What is that 50km/h sign doing there? It looks out of place. It is white. Not yellowy-orange, like a highway warning sign. White, as if we are in town... but there are no houses in sight. We are not in town, we are in the country. The road is narrowing, but not 50km/h narrow. There is no town around here. I am having fun in these country corners as we head up to Duhammel. An arrow indicates a right turn ahead and, though I am not going crazy-fast (not with my wife on the back) I let off the throttle anyway to slow for the approach... I glance down: 65kph, the corner looks quite sharp, I get on the gas to take the slack out of the chain, and lean body and bike into the corner. Our line is good. I look further ahead and cannot see an end to the corner... it seems to decrease in radius dissappearing above my head. We are leaning about as far as we can within a margin of safety... and I think that dreaded thought: its not enough.
If I lean more I risk hanging up the engine bar on the road, sliding the tires across this pebble-top, and then sliding our butts across it... I am worried also that the corner will end quickly and I will not be able to pull up before carreening across the centerline into some oncoming vehicle. I don't have many options. I look straight ahead towards the verge: soft and gravelly, a bit narrow, with saplings behind. And before I know it, I have made my decision. Both brakes come on quickly (not too quickly) The bike stands itself up, but I keep it as much in a curve as I can... 50... 40... 30. We hit the gravel verge and instantly the front wheel disappears below and behind me. Without any time to react, I hit the soft verge shoulder-first with my legs extended behind me and my arms bent in front of me... all my limbs relaxed. I seem to sink into the ground, then bounce a little... how amazingly soft! I feel my wife, who is lighter than me, and following my path, slide into and on top of me. She feels soft too! We are stopped. I open my eyes, surprised that they were closed. It is very dusty, and as I move to get up I feel gravel fall off of my armour-padded suit, and I hear it fall out of my full-face helmet. The visor is scratched and covered with dry dust, so I open it, and do an unconscious check of my limbs. I am intact, and nothing hurts. Amazing. I squat down and ask,
"Are you hurt?"
"Ah... no, I think I'm OK"
Phyllis stands up, looking a little surprised... she didn't see this coming. Damn! I should'a been a little more careful. If I'd been doing 50 instead of 65, this could have been avoided. I look at the corner. Double damn! It was an optical illusion, I could have easily made the corner without additional lean. I look at the bike. It stopped pretty quickly too. I guess if we had braked any faster we would have stopped completely. Gas is dripping from the cap, but the engine in not running. I hurry to turn off the ignition... remembering that sparks and gas belong only inside the confines of a cylinder. Reaching down to pick up the machine, some unexpected help arrives. A muscular Quebecer appears, like magic, and helps me drag the bike from the soft down-hill verge. I take a moment to put the gear into neutral, and asking my helper to let go a moment, while I wheel the bike to the other, firmer, side of the road. Then I remember my manners, and put out my hand.
"Thanks very much!"
"Are you alright?", he asks.
"Yes. We seem to be unhurt. Just a few scratches... Thanks again."
"OK"
Phyllis joins me from the other side of the road.
"Are you really OK. Can you move your arms. Your toes?"
"Yes. Everything works. I've a bit of a headache though"
Performing a self-check, I realise that I too have a bit of a headache. Not surprising if I just slammed it into the dirt. Phyllis has had whiplash in the past, though, so there is an weakness in her neck area. I ask her to stand on one leg. Then the other. Then bend over and touch her toes. She can do all this as normal, and doen't feel dizzy. Her pupils look normal, not overly small, or dialated, and her breathing is calm. I am surpassing glad about this. I turn to the bike. It seems very dirty, covered in thick dust. The wind-shield, left indicator and headlight seem to have taken the brunt of the fall, with the gas tank contributing a small dent. The left mirror had snapped off at the base, and the speedo cable has been pulled from its housing. The rear indicator is a bit bent too, as is the left muffler. I check the forks for straightness, and ability to depress. They look fine. I take out a hefty set of pliers from the tool kit, and start straightening the bent bits. Hell! It might still be ridable.
"Don't you ride it" says Phyllis
"Why not?" I ask.
"You haven't got your helmet on!"
"Oh."
I walk away from the bike, and take stock of myself. I have calmed down considerabley since the dump, and the efforts of retrieving the bike, but I am not totally calm. I decide to sit for a minute, and clean my helmet.
"Sorry I spoiled the ride" I said
"How is the bike?"
"The wind-screen is busted, and the headlight casing is cracked. A few scratches. Kinda like us. I'm sure glad we're not hurt."
I get up and address the bike again. Swinging my leg across the seat, I put in the key, and hit the start button. A few revoutions, and the GS rumbles away... sounding normal. I can hardly beleive it. A short solo jaunt around the 'problem' corner and back again reveals no insurmountable problems. The forks are behaving normally, even the indicators work. The clutch lever has been rotated down a bit, and the speedo, sans cable, is not registering, but no show-stopping difficulties. Back with Phyllis I say:
"Let's rest for a little bit more, then ride back slowly".
Phyllis smiles weakly, and swats at a hundred-or-so mosquitoes and black flies buzzing aroung her head.
We mount up and head off back the way we came. Our demeanor is subdued, and so is our speed, but the bright sun, and pretty country serve to lift our spirits a little. The journey back seems much longer. We both feel wearier than normal, probably due to the adrenaline and other nasty chemicals draining our systems. I take pains to drive carefully, knowing that riding while tired increases my danger of making a mistake. Or should I say: another mistake. I mentally berate myself, going over the situation again in my mind, trying to see how it could have been avoided. Bottom line is I was going 15 klicks too fast. The combination of an unknown road, too much speed and a deceptive corner added up to pain: mental, physical and in the pocket-book too. What could I have done differently? Well I could stick to roads I know, but that would take away a lot of the fun. I could practice cornering through tight, unusual corners... but there is always going to be a corner tighter or more difficult than I can handle, no matter how good I get. The only real way to avoid the same trouble again is to take the new roads a bit slower. No need to crawl, just don't push it. The strange thing is, I love just trundling along, calmly, at or just below the limit. I just have to remember that fact, in the midst of the excitement of a new road. I make a note to explain to Phyllis what went wrong, and the mental steps I am taking to avoid the same thing in future. I sure hope this didn't spoil her riding enjoyment for good. That would be such a shame, and my fault too. I mentally beat myself up some more. The ride back seems to take a long time, I think again. Usually we are reluctant to return home, but today, we are glad to dismount. We are tired today... tired and dirty.
