I definitely checked to the right before I continued with my left turn, and saw no reason not to continue. Sure, there were some SUVs in the way – but I’d think an F-150 would be apparent anyway. I looked up when I saw a blur that didn’t look right and got the bike upright while grabbing and handful of brake. That’s when things got all bullet-time (The Matrix) on me. I heard his engine rev up. I heard the sound of two vehicles colliding. I heard MY engine rev up. Sky. Ground. Sky. Ground. Sky. Thud. Scared the hell out of both of us. I just stayed on the ground looking up at the sky wondering how the hell that just happened, while the guy I hit was begging me to stand up because I was freaking him out. My mental check of my appendages didn’t really sound any alarms, so I moved to the curb and took at look at the only place I could feel pain. Just a scrape and a little swelling. EMS arrived and said I was good so I waived them off and went about my day.

I’m a little more sore today but that’s to be expected. I think I’ll go ahead and try not to ever do this again.

Wet Motorcycles

Another of my better late than never posts. Back on November 21 members of the excellent Texas motorcycling forum Two Wheeled Texans saddled up and rode from all corners of Texas for a monthly event that revolves around two things: motorcycling and pie. Though I have been a member of TWT for quite some time, I have only managed to make it to two such events. Hurricane Ike was kind enough to be very near landfall for the first, and cut my enjoyment short. This time was not without its trials either.

The morning started bright and early, with the group from Katy intending to be kick-stands up no later than 0800. As the meeting place is but a few short miles from my house, I figured leaving around 0740 would make for plenty of time. I fed my dog and let him out to handle his business before heading out to the garage to get the FJR on the road. I would be riding on to Arlington after the pie run, to enjoy a Dallas Cowboys game at the new stadium, so my cases were loaded down appropriately.

As I always do, I thumbed the starter while I finished getting my gear on and the FJR buzzed to life. All was well so far. A lunge forward from the rider’s seat brought the warp-drive powered beast down off its center stand, and I started to walk the bike out of the garage. Something was not right. At more than 600 pounds wet, the FJR requires more effort to move than my old SV – but not so much I ever had to strain. I was straining. Back up on the center stand she went, and I discovered the reason for my struggle – a flat rear tire. My inspection revealed no nails, or obvious holes so I inflated the tire and went about my merry way.

My arrival to the meeting place was a few minutes late, but the rainfall made everyone want to wait a little longer. After maybe half an hour, we decided the pie was getting no closer and the rain did not seem to want to go away. Off we went. It rained basically the entire way. Where there was no rain, there was still plenty of road spray. Cold and wet, every motorcyclist’s dream ride.

When we finally arrived in Hutto, most of the other TWT folk had consumed their main course and moved on to the pie. Cold and hungry, the Katy group sat down for some good, hot, food. We were not disappointed. One of the Dallas area TWT members (Chuck), whom I met when I flew home on R&R in 2007, picked up my tab and offered to hold up the Dallas group so I wouldn’t have to ride alone on a suspect tire all the way to Arlington.

The ride to Arlington was longer than I’d anticipated, but the backroads proved fun. This ride, while colder, was dry. No more problems graced me that day, and I made it to my friend’s hotel room in Arlington just in time for a late dinner and some pre-game drinking of the official beer of the Dallas Cowboys (one I generally never consume, Miller Lite).

A good day, all in all, for some pie.

A rain cloud loitering in downtown Houston, TX

When I made the decision to move back to Houston and attend UH, I assumed I would move into a place closer to the school. This assumption was based on the ridiculous hope that the change in the G.I. Bill would provide me with sufficient funds to get a place without the need to be employed while finishing my engineering degree. No payments have been made thus far, so I stay with my parents and commute 360 miles per week to and from school. Parking permits for four-wheeled vehicles (to be referred to as “cages” henceforth) are so expensive I would not even remotely consider their purchase. As a result I get rained on, and I get rained on for many miles.

Ask any experienced motorcyclist what one must do to maximize one’s safety when riding amongst the cages, and the likely response will be something along the lines of “Ride as if everyone is trying to kill you.” Sage advice indeed. Today, no attempts were made on my life. I should likely purchase a lottery ticket, as days such as today are a rarity. Yesterday, on relatively dry concrete, I was forced to use the healthy application of both steering and throttle to avoid the absent-minded drifting of a woman in a late-model Nissan Armada more focused on painting her nails and talking on her phone than she was with driving her large automobile. Had the same thing occurred today, on a wet road, things might not have turned out so well.

Rarely do cagers see you on a motorcycle even on the clearest of days. Motorcyclists concerned with safety tend to deal with this by wearing bright colors and emitting (directly, or by reflection) as much light as possible. When it rains and visibility goes down the effectiveness of these tactics are, in my experience, reduced greatly. Things can get downright scary when riding in the rain.

Fortunately, a good riding suit, or even your regular riding apparel covered with a decent rain suit, can keep you reasonably comfortable and dry. This gives you the freedom to pay attention to the added dangers of riding in the rain. As an example the many on-ramps in the Houston area that are, for whatever reason, several feet below the level of both the freeway and the access road, happen to turn into mini-lakes when it rains for more than five minutes at a time. In a truck, you can just plow through these puddles and reasonably expect all to be well. On a motorcycle, you could quite literally kill yourself if you fail to traverse the pond slowly. Even then, as many of these ramps have lovely road paintings (that just so happen to get slick as ice when wet) to tell you exactly which freeway you have just entered, you are not sure to make it through without a mishap.

If you do not ride, or maybe even if you do, you are probably thinking I am insane by now. If you know me, there is a good chance you already thought so anyway. I love to ride, even if it is mostly limited to commuting on the super-slab of I-10. The risks are understood, and I do everything I can to mitigate those risks. If you plan accordingly, most weather you can handle comfortably in a cage does not present too insurmountable a problem on a motorcycle. Besides, I can ride the HOV by myself, go from 0-60 in a hair more than 4 seconds, and still get better fuel economy than a Prius (henceforth “smugmobile”, courtesy of @wildbill). Rain or shine, if I’m not already on it, I probably wish I was on my motorcycle.

My FJR covered in water drops