It’s spring time and like bears coming out of hibernation, motorcyclists can now be found crisscrossing our streets and roadways as riders are out enjoying the warmer weather and freedom that a bike provides.
Unfortunately, the spring season is always the most dangerous time of the year to ride a motorcycle because most operators haven’t ridden their motorcycles in months and their skills are a bit rusty.
But what is more hazardous is that other drivers on the roadways haven’t had to contend with motorcycles for a while and their eyes aren’t as trained to be looking for them.
Even though I’m a risk management and safety professional, in my college days back in the 80’s I had two near-death motorcycle incidents that very well could have altered the trajectory of this now very risk adverse person.
One incident occurred on a July afternoon when I was 18 years old and decided to attempt to break a land speed record after hopping on a buddy’s juiced up Kawasaki 1100. This bike was four times as powerful as my starter Kawasaki KZ 250 LTD that I drove back and forth to college. Before you proceed any further with any misconceptions, no, my bike didn’t have training wheels and in my defense, it was all that I could afford while working as a Domino’s Pizza Nutrition Relocation Specialist (delivery driver).
Back in those days, I only had one speed, and it was called Go! As I drove off on that motorcycle the guy did take the time to warn me of difference in the power, but to no avail. I didn’t heed his warning as I took off like I had stolen it. Like a sugar crazed goblin on Halloween night I drove with a full determination to max out its full capabilities.
As I drove out of town on an open stretch of highway, I was a bit reluctant and was only able to reach 105 MPH, but after turning it around I opened it back up again and found myself going about 135 MPH approaching a light that had just turned yellow some 300 yards away.
It was then and there I was taught the meaning of the term “Hick’s Law” — which is described as the time it takes for a person to make a decision as a result of the possible choices he or she has: increasing the number of choices will increase the decision time logarithmically. Yes, I’m sure that there is an old math teacher out there somewhere smiling that I finally found a way to use the term “Logarithmically,” despite the fact I didn’t remember anything else that she may have taught me.
On that particular day let’s just day my choices were decreasing at a very rapid rate. With no time to calculate the necessary stopping distance, hindered with my inexperience as to how to brake and throttle down a formidable two-wheeled vehicle screaming down the road, I was faced with a split second dilemma with only one choice: to roll through the red light doing 60 as I attempted to dodge traffic and avoid a collision.
Let’s just say that if I had been pulled over by an police officer that at the time and was asked if I had seen the stoplight, I could have honestly answered “yes — but only for a second and I sure didn’t see you!”
I then would have asked to be excused for a restroom break to change my shorts.
Luckily for me, I am now blessed to look back on that incident as a life lesson. I have since learned that it’s not the speed at which you travel, but the fact that you went.
Today as a proud owner of cruising motorcycle, I still wrestle with the very lesson I learned on that warm July day — that motorcyclists are still
two- wheel organ donor machines.
For those of you who own and ride a motorcycle, you can attest to the sense of freedom that a bike ride gives you after a hard or stressful day at work. Some will say that four wheels move the body, but two wheels move the soul, and I would have to agree.
Trust me, there is nothing more relaxing than riding the back roads among some of the most gorgeous horse farms in the world here in the Horse Capital of the USA, as new foals and yearlings go galloping across these Kentucky hillsides.
Life is too short for traffic, and when I ride it’s never about the destination, it’s always about the journey. Many times when I take off, I never know where I am going, and as long as I have enough fuel in the tank I am still not lost yet.
On average I may put 600-700 miles a year on my motorcycle, as I simply ride it for the therapeutic reasons. My wife still refuses to ride with me most times when I ask, not because of my riding skills, but because she tells me somebody has to survive to take care of the kids.
The stats don’t lie. In 2015, 4,976 people died in motorcycle crashes, up 8.3 percent from 4,594 in 2014, according to a National Highway Traffic Safety Administration (NHTSA) report. In 2015, 88,000 motorcyclists were injured, down 4.3 percent from 92,000 in 2014.
Motorcycles are less stable and less visible than cars and often have high performance capabilities. When a motorcyclist is killed or injured it’s usually one of two things — they weren’t visible enough or the rider was inexperience and driving in a reckless manner. The lack the protection of an enclosed vehicle makes it more likely to be injured or killed — 35 times more likely to experience a deadly accident on the road than those in passenger cars.
Riders learn pretty quickly that you have to ride as if you are invisible, as if no one sees you when you approach a vehicle or intersection. Midnight bugs might taste better, but I try to optimize my chance for survival by riding during the bright sunny hours, during non-peak traffic periods and on less traveled roads.
I never now ride it like I stole it, either.
As a safety professional who likes to ride occasionally and now contemplating selling my bike, I am always reminded that “safety” is the cheapest and most effective insurance policy. Riding a motorcycle is extremely unforgiving of inattention, ignorance, incompetence and stupidity, so remember – live to ride, but always ride to live.
Be Safe My Friends.
Keven Moore works in risk management services. He has a bachelor’s degree from University of Kentucky, a master’s from Eastern Kentucky University and 25-plus years of experience in the safety and insurance profession. He lives in Lexington with his family and works out of both the Lexington and Northern Kentucky offices. Keven can be reached at kmoore@roeding.com.
