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As I was traveling to work at 5 in the a.m., the pickup just in front of me carrying a 15-foot length of iron pipe in its bed backed up to clear the intersection. When the light turned green, the moron took off in reverse, ramming the pipe into the front right side of my motorcycle. The damage: No throttle, and no brakes. He sheared both cables and sheared the rear brake pedal pivot, nearly taking my foot off in the process. The young man driving his father’s pickup shit his drawers when I told him how much it would cost to fix my bike (In the $800 range), and we exchanged insurance information.
I was hard pressed to complete my fifty-five mile commute because my company seriously frowns on the worker bees showing up late. I needed to jury rig a throttle cable. I looked around the bare expanse of the road and shoulder I was parked on and came up empty. Then I took my boot laces, tied them together and tied one end to the throttle actuator on the left side of the engine. A slight tug gave me the full range or RPM. To achieve a measure of braking, all I would need to do is release the throttle and let the engine slow me down, which would actually be quite effective on a light vehicle like a motorbike. I climbed on my bike with the shoelace’s loose end in hand and realized this would not be as easy as I had thought. I needed my left hand on the handlebars at all times to operate the clutch and my shoe lace throttle cable was about a foot short of reaching the right hand grip. I couldn’t tie the makeshift throttle cable to a toe as I needed my left foot to operate the shifter. Also, my toe lacked the sensitivity to operate the throttle smoothly, as the throttle actuator was rather sensitive. What to do?
As the road was dark and currently deserted, I unzipped my jeans and tied the end of the shoelace around the first thing handy. I don’t think I need to draw you a picture. I pulled my jacket down over the “arrangement” after adjusting the shoelace to give me a decent idle. I shifted into gear and took off. To get my bike up to moderate speed, all I needed to do was concentrate and think of Jane Seymour, late of Quinn Medicine Woman, and now the hottest 50+ lady ever on Dancing with the Stars. This mental image assured moderate tension on the makeshift throttle cable. As I entered the turnpike, I got to speed by changing my minds eye image and thinking instead of Lauren Graham. That nearly proved to be my undoing as the instantaneous increase in throttle cable tension nearly dumped me off my bike backwards. Stabilizing my speed was accomplished by picturing the lovely Lauren in tight jeans and a bare midriff blouse. I was able to easily maintain 65 MPH, which I did for the next half-hour.
Ten miles from Stroud, I had a clear highway in front of me and decided to kick things up a notch. Jessica Alba appeared in my mind and I was now smoothly cruising at 80 MPH. For the first time, having 62 horsepower between my legs took on an entirely different meaning. My gaze turned upward to look at a star-filled sky unencumbered by city lights as a beautifully contrasting glint of orange appeared on the pine covered horizon heralding the sunrise on what would no doubt be a lovely day. OH SHIT! I looked back down as I came around a curve just in time to see that there was an accident up ahead blocking both lanes. “Rhea Perlman”, I thought in a desperate attempt to slow my motorcycle. “Roseanne! Oh God!!” I was still rapidly approaching a smoldering cluster of twisted metal that had been a car and an SUV, and my motorbike seemed only to eager to join them. “MADELINE ALBRIGHT STARK ASS NAKED AND COVERED IN BABY OIL.”
Whew. That did the trick. I was able to safely maneuver around the wreck at 10 MPH. My heart, however, was still going 80 MPH. I got off the highway, fairly shook. I was content to just take the surface streets and Jane Seymour the rest of the way in to work, all the while pondering that if I had wrecked, what the paramedics would have made of my obvious determination to cling to the saddle of my bike with every ounce of life I had left in me.
I was still plenty shook as I sat down at my desk. I put up my Jessica Alba screen saver to help cleanse my mind of the remnants of nude Madeline Albright A coworker stopped by, noticed the screen, and said, "Hey Coaster, You're a fan of Jessica Alba?"
I replied, "Oh heck yeah. She really guns my engine."
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