No matter how long you ride a motorcycle you know it can
happen and on a Sunday afternoon in the
When I left
My departure was mid morning and a cloud cover made riding much more comfortable than it has been in previous days.
My distaste of the interstate was overruled by my need to get to Salmon at a decent hour, besides I was only going to be on it for 59 miles.
Finding the independent restaurants, especially right off the highway, is becoming increasingly difficult. Chain restaurants have overtaken the charming roadside diner, replacing it with food people know and trust.
Myself, I would rather have the diners. The hostess was often times the owner and she would take an interest in where you were coming from and ask where you were headed.
The people who work chain restaurants are usually pleasant enough, but that is as far as it goes. The personality is gone. The food gets delivered and if you’re lucky your waitress will smile at you when she gets around to leaving the bill.
So I will always search a little longer until I find a place
that isn’t a chain. In
Route 21 is about five miles from
The recreation area is at the bottom of Lucky Peak Dam and both have been around since 1961. It is 10 miles from the city and is fed by
Speed boats mostly take up the space on the lake, but if you go further north you can see people pulled off to the side of the road swimming in the creek that feeds the lake.
I was about 10 miles away when I saw some rocks on the road. I wasn’t going very fast, probably about 30 mph but was entering a turn. I slowed down, but wasn’t going to hold the curve so I bailed out to a turn out area.
The turn out area, though, was soft sand, and the bike’s front tire sunk into immediately, dropping the front end and sending me underneath it.
A guy in a truck saw what happened and pulled into the turnout. My left foot was pinned under the bike, so he helped me lift it off and then together we pulled the bike back upright.
I had a little road rash on my left arm and really nothing
else. Libertad, however, was hurting. The gear shift and the metal
bent inward, taking the brunt of the crash. The ape hangers were a
twisted as well.
My wound from the crash
By bending the metal back with a crescent wrench and jamming
the shifter into third gear I would be able to nurse the bike back to
Backtracking, as my best friend
So I drove the road back to
I found a motel near the dealer, parked my battered Libertad, and went in to clean my wounds.
The worst thing about road rash is picking the little rocks out of your arm. When I was younger, and much dumber, I rode a scooter in shorts and flip flops and got run over by a station wagon. I had road rash from my ankle up to my rear end and I have never felt so much pain.
But I have my mother to thank for the high tolerance of pain I have, at least for a guy. No one has a higher tolerance than my mother, who gets her fillings at the dentist done without Novocain.
She has had a lot of pain in her life and is going through some right now, but I have not once heard her complain.
It is tough, you want to help her, but she won’t let you. It is another trait I inherited, so I know the stubborn pride that runs through her. It shuts you down and it is tough to let someone who loves you help you.
You don’t want to ask for help, at least I don’t. I have been doubled over in pain before and had a roommate who was so horrified that she was going to call 911, but I drove myself to the hospital.
Maybe the trait will leave me someday, maybe it will soften. Maybe I’ll reach out to someone close before it is too late.