28-52-2013: That which goes up, must come down…unfortunately….

12

July 14, 2013 – Had a great weekend riding, it went perfectly…almost…

It started great. Yesterday we lazed about, recuperating after a long week. I was running a Fish Health Workshop all week out at UBC and it went off without a hitch, more or less. A great class, great people, and great weather. But after a week of very early mornings, and late nights, it was nice to just sleep in, particularly after getting together with some good friends over drinks Friday night. That capped the week in a most fabulous manner, but it also took the final bit of energy out of us both.

Eventually we got moving and or plans were reduced significantly as the day wore on. We went from “Let’s do the Duffy Loop!” to “How about Pemberton?” to “Whistler?” to…how about coffee in Squamish?”

We ended up meeting up with a friend and having a nice ride to Squamish and back, and as we got off the bikes at home and prepared to wash them I noticed that my rear reflector had vanished on the ride somewhere. A quick call to Burnaby Kawasaki to see if they had one and if they were still open and we were back on the bikes and off to Burnaby for a quick fix. While there, I went upstairs to see if they might have a part that had broken off my helmet, just a little lever that locks the visor either closed or a crack open. It wasn’t anything earth shattering, jus a minor annoyance. Jay took apart a new helmet, and replaced the base plates on both sides of my helmet for a paltry sum. Totally wasn’t expecting that!

By the time we made it home Saturday night we were just done. No inclination to wash the bikes after all that. So it was out for a beer and wings before crashing for the night.

This morning we were a bit more rested, more or less, probably less than more though. Maybe we shouldn’t have done such a long ride. But it is what it is. Can’t do much about it now.

We headed out, stopped for a coffee and a bite to eat at Starbucks on Steveston Highway. Maybe that should have warned us that the day might not go perfectly. As we were traveling down the HOV lane on the 99 we caught up to a white van doing 60km in a 90km zone. Then it exited at the same place we did, and slowed down to 40km. Kirk was riding behind it waving his hand a bit, I couldn’t see what was going on, but then he started to ride past and she swerved, no signal, towards Kirk. She had no idea he was there and was busy with her cell phone call. I usually don’t react much to people driving while using the phone, I’m on a motorcycle and that makes me vulnerable so I usually just stay out of the way, but this idiot had just made an attempt on my husband’s life and I just couldn’t help but ride past, honk wildly, and wave my hand at her in a “Put your f*&!ing phone down you idiot!” manner. I don’t know why I bothered, I doubt she even saw.

A coffee and a bagel later, all calmed down and ready to go, we headed to the border where I had another clue that maybe today was a better day to hang out on the deck. Kirk cleared Customs, then I did. We pulled to the side to do up our gear and get ready to go. I went to go and stalled my bike. First time I’ve done that on this bike. Kirk had stalled earlier and my stall sort of evened the morning out, except that when I did it I wasn’t on a flat area and the left side was sloped down, that would be the foot I always drop when I stop, and when it is suddenly hanging in mid air for a moment longer than expected, and then when it comes down abruptly, with 510 lbs of bike a split second later, it creates a moment of panic. I almost dumped it. I managed to save it and made some comment about “Whew, still haven’t dropped a bike” After four years of riding, and owning three bikes, and putting a combined 35,000+ km on them I have managed to never yet drop a bike, not even during motorcycle school. Not even back when my brother had a dirt bike and I rode it without any experience.

(Psssst, that’s called foreshadowing. . . “)

Things went pretty smoothly after that. A few annoying drivers, but nothing unexpected on a sunny Sunday heading down for Chuckanut Drive and a lunch date at the Longhorn Saloon in Edison. Dodged a few dragonflies, bees and things were pinging off my helmet, and a few birds went kamikaze on me.

We stopped to take a few photos of fun signs along the way. The first is something we come across fairly often and find humourous. “Speed Limit 35 unless posted otherwise” followed a few metres away by a totally different speed limit. I don’t know why, but I find this amusing.

We also stopped to laugh at two street signs.

“Where do you live?”

“Oh, you can find me at the corner of Marine and Locust, it’s a great spot, just don’t plant a garden.”

Really? Who would name a street that?!?

The other is just cute – “Lois Lane”

Chuckanut was relatively light, and only a few highly erratic drivers. Strangely few motorcycles on the road. Lunch at the Longhorn was good, as usual. On leaving a fellow chased me out the door to ask me about my gear as his girlfriend wanted to know where I got it, and then launched into a discussion about Ninjas as his was next to mine.

Eventually we parted company and Kirk and I decided to take a road we hadn’t traveled and head over to Bow and back up Hwy 9 where we would decide our next move. When we stopped for gas and considered the time, we decided we had time for a run up Mount Baker, I figured that the next level of the road had to be open now. A few weeks ago the gate was still closed and there was six feet of snow on either side, but the road had been plowed, it HAD to be open by now.

The traffic up was light and it was a quick ride. The last time we’d gone up I’d had a bad corner or two, it was the first time I’d taken the Ninja up and I am still getting used to the greater top-weight of it. This run up was fabulous, every corner went perfectly, every switchback executed well. At the top Kirk commented on how much fun it looked like I was having and that the bike and I were getting on well.

When we arrived at the lower gate it stood open and clear. A few bits of snow in shaded areas, but so much had melted. A few corners up and we were riding between snow banks, and as we came around the last corner I saw a car coming down from further above.

Artist Point was open!

A fist pump and up we went, between steep snow banks and sheer cliffs, tight switchbacks, and then into the upper parking lot partially surrounded by towering banks of still melting snowpack. I love it up here! The heat below is such a contrast to the snow up at the top.

After a short stop we headed back down and worked our way through Glacier and on towards Sumas and the border. Along the way we were following a pickup truck carrying a chocolate lab that was just so darned excited and apparently didn’t want to miss the view on either side. At first I was angry at the driver for having the dog back there, but as the miles wore on I was so distracted by the dog running back and forth that I was so grateful when the truck finally pulled off and I could focus on the road again.

When we arrived at the border I went through first, no issues, and as I rode on I looked for a spot to pull aside and wait for Kirk. I opted to tuck in behind a bank of orange plastic barriers that the borders use to slow cars and control traffic.

And that’s when the day went wrong.

I pulled in to the right and rolled the bike to a stop. Because the wheel was pointing oddly the balance was off and when I put my left foot down the bike was weighted to the right. No biggie, just drop the right foot and all would be well. . . except for that stupid plastic barrier that I’d pulled in next to. When I put my right foot down for balance, it hit the bottom edge of the barrier and my knee folded.

There is a moment of sickening dread when you just know that you aren’t going to be able to keep 510 lbs of machine upright no matter what you do because it has gone past the point of no return and you can’t get your leg under it fast enough. When you don’t have your knee locked to take the weight and it’s folded too much, you just aren’t going to get it back.

Four years, 35,000+ km, three bikes (six if you include school and Kirk’s), and nary a scratch on any.

People say it isn’t “if” you drop a bike, it’s “when”.

Today was my “when”.

And that moment that I knew I couldn’t keep it up, my mindset switched to just putting it down as gently as I could. And I did, but it was still a bruise to the ego and several people called out to me to see if I was ok.

I was fine.

But a motorcycle just looks so wrong laying on its side. I don’t ever want to see a bike of mine in that position again.

Once was enough.

I’m just glad that I went down against that plastic barrier, because it saved everything.

Kirk saw me go down and I think he probably was more upset than I was because he couldn’t get to me because he was busy with the border guard, who hadn’t seen what happened. I didn’t actually go down badly myself, didn’t get caught under it and no physical harm done. I knew Kirk would be there in a moment, and any damage was already done, so it wasn’t worth trying to fight it upright by myself and risk doing something worse. The smartest thing to do was just wait. No point in playing She-ra when help was right there.

So I waited. And grumbled at myself. Karma is a bitch. Never say never.

Kirk arrived and hopped off and we pulled it upright together. Pulled off the gear and went over the bike closely looking for the inevitable damage.

I thought the mirror was broken. It wasn’t.

Kirk was sure I must have broken a signal light. I didn’t.

The handlebar must have been scratched. It wasn’t.

The lever? Nope.

The upper fairing? Totally fine.

In fact, the only real damage was that the tip of the aluminum base for the right foot peg had snapped off, and there were two absolutely tiny (think minuscule rock chip sized) chips in the white paint on the lower fairing, a small scuff on the lowest part of the clutch cover, and some small nicks that look like rock chips along the outer part of the muffler guard. Those can be touched up with a bit of paint, as can the two tiny nicks in the white fairing. The scuff on the clutch cover irritates me and I may replace it out of principle, and the foot peg step will cost me a whopping $25.00 to replace.

Unless you knew what I’d done, you would never see any of it. But it irritates me. I got lucky because I fell against the plastic barrier and it buffered the fall. The damage was only a result of the bike slipping a small distance because the barrier was curved and slipped away a bit.

The rest of the ride home was suitably uneventful, except for one frightening moment when car tires were suddenly screeching around us and a bicycle materialized smack in the middle of the HOV lane. Cars and trucks swerved wildly around it and we just got ourselves out of there post-haste.

Once home, a good wash confirmed that there was no missed damage.

They always say that the first scuff on any new vehicle is the worst. So there, I’ve got that out of the way, I’ve dropped a bike finally. And if I had to do it, that was the best scenario I could have hoped for.

Other than that, the weekend was great and we put another 620 km on this weekend. Our hips and knees hurt, and we are tired, but all in all, it was fun.