problem, unless you have a rider, a left turn and a double-decker bus making its routine stop, all at the same time. Bob whips out of the gate. He slams the brakes so hard that frank flies off the back and does a very credible imitation of Wile E. Coyote smashing into a cliff wall, except he is pancaking himself onto the hind end of the double-decker. The safety gear works. Frank gets up and dusts himself off. The thoughts of the Berliners in the bus, alas, go unrecorded. (November 2004)

What Exactly Do You Call a "Favor"?

In Hawaii, an MMFN was getting a ride to his motorcycle on the back of a shipmate's 600cc Kawasaki. The shipmate was fully togged out in all the right stuff, and thus was good to go. The passenger was less prepared. For one thing, his helmet wasn't on his head. No, it was on his motorcycle, protecting the right side of the handlebars. A similar brain dump occurred as the motorcycle approached a stoplight. The MMFN relaxed his grip just as the light changed and his shipmate accelerated, and that, folks, is where the good old for-every-action-there-is-an-equal-and-opposite-reaction stuff came into play. In the blink of an eye, our helmetless friend was treated to the sight of the Kawasaki getting smaller and the asphalt getting bigger.

Kawhomp! Cut head, broken toe, assorted scrapes and bruises.

Having PPE is only half the battle. You actually have to wear it. And next time you're going to do a buddy a favor by giving him a ride on your motorcycle, do him another favor and make him wear a helmet before he climbs in the saddle. (September 2004)

Just Because It Isn't a State Law Doesn't Mean Squat

A 34-year-old OS1 is cruising a South Carolina highway on his 954cc Honda. He's on leave and riding back to his mom's house from a motorcycle shop. His almost total lack of PPE shows that he isn't too concerned with the Navy's rules about motorcycles (the Honda isn't registered on base, and he hasn't taken the safety training). His lack of a helmet, however, does indicate a willingness to comply with the South Carolina state law that says helmets are optional.

Look! A small deer or a large dog has bolted out in front of the Sailor! The sun is setting, and he seems to be having a hard time reacting! He swerves, hits a patch of grass, and does a forward half-gainer with a full twist!

Looks like a broken hand, a broken shoulder, and a torn-up knee. At least he won't be breaking the Navy's rules on that Honda any more, because it is totaled. He ends up with two weeks in a hospital, a month away from work and counting.

I still don't understand the idea that helmets are optional. Is it optional that an ambulance show up? Gee, I wonder who pays for that. Is it optional that the emergency room treat the guy? Is it optional that the insurance company pay for it? (September 2004)

Having a Helmet Isn't Enough-Wearing It Is the Key

An FN was riding down a gravel road in Texas. His 2003 Yamaha wasn't registered on base, either, and his jacket and boots were a token nod to the PPE he was supposed to have on. He owned a helmet, and he was such a good guy that he had loaned it to a buddy. That's nice, but it would have been even nicer if he'd had it on when he lost control, hit a curb, got ejected, slid for 15 feet, and did a header into a telephone pole.

Six days in a hospital, a month of convalescent leave, eight months of LIMDU (thanks to a couple of ruptured disks). His ship was deploying in three weeks. (September 2004)

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