It Has Been a Crazy Week (2 of 2)

Oops, it would appear that I got distracted there and disappeared over the weekend. Actually I seem quite easily distracted lately; wonder if something happened that could have scrambled my brain a little? Oh, wait...

When last we left our nerdy orator, Makal and I had just put 600 miles on the mototcycle Bucephalus, mainly on our trip to/from Seattle to celebrate Monk's birthday. Back in Portland on Monday, we spent the evening unwinding with a bottle of rose brut, some fresh strawberries, Oreos, and the movie Doomsday, which would have been good to watch before the trip but was still surprisingly fun. (We would actually buy this movie on DVD, if that tells you anything...) Which brings us to Tuesday...

Tuesday I had a shoot with a photographer I'd not worked with before, but had been trying to schedule with for months. I was suppose to shoot with him the week before, but thought I might have been suffering from a fractured rib and opted for a doctor's visit instead (turns out it was just a rib contusion... not like that made it feel any better). I've been feeling bad because it's like I've been avoiding working with him, which is entirely not the case. Something just always comes up. Life is like that sometimes. But, yay, the shoot finally rolls around and we had a lot of fun with it; I eagerly await what should be some excellent additions to my portfolio. :D

After the shoot I met up with Makal on his bike, and we were going to head off to dinner with a few friends. As I'm about to get on the bike, Makal goes "Hey look!" and I followed to what he was pointing to: the odometer on Buce was at 666. Hey, 666 on Bucephalus! You should take a picture, I said. He did, and then we took off down the road to dinner.

Two miles later...

There are some fabulous people in the 30th and Holgate neighborhood of Portland. Hell, even the people passing through it are super nice. What happened is this: a red Matrix cut us off on a turn, and Makal's options were to lay the bike down, or hit the back of the car, the latter of which would likely have sent me flying over the car. Not good. So he opted for the former, and we skidded on our sides, with the bike, for a good 10 feet or so. The driver of the red Matrix, who had slowed down after cutting us off (aren't assholes suppose to drive fast?!) lingered long enough to see us go down and then speed up along whatever super-important route they were undertaking. Given that we were busy making friends with the asphalt, no police officer sir, we did not get their license.

We learned that in winter, that corner is infamous for accidents; at least one a week. Anymore it's like the people are all self-trained on what to do in the event of a car accident--hell, one of the women that came out to help us was a nurse! There were a couple of guys next to us before Makal even got out from under the bike, and they helped him hobble over to the curb to lay down as I tried to coordinate some things around him/us. Such as retrieving his engineer boot from its place wedged under the shifter. :P A couple of guys helped us right the bike and maneuver it out of the road while another woman called for an ambulance (and eventually, another wonderful woman would offer for us to store the bike in her garage until we could pick it up--one of the nicest strangers I've ever met).

Within minutes there was a firetruck, an ambulance, and a police car on the scene. Sadly there really wasn't much I could tell the police, given that Makal's helmet had obscurred most of my view of the event. A couple of dirty hippie/punk type kids (kids! ha, they were probably older than me) came up from their bus stop down the road and gave their report to the police, though they hadn't caught the license plate either. The firemen left pretty quickly because there really wasn't any reason for them to be there (but it was nice of them to show up nonetheless). The ambulance dudes--because yeah, they were that cool--thought Makal's chaps were the most amazing thing, with how you could unzip them and remove them all while laying down! To be fair, no emergency response person looks forward to whatever awaits them when they hear "motorcycle" from the dispatch... rarely does that turn out well.

Luckily for us, we left the incident rather intact. Since we were both wearing appropriate gear, we were fairly well protected from the asphalt, though no amount of leather could protect us from blunt-force trauma. Makal laid the bike down on its left side, thus most of the bruising and injury is on our lefts as well. I think Makal got out of it pretty good; the only one of us actually admitted to the ER, and he hobbled out about four hours later with a sore knee, sprained ankle, and prescription for painkillers. I hobbled out too, not because of any sprain or "serious" injury, but because I hit the back of my thigh on something (back peg? turn single? dunno) and the muscle was just being a total bitch about it. Not to be TMI but the first time I sat down on a toilet to take a piss I jumped right back up again, for the worst of this set of bruises is right on that portion of the leg that contacts seat edges when you sit down. I think I spent about four days in "hover mode", if you know what I mean.

Now it's nearly a week later, and I continue to think that we're doing pretty well, despite the sore sack of whiners we come across as. The bike and all our gear is in the shop waiting for insurance adjusters to inspect it, then we'll have 24-hour turnaround on the bike repairs once they can touch it. Not that it matters much; Makal can't do much shifting with his sprained ankle, and I don't think I'd enjoy sitting on that seat right yet... not until these bruises lighten up a bit. But yeah, as far as motorcycle accidents go we are pretty lucky. As several of the motorcycle enthusiasts in my circle of friends has said, there are only two types of motorcyclists: those who've gone down, and those that haven't gone down yet. I'm really glad Makal is such a good driver and managed to (mostly) maneuver us out of a bad situation.

There is a silver lining to the event: I have several momentous bruises--I mean, serious trophy-winners--that I can now take advantage of and exploit for the sake of all those who find bruises sexy (you don't think that's weird or anything, do you? ;). Here's how my bruise was looking two days after the accident (labelled "NSFW" due to arseness and boobies): [Paint me with a rainbow of pain]; and here is a pic that I shot today, almost a week later (also NSFW): [Fishnets 'n' Bruises (preview)].

Oh, the kicker about the whole evening is that I was wearing some really elaborate, "conceptual" makeup throughout. I mean, I was going from a shoot to dinner with friends, who all know what I do, so they'd probably just be like "Oh yeah, there's that Merrick again looking all crazy for some photoshoot". But uh, policemen and hospital workers had no context for my extreme makeup, so I got some mighty strange/surprised looks from people. Heh.

Okay, now here's my mini-rant on the experience: why in fucking hell would ANY of you EVER ride a bike without the appropriate gear?! I mean, sure, there are those riders who have been on a bike most of their life, they know what they're doing and are willing to risk their hide to do it. I'm cool with them, because ya gotta earn the cred to pull of self-endangering feats like that. Whatev. But what I'm totally not Not NOT okay with is all the people I see riding with obviously useless helmets, wearing flowing button-up tops over their nice tshirts, paired well with their khaki shorts and white sneakers. My question to those "organ doners" is What the fuck do you think you're doing with that much horsepower and money between your legs? Because it's those people that I see whizzing through parking lots and 5 o'clock traffic, seemingly powered merely on their own belief that they are "more aware" on a motorcycle and can avoid any accidents. Well DER, they're called "accidents" because you don't expect them; just because you as even a trained motorcyclist ARE aware of what's around doesn't mean the four cars boxing you in are too. You just don't take chances with that shit. You certainly don't take those chances with your girlfriend on the back, okay? I mean, seriously people. Even if you can't afford much, a good set of gear (eye protection, boots, gloves, pants/chaps, coat, and preferrably a DOT approved helmet too) should be factored into the cost of getting your bike to begin with. You just won't like the outcome otherwise, because life is not like the movie Torque and you don't get to travel 200-odd MPH without goggles. Seriously, it just doesn't work.