Three days off-duty...I am at the holding fix (Starbucks) waiting for two amigos, both company Captains, and, also, riding Japanese death missiles. There used to be five of us, but the other two were riding in tight formation, overlapping rotor blades, negotiating a tight left curve at the limits of their tires and suspension, when from the opposite direction, came a large SUV over the centerline.
Oops!
Number one hit the driver side mirror, lost control of his R-1 and slid into number two's CBR-1000. They ended up in the bar ditch; a pile of smoking metal, rubber, and plastic. Fortunately, both survived with only a few broken bones and abrasions. Thankfully, they did not lose their aviation medical certificates.
The worst part of the accident was their wives reaction, who were, uh, very unhappy with the "juvenile behaviour" from two supposedly mature airline pilots. Yikes! I was worried about blowback at my house, but the wife of my youth was cool. My two friends did not fare so well... Number one: No more crotch rockets. Number two: No more motorcycles until the kids are out of college.
As I sip my $1.90 cup of coffee, I remember these guys used to tease me about my inability to keep up with them. Well, there is some truth to that... I have only 145 horsepower to their (previous) 165 plus. I am ten years older than they and at least that much wiser. But, most importantly, I've still got my FZ-1 keys.
