The point is to learn to manage risk so it is acceptable. Jumping out of an airplane without a parachute is taking an unnecessary risk. Skydiving with a properly packed parachute, a backup chute and adequate training, however, reduces risk to a manageable and acceptable level for many, many practitioners of that sport.
As many of you know, I’ve been a recreational skier most of my adult life. Ginny & I get away for several long weekends on the slopes each winter, and we thoroughly enjoy ourselves. We have modern, well-maintained equipment, we frequently take lessons to improve our skills, and we dress warmly on frost-bitten days. Even as I’m typing this in early February, we are scheduled to head to Telluride tomorrow for another getaway. As usual, I can’t wait!
Skiing can have its disastrous side, however. Every ski area has a corps of ski patrol—skilled skiers with emergency medical skills who can haul your broken body down the mountain on a toboggan. Most of us long-time skiers have had the experience of needing their help at least once during our careers. Accidents happen despite our best intentions, and it sure is nice to have somebody close by to pick up the pieces.
Several years ago, on a weekend jaunt to Snowbird in Utah, Ginny & I got off the groomed trails into some very heavy, deep, wet snow. As we were working our way back to more familiar terrain, we encountered a short, steep slope ending with a flat run-out. Ginny wisely executed the hill slowly, making long, wide turns. I elected to shoot the little hill straight. Picking up a lot of speed, I hit the flat like a sack of wet doughnuts. Both ski tips planted themselves into the snow, I flew out of my safety bindings and pranged into the ground headfirst. Massive, shooting pain, a ski patrol toboggan ride, x-rays revealing a compressed vertebra and torn shoulder tendons ended my skiing for that year. A great sports surgeon fixed the shoulder, a lot of ibuprofen and exercise has kept the back in tune and I’m back on the slopes again—wiser for the experience. It was a close call. Despite my ski helmet, my hours of lessons, and my generally competent skill set, I came awfully close to getting hurt much worse. But did it damage my desire to ski? Not at all.
On my return trip from Wing Ding last summer, I was riding alone on my white GL1800. I’d been “booking along pretty good” on the two-lane out in the oil patch around Lamesa, Texas. It was getting to be late in the afternoon, and I probably was less sharp than earlier in the day. I’d been trailing an 18-wheeler for several miles. Not only was the big tanker slowing me from my previous speeds, he was blocking my view, even when I fell back some distance. When the double yellow ended, I made my move, flicking on my left signal to indicate I was overtaking, twisting on the power and popping out into the open, oncoming lane. I was about halfway past the gleaming aluminum cylinder when he hit his brakes. Suddenly I realized he intended to turn left at the fast-approaching dirt driveway of a pumping station. He’d be “slamming the door” on me in moments! Already committed, I gave my right wrist a crank and shot past the cab of the truck. Oh, thank you, Honda, for making that fuel-injected GL1800 so responsive just when I needed it! Sure enough, in my rearview mirror, the big tanker was in the midst of his un-signaled left turn.
For the next hour I berated myself for getting into that jam. I ran a lot of “should-a’s” through my mind, and booked a motel room in the next town of any size. No point in riding on if you’re weary and your brain is echoing with recriminations.
Close calls are part of motorcycling. We do everything we can to avoid them, but they are always there, lurking just beyond our awareness. Most close calls, gratefully, end as harmlessly as my 18-wheeler story from last year. Some close calls deliver a bit more pain, as with my ski story. But close calls are a part of life, just as risk is a part of life.
Have I learned anything from these close calls? You bet! You never can get enough training, and you have to keep alert constantly to the possibility—even the probability—of the unexpected happening in the next instant.
As this riding season returns for many of us, I hope you take the time to get some more training and keep a clear head to avoid trouble. May we all have a riding season with very few close calls.