Now that the helmet law has been repealed here in Michigan,
and motorcyclists are free to ride without a helmet, I feel compelled to tell
this story.
In 1994, only three years after we opened Life Cycle, our motorcycle
shop, Dave took a trip on his dual sport bike to Oklahoma to see the
International Six Day Enduro. He rode with a couple on a Gold Wing pulling a
trailer, who were planning on camping there. I had decided not to go this time
for no apparent reason, other than I felt strangely disinclined.
Dave and Dennis were excellent riders, and could negotiate
any traffic or road problems with ease.
Their trip went smoothly, even when crossing the Poplar Street Bridge over
the Mississippi River into St. Louis, where the water separates Illinois from
Missouri.
But not so for another rider, whose touring cruiser was down
in a big heap in an oncoming lane way on the other side of the bridge. Dave got a quick glance of the accident
scene, blue and red cop lights swirling, and thought it was an unusual spot for
a big bike to go down; a straightaway on a lovely, sunny day.
Well, of course they all forgot about this unfortunate and
fleeting incident after a long weekend of witnessing the incredibly astounding
ISDE right here in the United States, quite a big deal. And as they were on their way back home
to Michigan, still high with the golden euphoria from this marvelous motorcycle
event, along with thousands of other riders, I’m sure it was the last thing on
their minds as they approached the looming bridge over the Mississippi in the
rain.
Dave was on the Transalp following Dennis and Susan’s rig
onto the bridge, when up ahead, first the Gold Wing, then the trailer wobbled
violently as they ran over something in the road. Dave barely had time to slow down before hitting the
treacherous expansion joint of the bridge, then experienced the added
attraction of his narrow dual sport front tire lodging perfectly into the metal
channel that ran diagonally across the road. At 65 mph, his handlebars locked to the left and were wrenched
from his hands. Dennis checked his
large side mirror just in time to see Dave launch over the handlebars behind
him, “doing the Superman,” as he technically described it.
The first thing Dave felt was his thigh painfully hitting
the handlebar as he and the bike began their somersault. The next thing he felt was cement
hitting the back of his helmeted head.
Then there was a short blank.
Next thing he knew, he was conscious of sliding the slick
road for a long time on his back.
He hoped he wouldn’t meet a car.
When he came to a stop, he scooched off to the side of the bridge and
leaned on the concrete barrier wall.
Here, he noticed all the rips and holes in his shredded rain
suit. A woman wearing an ISDE
sweatshirt approached and sat down with him, patted his arm, tried to comfort
him. She said she saw the whole
thing. She and her husband were
driving behind him and, being motorcyclists, were allowing him plenty of room.
Before he knew it, Dennis and Susan had turned around and
come back, and the police and ambulance were there. The medic kept up a conversation with Dave, trying to
discern his competence, while the police from Missouri argued with the police
from Illinois over whose jurisdiction was responsible, since he apparently slid
across the state line.
He ended up not choosing a hospital in either state. The removal of his fullface HJC helmet
found his head and face intact, except for a bruise on his nose and a bump on
his head, where he suffered a slight concussion.
His favorite helmet was now considered compromised, or
“dead.” There was a big, shredded
gouge in the lower back of the helmet, an area on the head not protected by a
half helmet. There was a second
smash to the back of the helmet where he must have bounced again, and a long,
deep scrape running from the top all the way down the front of the face shield
where he must have slid on his still handsome face.
Talk about a helmet doing its job. Talk about the best $170.00 ever spent. The death of this helmet was now
priceless to us. Even though his
body was bruised and sore, he walked away from this accident in which his head
hit cement at 65 mph. This has
been the only serious motorcycle accident my husband has had in 35 years.
I often think of all the things that wouldn’t have happened,
the local history changed, all the lives we wouldn’t have affected with the
thrilling sport of motorcycling had a bad choice of head protection altered his
outcome that day.
We wouldn’t be standing in our store today, watching happy
people come and go…
Ever since that day, I look at helmets differently. I sell helmets differently. When
customers tell me that a helmet probably won’t make a difference if they go
down, I tell them this story.
Not long after, Scott Hong, owner of the HJC helmet company,
bought back that helmet from my reluctant husband, who wanted to keep it as the
best demonstration tool ever. But
Scott trumped him with a speech about saving more lives through the science of
study and research. So, in the
spirit of doing the right thing, the helmet was passed on to live again. In a different way.
Stay smart.
Keep your head.
