Statistically speaking, this was bound to happen at some point…
Adding up the mileage of all my motorcycles, combined with the knowledge I got my motorcycle license in September of 2011, you get about 80,000 miles of riding all over the country, in 8 and a half years.
And yesterday, I had my first street crash.
I mean, TeChNiCaLlY…..
OMG WHAT HAPPEN is probably what brought you here, right?
Matt rides. A LOT. It’s like, all he ever posts about. And talks about. He won’t shut the fuck up about it, actually.
And he finally bit the big one.
Became an organ donor. Natural Selection, right? Woo!
Stupid bikes. That’s why I don’t ride a motorcycle. I’d kill myself. Someone actually said to me the day after the crash “Thats why I dont ride motorcycles…. Yea, my life expectancy would probably be cut in half if I got a bike”
🙄 spare me. Half the people I work with have mild to severe alcoholism, are definitely obese, hate their wives, and kids and houses and liberals and california and each other and seem like they’re just looking for a reason to be right about their own miserable life choices. Fuck. Off.
(See Jenna? Add… most… of my coworkers to the list of people I told to fuck off in the aftermath of this event)
So, for context: here’s the toll on my body, 2 days post crash (sorry if you’re squeamish, its just blood)
My lip is cut enough that I’d consider needing stitches:
It looked worse the day of the injury than it really is:
My right hand has some road rash:
My left shoulder hurts from the impact. The seriousness of that injury remains to be seen. I was in such a rush to get to work I sorta skipped the obligatory post crash hospital visit. It’s getting better, so I think I’ll pull through.
And then normal aches and pains associated with your body being violently relocated while having an extra 3 pounds of helmet on your head.
I’ll throw in the reflection part sooner: post crash, knowing I made it out luckier than most, knowing that I may suffer in pain from this and other crashes for the rest of my possibly shorter life, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I am ready to get back on a bike NOW.
I’ll do you one better, and drive the point straight down the middle, between “playing it safe,” and “Still gunna send it:” I love riding so much, that’s one of the reasons why I ride as safely as possible; nobody knows what’s on the other side of death. Your concept of heaven may very well not exist. It very well may. But what I DO know for sure, is I can ride now.
In this life.
And in order to preserve that, I need to make sure I ride within my limits, as safely as I can, and be prepared mentally, and physically, for the statistical probably that I will go down again.
OMFG WHAT HAPPEN
Ok. So. There’s alot of outside factors still in play here, from the Insurance claim, and my job (I was on my way to a work thing when I crashed, so there’s that) so I have to be careful with speculating on some details.
The plan all along was to throw the Tiger in the truck, drive down to Ridgecrest, California on Monday, unload the bike, and then ride Tues-Wed-Thurs, load it up, and drive home Friday. Its our standard deal for going on work trips. I can carry as much as I need in my truck, but I still have the bike.
So, oil change/tire rotation was due on the truck:
The Tiger needed some love, because 10 days after this trip, we were geared up and ready to go on take 2 of the Southern Cali BDR. Oil change, clutch service, and we were lucky enough to be gifted a bunch of spare parts from James at Seattle Triumph, including a brand new shift pedal.
Sunday night, truck was ready, Tiger was ready. Just needed to adjust the clutch cable, check the oil, tires, and load up. You’ll notice my beard is gone in the photos above: I had drill with the Navy Reserves all weekend, so most of this took place after 5pm. Its no secret I was working late, but I was finished. Time for bed.
Monday morning, wake up at dawn to an epiphany that would lead to a sore lip, a broken heart, and the resulting exact opposite of said epiphany:
Matt, you are leaving for 5 short days.
You have a touring bike.
Ridgecrest is 350 miles away. Thats 2 $11 gas tanks. Why would you load your touring bike into the 15mpg truck FOR 3 DAYS OF RIDING to work?
Yea. I’ll ride the bike. Hell yea!
Do laundry, pack my stuff, check the clutch cable, its stretched but holding. T-CLOCS, Tires-Controls-Lights-Oil-Chassis-Stands.
Call me a nerd, but that shit happens before every day I ride. Tires were good, pressure and condition, I had just adjusted the clutch, and the rest of the controls were solid. Lights all worked, despite the front signal lenses being ripped off, all 4 lit up. Oil was a little high, a symptom of filling it while on the center stand, so I drained some out. Messy hands. Chain needed adjusting. Tightened it up. And my kickstand was good. Loaded the luggage, took it for a short spin to make sure everything was tightened down to last 350+ miles. Parked it, went in to get my gear, and leave.
Yea yea, boring. Get to the crash!
Southbound. Gas in Fernley, about 5 miles from the house. One final tire paranoia* check. Then it’s 95a to Silver springs, then Yerington, then 395. My favorite road on the planet. Its so Beautiful, easy 2 lane road through the heart of the Sierras. The views, the traffic is relaxed and spread out, but the road isn’t boring.
Cruising along, I recall being worried about fuel economy. See, out west, its not unheard of to go 100 miles between gas stops, and if you’ve ever had the pleasure of bending over and taking it at Lee Vining for gas, you learn to max out your fuel economy and choose your fuel stops carefully. Considering traffic was relaxed, I was content with cruising about 60, 65.
Content. That’s where I was. Bluetooth was going, I had a chill playlist going through my earplugs, Coheed and Cambria playing in my ear, Rever tracking my location, weather was sunny, a little chilly, 55 degrees. I was planning on grabbing my jacket liner at the next gas stop.
*Tire Paranoia: First year in the dirt, 2018, I got 2 flat rear tires in less than 50 miles in Pahrump, NV doing the nvbdr. That’s another story, but it really caused me to be especially wary of my tube and tire condition.
I noticed that a flat, or low tire condition, will cause the bike to resist leaning. So on top of checking my tire pressures multiple times, I also tend to weave the bike left to right at lower speeds to ensure it doesn’t feel funny.
Out of nowhere, on straight, clean 2 lane road through farmland, it starts to feel funny. Front stiffens up, and I lean hard to the left, not on purpose like…
“What’s wrong, buddy?” I remember thinking. Like my Tiger is just gunna talk to me while I wrestle the front wheel back underneath me.
It answered. I could feel the front wheel in particular was not rolling correctly in the handlebars.
How does one feel the front wheel, but not the back wheel, in the handlebars?
It comes from a deep, emotional connection with the bike, built up over 35 thousand miles in just 2.5 years of riding. I asked the tiger to talk to me, and she answered. A rear wheel issue you can feel in the seat. Just handlebars? Front tire.
In the span of breaths, I got us upright, only to have it snap back down on the right side, as we depart pavement for the shoulder of the road.
I want to tell you that I was suddenly in my element. “We’re in dirt now, this is my territory” I’d say. My ass came off the seat, I stood on the pegs, and I rolled to a safe, controlled stop. Deep sigh. That was close….
I cannot tell you that.
I’ve always said, you don’t know what you’re gunna do until you’re in the scenario.
You can practice. You can hope. Did anyone else see I posted a story of a guy who used the skills he learned at the MSF class to avoid an accident?
#irony
But you won’t know without being there. In that moment. Seconds before impact.
I’ve crashed a couple times in the dirt.
I can tell when its save-able, and when its time to ditch before you get trapped under 525 pounds of kinetic energy. Bones don’t usually survive that.
This instinct of mine is the only thing that I think I actually employed in the split second while we are still rubber side down.
I got us back upright from our right lean, just as the wheels crossed down onto the shoulder. I saved it twice, there wouldn’t be a third.
The front tire tucked almost immediately in the Nevada dirt, and before I could do that lucky thing where I survive weird situations and not crash,
I crash.
The Tiger and I slam down on our left side, a cloud of rocks and sand fly up as I see the tiger bounce back up for a moment. Sand hits my face, I closed my eyes, my visor is no longer hiding me from the outside world.
We slide sooooo far.
Coheed is still jamming along in my ears.
As a kid, my parents didn’t really like letting me watch movies they didn’t wanna see, so I read the book from the movie XXX. I vividly remember a part where Xander wakes up after a crash, and makes a conscious effort not to move at all, knowing a broken rib could easily puncture a lung.
I kinda do that. I can see blood running into the chinbar of the helmet.
I pick my head up slowly, make sure I am in fact not still on pavement.
Getting run over is the perfect icing on the cake of crashing at highway speeds. Definitely worth risking a collapsed lung if it means not getting run over.
Coheed is still jamming along in my ears.
Tiger is down on its left side, almost within reach. My garage door opener I’d been missing for weeks is in the dirt next to the bike. Huh… I’ve been looking for that…
I look up through what’s left of my visor to see an old brown and yellow jeep truck crossing the road to my side of the road.
Coheed is still jamming through my earplugs. Seriously, why do bluetooth thingys not have impact detection? I do not want to begin my journey to the afterlife listening to Claudio plug his comic book!
Jeep guy gets out, and says stuff. I’m a little preoccupied. I get to my knees. Try to figure out what the fuck just happened.
I could tell I rang my bell harder than normal because usually, tigger doesn’t stay down. Amelia told me one time that tigers will migrate oil above the valves, and then won’t start. Get them upright as soon as you can.
That, and I guess my pride doesn’t wanna let people see me bleed.
I remove my helmet, No more Coheed. Ear plugs come out. I can hear Jeep guy now.
Jeep guy asks me if I’m okay. Too early to tell, but my fingers and toes operate, so, yes? He goes “well lets get your bike upright”
I’m in no mood to get my bike upright. I’m just not. Blood is pouring down my chin. But that seems to be his goal, so, yea. Let’s do it. “Let me help”
No, I mean, its just easier when I do it myself, I’ve done it so many times, I have a system…..
No, Matt. You’re thinking about loading it into your truck. Who the hell would say no to help deadlifting this bike with all this luggage attached?
Someone who just hit the ground at highway speeds, thats who.
Someone. Like me. In my situation. Doing what I do, the way I do things, and I Just. Ran. Out. Of. Luck.
We get the bike upright, and coolant immediately starts pouring onto the ground. I notice the upper part of my crash bar is bent back 90 degrees.
The guy in the jeep mentions needing to get his daughter to school, so he leaves. I sit.
I sit. Breathe. Think.
I look at my helmet.
The thing about some helmets with a polycarbonate shell, is that the outer shell retains it’s shape in the event of a minor impact, despite the internal foam caving in. Which is why you’re supposed to retire your helmet after any impact, even if it doesn’t look damaged from the outside….
I called work. Told them I might be a little late.
I tried to call Brandy, who had access to my truck keys. No answer. I started to panic thinking maybe her phone was off.
I texted my best friend. I should have called her. I couldn’t really manage anything but sending her this photo:
………..
And then I called my dad.
…………
Honestly, I’m a lot more emotional about it now than I was when I was covered in dirt and blood, calling my dad because I need to stay alert, and I knew he would answer.
You don’t ride 80,000 miles over the course of 8 years and NOT ever consider what this phone call would be like.
I mentioned before that I ride safely because I want to ride as much as possible, for as long as possible, but there’s something bigger.
The Real reason I stopped riding my sportbike like an idiot.
The Real reason I started wearing all of my gear, All of the time.
The Real reason when I was in college I had a photo of him in my tank bag, staring me in the face as I made the decision of how hard to twist my right hand…
….
Because the idea of some Albany Asshole with a smokey the bear hat and a fucking purple tie showing up to my dad’s house…
….
Because of something stupid I did…
….
We talk. I feel kinda woozy. I think it was the adrenaline. Possibly a concussion. Did you see my helmet?
I have to google what dilated eyes look like. My pupils are pinholes in the Nevada sun. My left side hurts. Eyes are not dilated. Not tired. Sun feels warm. Not confused. I describe to my dad in 1st hand detail what you’re now reading.
Score one for Icon gear. No concussion. I’ve always had a policy: never review a helmet unless you use it for what its designed for.
I used mine for its designed for. It saved my life.
The visor broke and sliced my lip open. 4.5 out of 5 stars would totally recommend.
I count the paces from the mark in the dirt where my crash bar impacted the ground and bent backwards, to where it was sitting upright. and my Dad and I figured the Tigger and I slid about 100 feet before we stopped.
I have a suspicion that when my Altrider crash bars snapped back, it actually lifted the bike, which is what I saw before I shut my eyes. Its definitely possible that the bars bending back, raising the bike up, prevented my leg from being trapped under the bike.
I finally get ahold of Brandy. I had been calling her old number I had not yet deleted from my phone. Called the right number, she jumps up, grabs my truck keys, and heads south.
Those kinda friends aren’t cheap. You keep those people around.
I pick up my shnazzy new GoPro I’d bought for the CABDR trip out of my backpack. I recorded my first ever gopro video post crash. To answer your question, Josh, no, I didn’t want to waste hard drive space on a chill ride to Cali, so I didn’t film my crash.
Near as we can tell, if the cruise control was set at 65, I checked the bike when I was recording, and I was in 4th gear.
Which means while I was wrestling the bike off the road, desperately trying to keep this a chill trip down scenic 395, despite my initial belief that I had locked up and rode my bike into sandy oblivion, I was in fact still attempting to slow the bike. Judging from the force of the impact on my shoulder, estimated cruising speed at front failure, I’m guessing I hit the ground in the ballpark of 50mph.
To clarify from earlier about my Dad, I wasn’t doing something stupid. I wasn’t riding 100mph, not paying attention, weaving in and around cars. Not riding off road alone without water or tools. My Garmin was in my pocket.
I checked my tire pressure. I was riding safely. What sent me off the road at 50 mph was nothing more than a poorly timed accident. I don’t know what caused my tire failure. All I know was my front tire failed, and with the little luck I had, I was supplemented by being properly prepared to crash.
And, some experience crashing. I credit a rough and tumble childhood, snowboarding, and a couple years of dirt riding. The road rash on my wrist was me tucking my hands and arms in front of me to protect my torso.
I called my dad. And I told him I was okay. That’s the most important thing to me. I’m still standing. No purple ties today.
Brandy shows up.
The tiger.
The first Triumph Tiger I’d ever ridden. The exact one I test rode 2.5 years ago in Reno while my fiance was ending our relationship. The 2016 Triumph Tiger 800 XCX I bought for a deal because “the previous owner traded it in for a used dyna because he couldn’t pick up chicks with it.”
The Tiger I went and bought the day I realized I wasn’t getting married. 32,000 miles of mending my heart, fueling my passion for riding, racing my first race, and exploring the Wild West.
The Tigger I’d ridden to hell and back, rode off the road with a flat front tire, smashed into the dirt so hard it ripped the crash bar clean off…
Hemorrhaging coolant, shifter bent back underneath the left peg, The Mighty Tigger starts right up. And rolls straight up the ramp into the truck under its own power.
My heart breaks like my best friend going to a hospital after a life threatening accident.
We jump in the truck. Book it to fernley. Unload the Tigger, I change my clothes. I obnoxiously threw this shirt on, and Brandy snaps a pic:
Remember that epiphany? 5 hours to Ridgecrest in the truck. Ya know, if I had done that 12 hours prior, this blog would be about dirt bikes or something stupid.
So, this story doesn’treally conclude, because, today is only day 2 of “I went fast, crashed, and didn’t die.”
2 days ago I landed flat on my face at 50mph, and I haven’t really stopped since. Insurance claims, body aches. MRANN race this weekend. CABDR Redux is in 1 week. Taste of Dakar is in April. VCGP is right after that. I don’t know if the Tigger can be saved.
But I was. I can live to make these decisions. I can choose to race this Sunday. Or not.
One of the coolest things from this, was my dumbass decided to make a public post saying I had crashed, and I was okay, and then get in my truck and drive 5 hours away. When I stopped to pee in bishop, I found my phone had exploded with love and concern.
From you. Reading this. Right now. You.
Thank you. Seriously. I feel like I’m not alone out here. And its your fault. It means the world to me.
I’m listening to Coheed again. For some reason. Its good, don’t pretend like it’s not.
I’ll write another post soon with more updates. Until then, please take the time to put on your gear. Spend a little extra cash on a new helmet if you’re not sure if its good for another season. Don’t ride on that worn out tire. Find that one person in your life, the one you just simply can’t stand to think about what it would be like for them to find out what happened to you. Be safe for them.
And then when someone tells you they don’t ride because it’s dangerous, tell them to fuck all the way off.
Stand On It 