Saturday, May 21, 2011

Wie du mir

Borrowed from my wife's language, I treat you as you treat me. Sort of sounds vaguely veiled payback and that pretty much captures my sense at this moment. We've all seen 'em, I think at one time I, may have had one on my bumper, some variant of 'Share the Road with Motorcycles.' I do what I can, when I can; leben und leben lassen. Warum nicht?

Driving home yesterday on Route 12 in Scenic Preston (Preston Chamber of Commerce: that'll be five bucks, please; cash money only and that's per mention so come across quick or the party's over before it starts), I'm heading towards the Pequot Bridge keeping up with the flow of traffic as the intersection widens to three lanes at the light and two of the lanes make a left to go over the bridge towards the back entrance to the Mohegan Sun or to access 395 North or South.

I hear him before I see him so I call him Doug(ie) Doppler (and yeah I know it's bassackwards, but so is bassackwards), a motorcyclist with NO helmet, no leathers, just wraparound shades (the rain finally stops in Southeastern Connecticut and we go all stupid) in the right hand lane (I'm in the left because that's where I need to be when I clear the casino ramp) and the guy weaves around to pass on his right the truck in front of him, cuts behind the car in front of the truck so he can ride between that guy and my car, accelerating as he comes along side so that he darts quickly to his left as his rear tire is parallel to my right front.

He's not in front of me long as he speeds up, love that throttle action and wonder what else he uses his right hand for (does explain the gloves, I guess) and slides (don't know what other word to use) between the car in front of me and one of the a-little-late-to-accelerate casino buses that yo-yos 24/7 between New York City and both Connecticut casinos so that anyone with the urge (I almost typed yen but ....) to invest in the slots doesn't have to wait.

In a flash, he's gone and I hope safely to wherever he's going. Meanwhile I'm alone in my prison on the road trying to sort out why worrying about motorcycles doesn't seem to be the front lobe priority for those who ride them as they'd like the rest to have. And yeah, I mentioned all the protective clothing, none of which this guy had, despite knowing that Connecticut is a Ride Free State thanks to "Pappy"

Nix fur ungut (give the Germans this, their language is useful when words fail in English), especially if all the folks exercising their freedom have signed donor cards attached to their operators' licenses. I mean if we're gonna do some outing with motorcycles and watching, I say let's make it interesting and figure out a better and safer way to share the road since a lot of folks in the motorized boxes don't have to be nice, as we all know, because they lots of protection even if they're not paying attention.

I don't ride a motorcycle but I think my car driver's rule works as well for two wheels as it does for my four. It's NOT my skill or ability on the road that I worry about; it's the other guys' even when it's the others girls' and as nice as the bikes are, none of them are a match one-to-one with even a beater. And what's the point of saving fifteen seconds of travel time if you risk being dead forever?
-bill kenny

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