A Near Perfect Day - (audio format)

A last minute opportunity to spend the weekend watching the World Super Bike races in Laguna Seca presented itself. How could I turn down my first-ever motorcycle race? Packed and ready to go at too damn early Friday, I headed north toward Laguna Seca from Los Angeles, aboard a traffic-laden Highway 101. I elected the San Marcos Pass diversion (Highway 154), in an effort to dodge my Gaviota wind curse. By the time I reached the hilly section of the pass, it was just before 10:00 am. I breathed a smog-free sigh of relief, having left the congested morning rush hour traffic behind in Santa Barbara. Knowing I’d run into traffic throughout the weekend, I also left behind my Pelican cases, and tacked a duffel to my tail rack.

The section of 154 which I was currently on consisted of two paved lanes with a gravel shoulder on my left and a steep road cut on my right. I estimated the top of the tree-covered road cut to be approximately 10 to 15 feet. As I enjoyed taking in any scenery which didn’t look like the LA/Orange County border crossing on the 5 Freeway, I noticed two deer atop the hill on my right, looking down at me, less than 100 feet away while I travelled at speed (55 mph). One deer looked at the other, back at me, back at the road, and back to his friend. ‘Noooooo….don’t do it,’ I mumbled inside my helmet. Before I could finish that thought, all I had time to say was ‘shit’ as he jumped down in front of the bike.

As is typical with crashes, you seem to remember the moment immediately before or upon impact with a mysterious blank space occupying the good parts until the landing portion of the brain exercise. I was on my stomach, fully outstretched arms and legs like a jumping jack, sliding backwards/northbound in my lane, and conveniently in a position to watch the cars off in the distance on their approach. No slide slow of life flashed before my eyes; however, I did pass up some BMW parts as I was sliding, taking mental stock of what I’d be missing later. Once my asphalt joyride came to a close, I leaped to my feet and hightailed it across the opposite lane to the shoulder. My 2009 BMW F650GS was nice enough to know her place in the world and slide conveniently off the highway, just onto the gravel shoulder. No need to enter into oncoming traffic and attempt a dead lift. [She’s awesome like that.] I saw the back wheel up off the ground spinning, quickly hit the kill switch, and sat down for the obligatory WTFJH moment.

With less than a minute sitting down, I was greeted by an off-duty EMT, who immediately started barking orders to stay down. Indeed, I know the drill. Don’t bounce around without taking stock of all your moving parts. I sort of missed out on that moment when I decided running across a highway with potentially broken parts was better than seeing if the height of my Schuberth was just enough to hook onto the undercarriage of that SUV heading my way. As it turned out, aside from my pinky feeling like it was on fire, nothing was broken. By the time the second wave of passersby stopped, I was in good hands: two BMW motorcyclists driving a truck. By that time, the CHP was en route, the EMT departed, and it was Phil, Shel, and I surveying the damage to my bike.

Phil and Shel spared me the heavy lifting like the gentlemen they were and righted the bike. We walked around it several times, noting the low-side love marks to the passenger peg and engine cover, missing right-hand turn indicator (but with the leads intact), and the most obvious: the scratches to the BMW logo and plastic fairing. My TCI Products Outback Luggage System, usually sporting two 1520 Pelican cases, took the brunt of the slide and saved my gas tank. Forks seemed straight, control panel lit up, tires seemed unaffected. I had the guys stand off in the distance in front of me while I took her in first to see if they noticed anything peculiar at low speed. Totally weird feeling like the forks were bent. They assured me the forks looked fine and the bike from a distance tracked okay. It took me a few spins before I realized my standard riding position, hands at 9 and 3, needed to be adjusted to 11 and 5. The handlebar was bent and the clamp was twisted. Other than that, I was more than impressed with the way the bike held up during an accident and thought perhaps BMW should buy out Timex’s slogan and go with “Takes a licking and keeps on ticking” in lieu of “Feed your restless.”