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I was sitting in the emergency room with a broken wrist when I decided it was time to install antilock brakes on my motorcycle. My swollen right hand twitched as I thought about the sequence of events which had placed me in this bleached waiting room, wedged between a hoard of mucus-dispensing children and a large woman explaining into her cell phone that lancing your own boils apparently can lead to festering infections. Who knew?
My day had started like any combination of the usual snooze fests which generally make up my life, but on my way home from lunch things took a sour turn. A six hundred-pound wombat (or something resembling a six hundred-pound wombat) lurched menacingly onto the highway in front of me. I skidded off the pavement trying to avoid its gnashing rabid jaws. I stayed on my wheels until...
I woke up in the ditch. The feral wombat creature was gone. I was certain I had lost consciousness only for a moment, but we all know how fast and stealthy wombats can be. I could feel its steely gaze from the woods nearby as I gained my feet, but I never again saw the beast; although, my gut tells me I will again someday.
It's important to note that I possess the ninja reflexes of a Chinese ping pong champion. Seriously, I move like a rat terrier on dark chocolate, so my reaction time wasn't a factor in my wrist-crunching mishap. But what was?
At first glance, the evidence might lead one to think I might have stabbed the rear binders too hard causing a skid - which would explain why the rear wheel suddenly felt like it was coated in warm margarine. In other words, experienced riders might claim that this incident was (gulp) rider error, but we all know what a great rider I am, so it couldn't have been that. Could it?
Could it have been a mechanical failure of some kind? Did my beloved motorcycle betray me in the moments I needed it most? Had there been an oil spill on the road there recently? A warm margarine spill perhaps?
I blame it all on the lack of antilock brakes. Many bikes come with ABS as standard equipment. All cages do. So why doesn't my bike have this miraculous little device? I'll tell you why: because it doesn't need it. That's right, my crash was caused by one hundred percent pure, all-natural, unadulterated rider error. It's an ugly truth, I realize, but it's one I had to face head on if I hoped to continue riding. Or living.
ABS might have helped, but it wouldn't have prevented my crash. Proper braking would have. By the time I recognized my oafish use of the rear brake (and my corresponding underuse of the front) I was already on my head. Boom. Just like that. Vegas wedding fast.
You already know what I'm going to say about the front brakes: That's where the stopping happens. Rear wheel go, front wheel stop; that's all you have to know. Well, that and watch out for wombats.
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