Bikers
I’m still a bit shooken up by the crash and the subsequent interaction with the policeman. I’m not out of the wood yet, either figuratively or literally. What if the insurance company demands to see the bike? How many thousands of dollars am I going to have to pay to fix everything?
The bike’s handlebars are bent so that I have to hold them at an odd angle just to ride straight. I am more than a bit worried that at any moment the bike will fall apart, that the already cranky CB360 engine will explode and launch the front wheel off leaving me flipping around on the pavement again.
But with only a couple of turns left in the forest, I make the conscious decision to suck it up and ride like I mean it. If there’s any one thing that caused the crash, and will cause another crash, it’s being scared.
Bicyclists are still running through The Tunnel Of Trees and at a moderately fast pace, I pass a couple as I lead Rob, Jon, my Dad and Jenny through the last few turns. We come out of the forest and arrive at a big log cabin diner busy with bicyclists and quite a few Harley Davidson riders. It’s about 1:30pm, and we’re pretty hungry.
I pull off my helmet and try my best to relax. It feels a bit like I’m walking through a dream, I feel pretty disconnected.
“What, you’ve got a problem?” My dad yells. I turn around and he’s not looking at me. He’s still got his helmet on and he’s facing two bicyclists parking the bikes in yellow lycra.
“That pass was too close! That’s dangerous.” One of them yells back.
“You’re dangerous swerving all over the road. How about you let us decide what’s too close?” my Dad yells back through his helmet. It’s a bit muffled, he’s still taking off his gear.
I have no idea what’s going on. All I think about is that I can’t afford to kick these guys asses because the cop might come back and check my VIN
“We have three feet on either side!”
“So what?”
No, I can’t beat the shit out of them. I start to calculate how far the cop could be since I last saw him. How many bicyclists are there? There’s some Harley guys here too.
“Nothing, it’s not worth it.” Says the bicyclist, as he motions for his friend to go inside the crowded restaurant.
I wasn’t that sure of what was going on before and now I definitely don’t know.
“What was that about?” I ask Jon.
“You made a close pass,” he replies.
“And one of the biker’s moved over and tried to block the rest of us.” My dad adds.
Did I? Did he? I’m not sure. There was probably some asshole biker that I had to pass on the outside. I think I remember some of them hogging the whole road. I think.
I can’t really think.
“We could have taken them.” Says Rob.
Yea, he’s right I think, as we follow them into the restaurant.