*** First off, ignore my previous entry ("Blog? WTF's a BLOG, anyway?" - 11/11/08). My fiance was hounding around about me actually posting stuff, so I decided this was a good reason to. ***

So, a couple of days ago, it was decided (though outside of my own voting ability) that I needed a break from sportbikes, for awhile....

So I got three (breaks). Here's the story.

Most of you all know that I ride a sportbike (read: 'crotch-rocket', yeah? My battle-tuned and TRUE street-fightered '94 Honda CBR 600 F2.

On 20 Mar (just 3 days ago) I was in Gainesville, seeing my father, who is sick with cancer (leukemia), and my visiting Grandmother, and my fiance and I decided to go to Starbucks ( <Drool> ). Since I was going to go see a friend of mine, afterward, I decided to ride, and she drove the PT Snoozer.

We leave from my parent's house, and make it all the way to the turn-in to the 'buck.

When I'm not 30' from the entry to, some dingy broad in a silver Honda Accord(?) jerks over and short-lanes me (damn near hitting me). I get wedged off the road and into an exit access of a commercial driveway. Normally this wouldn't be a problem, since I'm slowing down, anyhow, but because of the angle (about 25deg from 0-line straight) I'm not going INTO the access, I'm going across it...

Up the sidewalk... Inches from a concrete power-pole, on the right, and a street sign, on the left.

On the other side of these two immobile objects is an little cosmetic island that has a curbing on three sides of it. On the far end, as I'm about to get really friendly with GRU's handiwork, said curbing tapers down into a one-inch height, to it's terminus.

ONE STINKING INCH!!!

So coming in, I go from about 35 to 15 real quick... While trying to dodge objects that don't move when some cars hit them - let alone a rider. Bad shit WAITING to happen.


My front wheel catches this one measly inch of curbing, and kicks it straight out, to the left.

The bike slides maybe 15', and I pull some of my super-secret military ninja-squirrel moves (don't ask), landing on my feet; albeit crouching, but on my feet, none the less.

My fiance parks and comes running up, asking if I'm okay. She saw every part of that... EXCEPT THE F@CKIN' CAR THAT CUT ME OFF!!!

Since my bike's on it's side, and now leaking gas, I ask her to turn it off and upright it. She can't get it uprighted so I say I'll get it.

As soon as I tried lifting that battle-tank, my shoulder informed me that there was no way in HELL it was going to try THAT again. So I opted out of THAT endeavor, and a guy that was doing renovations in the shop next to Starbucks came out and helped her while I went to the bathroom to clean up the little bit of rash that I got - nothing of an issue.

Needless to say, she pushed the issue and I went to the ER.

Conclusive X-rays showed:

" Radial Head Fracture - FX Seen "
" Clavicle Fracture "
" Phalanx Fracture (yes, bitches, I broke my stinkin' big TOE) "

None-the less, only minor cosmetic shit's wrong on the bike - big surprise, there, "Ant's bike? Cosmetic issues? NO!" So it's going to be posted, for sale: my 94 Ex-stunt, race-prepped, more-work-in-the-carbs-and-head-than-the-bike's-worth is gonna go bye-bye. Buy a car, again, or a truck... Mebbe trade it away for one or the other.

So I said I need a break from riding? I got fucking THREE of them!

Not my first, 'rolly not my last. I know how to let a bitch down, though:

In MPH: 130, 110, 45, 30, 25, 15... *Speeds,* people. Not WEIGHTS, ages, or - god forbid - measly IQ points. When I do it, I do it right.

Now go wear your gear and RIDE!