In my earlier post on this subject I mentioned two memorable close calls. The second one happened after we left a brief stay in Mt. Rainier National Park and headed down I5 towards CA, about 30 miles south of Portland. We were cruising in single file in the fast lane, 3 lanes on each side of the median. Rick was about 50 ft. in front of me. Suddenly I noticed a small pouch bag carrying his motorcycle cover had come loose on the back of his bike, and was dangling from a single strap, bounding up and down just above the pavement. In the space of a few seconds it registered that I needed to catch up asap and let him know to pull over. He had no idea the danger that was lurking. Suddenly, the small pouch bag got locked into his back wheel and caused him to fall over on his left side at 70mph. The engines on the BMW he was riding protected his left leg (the engines extend outward horizontally), as did his full assortment of leather coverings and SHOEI helmet. The bike slid straight as he separated from it. He was sliding on his back, not tumbling or anything, unconscious. A car in the center lane pulled in front of me to get out of Rick’s way as he continued his diagonal crossing into the slow lane. It was occupied by an 18 wheeler. Screaming at the top of my lungs I could see Rick sliding toward and underneath the wheels of the truck. As we later learned the truck driver saw Rick and maneuvered just enough into the emergency lane while carrying a full load. Its back wheels ran right over the crest of Rick’s helmet and popped his head back out, like stepping on the edge of a tennis ball and watching it squirt away. Fortunately Rick was sliding head first, arms by his side, so nothing else was hit. We all came to a stop. Rick was unconscious for several minutes, came to, and was quickly transported to a nearby hospital. After a battery of tests he was deemed ok. The bike was not, and our trip came to an end. We made our way back to Portland, recovered for a few days with my sister Molly before having our bikes shipped back east and returned home. The helmet and its indelible tire scar were memorialized in a case that was proudly showcased in his home. Unfortunately Rick’s short life came to end before he turned 50 from natural causes. (In the picture, Rick is on the left. My brother Rob is in the middle. I am on the right. Picture taken near the continental divide in CO, close to Aspen.)
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Motorcycling
After I graduated from Ithaca in 1979 a friend talked me into taking a cross country motorcycling trip. I didn’t know anything about motorcycles. I had never ridden on one. I bought a touring bike, enrolled in school, got licensed, took a few practice trips from Boston to NH and back, and then we set our sights west. Our goal was to v-line it for CO, then head NW to Yellowstone and on to WA state and Mt. Rainier. From there our plan was to head south to Portland, then to the OR coast all the way to San Diego, back through southern Utah and several other points along the way as we made our way back home. At least that was the plan. Among many there were two memorable close calls. The first involved me. We had left Denver and were heading NW to Yellowstone. Our planned stop, interestingly, was Lander, WY. It was early evening, quite dark, and we had just passed through Rawlins, WY. Our goal was to get to Lander, another 125 miles in pitch black with perhaps 1 gas station on the way. My friend Rick was behind me and I was behind a pickup going about 80mph. We were pretty well spaced apart. I noticed the pickup slowly maneuver his truck around something, perhaps a pothole. I did the same thing and suddenly in my headlight was this round object, which fortunately was just to left of my front tire, otherwise it would have been a direct hit, and most likely no more Jamie. Instead, I felt this thud-ump against my left foot pedal. Rick never saw the object. When we arrived at the youth hostel in Lander I was telling Rick about it. He looked at my left boot and noticed 3” long needles sticking out. “OMG” he said, “that was a porcupine you hit back there.” We went down to my motorcycle to look at the left foot pedal and there was a cluster of needles sticking out of the rubber covering. It was that close. Between that incident, caught and buried in an avalanche and a catastrophic road cycling accident I’ve been a lucky man. I’m sure we all have our near-miss stories. Yes, Diane and I were pretty young at the time - 22.