Two-legged, four-wheeled buffalo

I recently had the experience of being surrounded by a herd of buffalo in Custer State Park in South Dakota. A large number of us were motorcycling through the park when we came across this herd, consisting of perhaps 100 of these very large animals, spread right across the road. No matter what we did, they would not give way until the Griswold family in a grey minivan showed up and slowly inched their way through. We followed like a bunch of ducklings right on momma’s tail feathers

Curious about the behaviour, I checked at the next information centre and was told that, for some reason, buffalo just do not recognize motorcycles as anything to worry about. They will get irritated by the noise, but visually, a motorcycle has no impact on them at all.

I was reminded of this today when a buffalo-minded pickup truck driver just about rearranged my skeletal structure for me.

Fortunately I was doing the speed limit in a 40 kph zone when he pulled out from a strip mall exit, tires squealing, crossed the oncoming lane of traffic, and pulled right into my lane and my space. Emergency braking exercises to the rescue, I avoided hitting him (and he, me) but by no more than a few inches. After a bit of fancy footwork to hold the bike upright, I chased the culprit down to the next traffic light where I pulled up to the driver’s window. The conversation went something like this:

“What the %$#@^ was that about back there?”
“What?”
“You just about ran me off the road!”
“Where?”
“Coming out of the hardware store.”
“I did? Jeez, I’m sorry. I didn’t even see you.”
“Well that’s *&%^$ obvious. You could have killed me and you wouldn’t even know it. Godammit pay attention before you do kill someone.”
“Sorry man.”

Yeah, right. Sorry man. The driver was maybe 25, a blond-haired surfer type dude (except there is no surf here and the surfer dude look went out in 1970, but never mind, this is Arnprior). And he really didn’t see me.

Which brings me back to buffalo. This guy would most likely have behaved differently if I’d been driving a minivan, but on a motorcycle I was a non-entity. Totally invisible.

But what’s even more worrying is that my normally pretty good sixth sense didn’t give me any tingles at all until I had a windscreen full of white half-ton. Have to watch that – it’s not infallible after all.

Amazing miniatures

A friend sent me some photos of miniature motorcycles made from watch parts. The images were amazing, as you can see from the picture above, but there was no indication who the artist was.

Well it didn't take long (thank you Google!) to discover the artist is a Brazilian sculptor, Jose Geraldo Reis Pfau.

Check out his web site for more of his amazing work.

Boneheaded move of the day

On the way back from the dealer this morning, I was riding along a 2-lane, 80kph highway when I noticed another motorcycle come up behind me. He tucked himself in about 20 meters back in the right-most tire track (I was in the left, hugging the centre line).

We rode along like that for a couple of kilometres when all of a sudden this loaded Gold Wing is passing me on the right!

Totally unexpected, it gave me quite a start. Luckily I hadn’t picked that moment to move over, or make any sudden lane changes else we’d both be in a ditch somewhere on Highway 29.

I can’t imagine what he was thinking (probably not much) because he had no need to pass like that. We were in a passing zone and there was no oncoming traffic, but for some reason this dumb-ass decided he’d just blast up on my inside instead of pulling out to pass properly. I fleetingly considered chasing him down, but I was already doing 20-over and he was disappearing fast into the distance.

I don’t want to wish misfortune on any rider, but I couldn’t help thinking that perhaps just a little crash might knock some sense into this idiot, or better yet, convince him to hang up the chaps for good.

Sometimes you just have to go for a ride

Was feeling kind of grumpy this morning. The weather had turned cold overnight and with grey skies and a brisk north wind blowing it wasn’t shaping up to be a very nice day at all.

Which was pretty depressing. Because of lousy weather and personal commitments, I hadn’t been on the bike since getting back from Sturgis almost two weeks ago. I was getting itchy. So when the weather guy called for today to be sunny and warm, and I had nothing else on the agenda, I was looking forward to a nice, long ride. Perhaps up the back roads to Pembroke. Or over to Westport for lunch.

Then I woke up to this!

So I moped around for a while and did a few odd-jobs around the house. It kept me busy and knocked a couple of items off the honey-do list but my disposition did not improve one iota.

Finally I decided I was going to go for a ride anyway – weather be damned. So I bundled up and headed out just as the clouds broke and the sun came out. Almost immediately the weight fell off and I felt better than I had in days. It was still cool, but traffic was light, roads were clear, and I was riding!

Didn’t go far – just 80 kilometers or so around the block (big blocks when you live in rural Ontario) – but it was just what the doctor ordered.

I'd never ride a bike. It's too dangerous. My friend....

Why is it that as soon as a non-biking friend or acquaintance discovers that you ride a motorcycle, they feel compelled to tell you about their other friend/relative/mother-in-law who was recently killed/severely maimed in a motorcycle accident? And it’s not just a passing reference either. Oh no, it’s full-contact with all the gory details, the more gory the better, including the number of protruding bone fragments, cracked ribs, shattered vertebrae, months and days in the hospital. “And he was lucky!”

It is actually quite curious. When you are bragging about your new sports car you don’t get people quoting accident statistics for rag-tops over coupes. No, they talk about the sports car they will buy when they win the lottery, or the cross-country trip they took in ’69 in their friend’s Austin-Healy 3000. Bought a new fishing boat? People tell you about their own boat or the great fishing trips they’ve experienced, not the number of drownings in Ontario lakes this summer.

But motorcycles trigger a different response. I suspect it’s because the average person has little or no knowledge of the sport or the rider’s world, and so, in a misguided attempt to connect, they fall back on what they do know – Uncle Bert’s unfortunate introduction to the driver’s door of a Chevy ½-ton back home in Lower Armpit last August. That incident is probably the only reason they are aware that Uncle Bert even had a motorcycle, or in some cases, that Uncle Bert even existed, but it’s the only motorcycle story they know so you get the whole enchilada.

So if you are a non-rider who has happened to stumble into this blog and this post, do us all a favour. When someone “outs” themselves as a motorcyclist, the proper response is to express an interest in the bike, or motorcycling in general (fake it if necessary), not to remind the rider that we are all mortals and are but on this earth for a short and finite period of time. You’ll be surprised how much more relaxed the conversation will be.