Saturday, October 2, 2010
As hatred boils from my insides, I write the post I hoped to never make. Have you seen those dorks who put tape on their top triples that say ‘new tires!!!’? Yeah, I have too, - f*ck those guys - I thought to myself as I zapped off to work aboard my pristine 50th anniv. R1. A few corners, some braking, dry roads (for portland) and my favorite ‘chicane’ section coming up, I figured the new Rosso’s were good to go. People talk about time slowing down, seeing their life flash before their eyes, violent ragdolling over the asphalt. It wasn’t like that...more like how people describe the final moments of drowning when everything gets peaceful and quiet and death slowly takes over. Brushing myself off and surveying appendages, a concerned granny says something I can’t hear her due to the sound isolating headphones. As I finally get the music stopped, she says “what happened? You weren’t even going fast.” Later, loading up the wreckage, an old man (likely granny’s husband) says to me “hey, I put those steel posts there for a reason.” Yeah, thanks buddy. Next time, I’m putting the tape message on the triple....”don’t crash again dumbf*ck.” Thanks to myself for wearing Icon from head to toe and staying intact enough to be pissed about my bike, not hospital bills.