Riding gear, LA, and old white lies
Aug. 21st, 2002 02:54 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tugrikOk... maybe 5 hours of sleep isn't quite enough. I caught myself performing several verbal reboots while trying to give a presentation to the bossmen today. Bleah. Feeling your own mind grinding gears while trying to slip the clutch is kind of unnerving. I'm going to zonk after posting this... and hope no more of my entries have that dreaded "3:30am" tag on them for a while. :)
The news of the day is that Bates called -- my position in the queue finally came up. They start cutting the pattern for my riding armor this week, and needed the 2nd (of 3) payments before they began. Normally they don't ask for a 2nd money infusion -- but they informed me they got burned by a few folks they sold to at the same Laguna Seca event I met them at, so they're asking their other customers to please pay-up before they commit to cutting leather/cloth. This made my budget wince terribly, as September is going to hit me with the tripleshot of bike insurance, bike registration, and vehicle insurance (all large lump-sums paid annually) at the same time I've got normal bills to pay and other new expenses. I'll feel so much better once this fall rolls around, moneywise. I'm actually glad BurningMan isn't draining my resources this year.
I'm definately eager to see the Tug-barding completed... the more I ride around with this flimsy leather wannabe-jacket and thin denim jeans, the more guilty and exposed I feel. I fully believe that one should wear the right gear all the time, and yet I've not been practicing what I preach, due to not having that gear available to me. As I get closer to actually owning the riding suit, I find msyelf more and more eager to have it -- and more paranoid that I'll take a tumble. I get nicely ironic images in my head of low-siding the bike while heading to pick up the completed suit. I'm psyching myself out but good!
-----
Time for an admission. I've told this particular event three or four different ways, depending on who was listening at the time. I blame it on being embarrased and also wanting to fit into biking-culture in my early days. I figure now, at this early morning hour, is as good as any time to 'come clean' on what happened. I've told this to most the people who live with/near me... but to those who I've told the other non-true versions to, I apologize. Hopefully this particular 'white lie' isn't too evil in the scheme of things.
Both of my lower legs have some reaaaaly nasty road rash. I will spare you any pictures. If you know me locally RL, you've seen it the few days I wear shorts. These marks are over 5 years old, and trust me... they look many times better than they did when I got them. I was missing skin from just below my kneecap to my ankletop, and at one point mid-wound it shaved to the bone. I had to wear 'fake skin' patches for four months, and I'll carry this discolored skin for life, unless reconstructive surgery gets cheaper and better. The skin causes me no pain at this point; it's just ugly. It's also a little thin, so I scratch/bruise easily there, and always will.
In the past few years, I've told friends that these scars were due to being hit by a car while on my mountain bike, being run off the road while on my Helix by a driver running a red light, or any of a few other variations. The theme was always the same: that I got injured by no fault of my own, and innocent little me was unwarily plowed by some uncaring random hit-and-run person. Bzzzt. Wrong. I did this to myself.
-oOo-
Discounting the joyrides on my dad's Virago when we lived back in Boulder City, and the bodged-together moped like monstrosity that Karl and I built in Kalamazoo... my first real experience with motorized bikes was when I bought a used Honda Helix from an incredibly cool gay-porn photographer in San Francisco (no, his sexual orientation has nothing do to with my confessional here! Get your mind out of the gutter! This guy just had style, was all, and I was impressed.) I had my friend Andre drive it home for me, as he was the only serious biker I knew at the time that I could trust.
For those that don't know the Helix, it's a 250cc scooter made by Honda. The motor is big enough that it's actually classified as a motorcycle and requires a motorcycle license to ride... yet it's got an automatic transmission and is stupid-easy to ride. It's no longer available, having been replaced by the more advanced Reflex scooter, as well as the incredibly powerful (for a scooter) SilverWing. The little Helix would chuff terribly at my weight, but it would still go. I got my learner's permit (which means no highway use, no after-dark, and no passengers) and started commuting on it immediately. I loved that little scoot.
I taught myself to ride, just going slow at first, with the usual "who needs a silly MSF class?' bravado first-time bikers get. This was problem #1. I also had ZERO protective gear, save for a crappy helmet I found lying on a shelf in a small store that actually fit me. This was problem #2. Having gotten braver and braver on it, I was taking it on all kinds of backroads near the house. I've described the 'hicks loop' in previous posts, and that rapidly became a favorite. The little helix would complain and groan going up the tall hill in the middle, but it would actually do it. I started getting confident doing this ride -- too confident. This was problem #3. All three problems together led to the crash.
I got playful while leaning the bike that day through Hicks. At the top of the mid-course rise, is a long set of S-turns, like mini-sweepers. I leaaned way over to one side, then waay over to the other, scraping the bottom of the Helix's footboards, and in the process wallowing all over the road, not caring about the yellow line. I know now, looking back on it, that I knew crap-all about cornering, and was doing it all wrong. As I rounded a left-hander, I rode the yellow line... and around the corner came a big ol' SUV. It wasn't keeping to its side of the road either.
By some random luck of the draw, I managed to get myself out of the SUV's way. I ended up in this long, wide turn... headed straight for the ditch off the side of the road. I had tons of time to avoid it, and I was going slow enough to steer away, or just come to a stop. But nope... stupid-newbie Tug here decided to just target-fixate on the ditch, and drive straight into it, locked up like a deer in the headlights. SCRUNCH The bike fell into the 3-foot-deep ditch, and wedged there. My legs were thrown forwards, and the left one ground down along the asphalt's ragged edge, instantly going through the jeans and tearing off fleshybits. The other leg took less damage on the rocky soil. My body got thrown into the handlebars, and I headbutted the windshield. Thank goodness I had at least that minimal helmet!
I staggered off the bike, which was held vertical by the ditch. I surveyed myself... ugh. Leg dripping. I had a helmet-cleaning towel in the helix's trunk, and I tied it around my lower leg to get it to stop being all red. I was dazed, but the endorphins did their thing and I didnt' feel much. As I struggled to pull the bike out of the ditch, a park ranger drove by slowly. She smirked at me, obviously quite amused that some dumb biker had wadded his scoot. She slowed down long enough to look, and before I could say anything or ask for help, she shook her head and drove on. I guess he figured that since I was walking I was OK. :/ I got it out by sheer force of will, and was infinately glad it started when I pressed the ignition switch. I hopped back on, finished the loop, and headed for home.
I went to my sister's condo instead, knowing my brother-in-;aw knew first aid. I'm fuzzy on the exact details of what happened the rest of that day... but I know that at some point, my brother-in-law cleaned up my leg some. At another point, I'd gone home and showered, cleaning up a bit of it myself. Strangely, it still didn't hurt much. Still another point in that day, I went to Kaiser's clinic, and the doctors went "AAAIUGH!" at me and made a huge fuss over cleaning the leg out and removing all kinds of bits of road I had no idea were in there. Now that hurt. They bandaged me up and sent me home.
My co-workers at Diamond Multimedia were amused to see me hobbling around, and amazingly interested in being grossed out when I'd show them the see-through 'fake skin' bandage with all the chummy bits behind it. I worked with some fun freaks, and they liked the freakshow. I made up stories about it being on my bicycle and other such so that I wouldn't have to admit that I simply Failed in my attempts to ride. Eventually I had![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
revar drive me back up on Hicks and we found the underbody plastic panels of the Helix that had snapped off. The bike was otherwise A-OK, and I reassumbled it. Only a few scratches revelaed my biff. I sold that bike a few months later, as I determined I was just too heavy for it and it was going to be destroyed if I kept riding.
When I got my next bike, the GL1100 I bought used for $600, this time from a nice divorced lady with much less style, but still in SanFran... the first real ride I did was through Hicks, right through where I crashed. I was glad to get it out of my system, and not be afraid of that corner any more. I nowadays ride right by it without a care. The only lingering grump I have is at how nasty my legs look... with the full knowledge that even the most _basic_ of cordura or leather riding pants, I'd not have had more than a light bruise. Heck, even proper boots with high leg coverings would have done the trick. The crash was very low speed, and overall pretty benign -- it's just that in the war between Asphalt and Flesh, Asphalt always wins.
Every time I wince at paying $1500 for this new Bates riding gear (fully armored pants and jacket, tailored exactly to my size)... I just look in a mirror at my discolored legs. That's all it takes, and I realize the suit is going to be worth every single cent... and in fact, I need to buy more of them.
-----
To not miss my place in line, I have to go down for the 2nd sizing either this Friday, or a week from Saturday. If I miss both those dates, I get sent back to the beginning of the queue, to wait another 20-30 days. Bates is in Long Beach, which is a 6 hour drive. They're far enough away from the 'cheap' airports that a ticket plus the cabride to/from their shop would be unreasonably expensive. My sister has my van for a week and a half, to go to BurningMan (and I'd not want to drive that gas-hog that far anyways)... so this leaves me with doing one hell of a long riding day. 6 hours down, 2-4 hours of fitment work and talks, 6 hours back. 720mi roundtrip, according to Mapquest. Erf.
I'll do it, to be sure; it's just a matter of which date to choose. I'll feel guilty the whole way, doing it in my simple jacket and jeans. I wish I had a friend to co-ride down with me, but I don't know of anybody in their right mind who wants to do a 720 mile day, down superslab. Frang lives up here now, and Hatch is gonna be out-of-state on vacation, leaving me with few things to do once I'm in the LA basin, which is a shame with the entire weekend free. Maybe Peggy and Ashy will be up for a pull-by-say-hi, or have a couch free to crash on if I'm not up to the return trip on the same day. Maybe I'll just flop out in a cheap motel, and then motor it to Vegas to see the Guggenheim "Art of the Motorcycle" exhibit before going home. I admit, it's been a long time since I just played a weekend completely by ear. I'll find out more tomorrow, so I'd better be off to sleep. Goodnight!
The news of the day is that Bates called -- my position in the queue finally came up. They start cutting the pattern for my riding armor this week, and needed the 2nd (of 3) payments before they began. Normally they don't ask for a 2nd money infusion -- but they informed me they got burned by a few folks they sold to at the same Laguna Seca event I met them at, so they're asking their other customers to please pay-up before they commit to cutting leather/cloth. This made my budget wince terribly, as September is going to hit me with the tripleshot of bike insurance, bike registration, and vehicle insurance (all large lump-sums paid annually) at the same time I've got normal bills to pay and other new expenses. I'll feel so much better once this fall rolls around, moneywise. I'm actually glad BurningMan isn't draining my resources this year.
I'm definately eager to see the Tug-barding completed... the more I ride around with this flimsy leather wannabe-jacket and thin denim jeans, the more guilty and exposed I feel. I fully believe that one should wear the right gear all the time, and yet I've not been practicing what I preach, due to not having that gear available to me. As I get closer to actually owning the riding suit, I find msyelf more and more eager to have it -- and more paranoid that I'll take a tumble. I get nicely ironic images in my head of low-siding the bike while heading to pick up the completed suit. I'm psyching myself out but good!
Time for an admission. I've told this particular event three or four different ways, depending on who was listening at the time. I blame it on being embarrased and also wanting to fit into biking-culture in my early days. I figure now, at this early morning hour, is as good as any time to 'come clean' on what happened. I've told this to most the people who live with/near me... but to those who I've told the other non-true versions to, I apologize. Hopefully this particular 'white lie' isn't too evil in the scheme of things.
Both of my lower legs have some reaaaaly nasty road rash. I will spare you any pictures. If you know me locally RL, you've seen it the few days I wear shorts. These marks are over 5 years old, and trust me... they look many times better than they did when I got them. I was missing skin from just below my kneecap to my ankletop, and at one point mid-wound it shaved to the bone. I had to wear 'fake skin' patches for four months, and I'll carry this discolored skin for life, unless reconstructive surgery gets cheaper and better. The skin causes me no pain at this point; it's just ugly. It's also a little thin, so I scratch/bruise easily there, and always will.
In the past few years, I've told friends that these scars were due to being hit by a car while on my mountain bike, being run off the road while on my Helix by a driver running a red light, or any of a few other variations. The theme was always the same: that I got injured by no fault of my own, and innocent little me was unwarily plowed by some uncaring random hit-and-run person. Bzzzt. Wrong. I did this to myself.
Discounting the joyrides on my dad's Virago when we lived back in Boulder City, and the bodged-together moped like monstrosity that Karl and I built in Kalamazoo... my first real experience with motorized bikes was when I bought a used Honda Helix from an incredibly cool gay-porn photographer in San Francisco (no, his sexual orientation has nothing do to with my confessional here! Get your mind out of the gutter! This guy just had style, was all, and I was impressed.) I had my friend Andre drive it home for me, as he was the only serious biker I knew at the time that I could trust.
For those that don't know the Helix, it's a 250cc scooter made by Honda. The motor is big enough that it's actually classified as a motorcycle and requires a motorcycle license to ride... yet it's got an automatic transmission and is stupid-easy to ride. It's no longer available, having been replaced by the more advanced Reflex scooter, as well as the incredibly powerful (for a scooter) SilverWing. The little Helix would chuff terribly at my weight, but it would still go. I got my learner's permit (which means no highway use, no after-dark, and no passengers) and started commuting on it immediately. I loved that little scoot.
I taught myself to ride, just going slow at first, with the usual "who needs a silly MSF class?' bravado first-time bikers get. This was problem #1. I also had ZERO protective gear, save for a crappy helmet I found lying on a shelf in a small store that actually fit me. This was problem #2. Having gotten braver and braver on it, I was taking it on all kinds of backroads near the house. I've described the 'hicks loop' in previous posts, and that rapidly became a favorite. The little helix would complain and groan going up the tall hill in the middle, but it would actually do it. I started getting confident doing this ride -- too confident. This was problem #3. All three problems together led to the crash.
I got playful while leaning the bike that day through Hicks. At the top of the mid-course rise, is a long set of S-turns, like mini-sweepers. I leaaned way over to one side, then waay over to the other, scraping the bottom of the Helix's footboards, and in the process wallowing all over the road, not caring about the yellow line. I know now, looking back on it, that I knew crap-all about cornering, and was doing it all wrong. As I rounded a left-hander, I rode the yellow line... and around the corner came a big ol' SUV. It wasn't keeping to its side of the road either.
By some random luck of the draw, I managed to get myself out of the SUV's way. I ended up in this long, wide turn... headed straight for the ditch off the side of the road. I had tons of time to avoid it, and I was going slow enough to steer away, or just come to a stop. But nope... stupid-newbie Tug here decided to just target-fixate on the ditch, and drive straight into it, locked up like a deer in the headlights. SCRUNCH The bike fell into the 3-foot-deep ditch, and wedged there. My legs were thrown forwards, and the left one ground down along the asphalt's ragged edge, instantly going through the jeans and tearing off fleshybits. The other leg took less damage on the rocky soil. My body got thrown into the handlebars, and I headbutted the windshield. Thank goodness I had at least that minimal helmet!
I staggered off the bike, which was held vertical by the ditch. I surveyed myself... ugh. Leg dripping. I had a helmet-cleaning towel in the helix's trunk, and I tied it around my lower leg to get it to stop being all red. I was dazed, but the endorphins did their thing and I didnt' feel much. As I struggled to pull the bike out of the ditch, a park ranger drove by slowly. She smirked at me, obviously quite amused that some dumb biker had wadded his scoot. She slowed down long enough to look, and before I could say anything or ask for help, she shook her head and drove on. I guess he figured that since I was walking I was OK. :/ I got it out by sheer force of will, and was infinately glad it started when I pressed the ignition switch. I hopped back on, finished the loop, and headed for home.
I went to my sister's condo instead, knowing my brother-in-;aw knew first aid. I'm fuzzy on the exact details of what happened the rest of that day... but I know that at some point, my brother-in-law cleaned up my leg some. At another point, I'd gone home and showered, cleaning up a bit of it myself. Strangely, it still didn't hurt much. Still another point in that day, I went to Kaiser's clinic, and the doctors went "AAAIUGH!" at me and made a huge fuss over cleaning the leg out and removing all kinds of bits of road I had no idea were in there. Now that hurt. They bandaged me up and sent me home.
My co-workers at Diamond Multimedia were amused to see me hobbling around, and amazingly interested in being grossed out when I'd show them the see-through 'fake skin' bandage with all the chummy bits behind it. I worked with some fun freaks, and they liked the freakshow. I made up stories about it being on my bicycle and other such so that I wouldn't have to admit that I simply Failed in my attempts to ride. Eventually I had
revar drive me back up on Hicks and we found the underbody plastic panels of the Helix that had snapped off. The bike was otherwise A-OK, and I reassumbled it. Only a few scratches revelaed my biff. I sold that bike a few months later, as I determined I was just too heavy for it and it was going to be destroyed if I kept riding.When I got my next bike, the GL1100 I bought used for $600, this time from a nice divorced lady with much less style, but still in SanFran... the first real ride I did was through Hicks, right through where I crashed. I was glad to get it out of my system, and not be afraid of that corner any more. I nowadays ride right by it without a care. The only lingering grump I have is at how nasty my legs look... with the full knowledge that even the most _basic_ of cordura or leather riding pants, I'd not have had more than a light bruise. Heck, even proper boots with high leg coverings would have done the trick. The crash was very low speed, and overall pretty benign -- it's just that in the war between Asphalt and Flesh, Asphalt always wins.
Every time I wince at paying $1500 for this new Bates riding gear (fully armored pants and jacket, tailored exactly to my size)... I just look in a mirror at my discolored legs. That's all it takes, and I realize the suit is going to be worth every single cent... and in fact, I need to buy more of them.
To not miss my place in line, I have to go down for the 2nd sizing either this Friday, or a week from Saturday. If I miss both those dates, I get sent back to the beginning of the queue, to wait another 20-30 days. Bates is in Long Beach, which is a 6 hour drive. They're far enough away from the 'cheap' airports that a ticket plus the cabride to/from their shop would be unreasonably expensive. My sister has my van for a week and a half, to go to BurningMan (and I'd not want to drive that gas-hog that far anyways)... so this leaves me with doing one hell of a long riding day. 6 hours down, 2-4 hours of fitment work and talks, 6 hours back. 720mi roundtrip, according to Mapquest. Erf.
I'll do it, to be sure; it's just a matter of which date to choose. I'll feel guilty the whole way, doing it in my simple jacket and jeans. I wish I had a friend to co-ride down with me, but I don't know of anybody in their right mind who wants to do a 720 mile day, down superslab. Frang lives up here now, and Hatch is gonna be out-of-state on vacation, leaving me with few things to do once I'm in the LA basin, which is a shame with the entire weekend free. Maybe Peggy and Ashy will be up for a pull-by-say-hi, or have a couch free to crash on if I'm not up to the return trip on the same day. Maybe I'll just flop out in a cheap motel, and then motor it to Vegas to see the Guggenheim "Art of the Motorcycle" exhibit before going home. I admit, it's been a long time since I just played a weekend completely by ear. I'll find out more tomorrow, so I'd better be off to sleep. Goodnight!
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2002-08-21 08:58 am (UTC)Long Beach is a ways from Glendale, as well as from Hatch's place, which is where Ashy is still staying at the moment. But I don't really have much of anything scheduled for the weekend; a visit is probably doable. No couch at my place, though.
no subject
Date: 2002-08-21 03:04 pm (UTC)I wanted to do Vegas too!!!!
Date: 2002-08-21 10:54 pm (UTC)I am working every road show for the company, every weekend in September is shot to hell as I will first be going to Ohio, then Fort Worth, then Orlando, then Atlanta, then some godforsaken place in Illinois.
Hey, its money, probably enough to buy new plastic bits for my Buell!
But DAMN I wanted to do Vegas with you guys
Dustykat
no subject
Date: 2002-08-22 10:39 pm (UTC)I'm following in your steps, in a way. Currently, I ride with only a leather jacket I bought from the mall and a pair of jeans. I *need* to upgrade to keep safe. I've got so many questions about what is right, though.