Granted all drivers do not fall into the 3 categories of Faggots, Cock Suckers and Wankers. But most do and that’s the problem. One night in late 2009 I had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting one of these Cock Suckers. Rear on.
It was a shit day at work and I had a bad run in with my father. My father is one of the best people to grace this planet but has an unfortunate number of demons following and clawing at his back.
This particular run in was after a weekend spent fighting with both my parents and by the time the day was done, so was my
tolerance for the world.
I was travelling down Parramatta road and was close to home, ready to vent my anger and frustrations out on the Covenant and save the universe. Feeling Emo is always best resolved by shooting strange aliens and tea bagging their corpses.
Coming up to the Woodville Road turn off I stopped and waited patiently for my turn to merge and speed towards home. While waiting for the traffic to thin out so I could move, I was slammed into from behind and catapulted over the handle bars.
I hit the blacktop like a sack of shit and rolled 2 meters away from my bike. I remember seeing my arms and legs flail about in the air before I landed on my ass. When I stopped rolling I couldn’t move and I thought I was paralyzed. The first words out of my mouth; What the FUCK!
I remember seeing traffic streaming past and my bike standing vertical, buried in the Cock Suckers radiator. Another 2 or so meters would have put me into traffic and would have transformed me from a rational, angry, careful, angry, responsible and angry driver to a Road Crayon.
A Road Crayon is reddish brown smear on the tarmac to be washed away with a fire hose. The combined blood, bone and organ material, ground to a paste and smeared by the rubber of passing cars. Thankfully Almighty Bob was smiling on me and the additional padding in my ass fat, slowed my kinetic energy and stopped my rolls after twisting a couple of joints.
Once the shock of the thing had worn off I gleefully discovered I could move my toes. The ambulance arrived in less than 5 minutes and put me in a neck brace and gave me a shot of sweet lady Morphine.
HOLY FUCK! MORPHINE!! That is the good shit! Within 2 seconds of the delicious intravenous 5ML was injected into my right arm, a warm, buttery glow started building in my stomach and rapidly shot though my body. I think it would be like being trapped in a freshly baked Croissant. Jesus Christ that felt good. 8 seconds later I was officially off my tree.
If I was ever to become an addict, Opiates would be my choice. Granted my pain was about a 7 (Hurts like a bitch but I can probably manage) but that shit is seductive. I was bent for about 3 – 5 hours and my god, it was good.
The pain of the impact had faded, the pain from my neck brace had faded and hugs felt amazingly good. When I came back to my senses I hurt in a big bad way. Mostly from the hard plastic neck brace digging into the back of my skull.
At about 10 or 11PM, the police arrived at the hospital to take my statement. I told them that I was stationary, with my lights on, waiting for my turn to merge. They told me I was hit at about 30KPH and the driver would be fined at a minimum.
As expected, the police took a sample of blood to make sure I wasn’t drunk or drug fucked at the time of the accident. Thankfully I wasn’t. The driver was fined and lost a few points.
8 Hours, 7 X-rays and a CAT scan later I was discharged with only a mild concussion and some very sore muscles and joints. The doctors on duty were worried I did serious damage to my neck.
When they first pulled the brace off me I could not move my neck without wincing. After the CAT scan they confirmed there was no skeletal or nerve damage. The pain came from not being able to move my neck for 8 hours.
I will state here, for the record, THANK GOD FOR SAFETY GEAR. At the time of my accident I was wearing the following:
- · 1 Australian Standards approved helmet
- · 1 Nylon motorcycle jacket with armor plating and padding
- · 1 Pair of black jeans
- · 1 Pair of Rossi motorcycle boots
The helmet protected my nut from cracking and spilling my brains onto the blacktop. The jacket saved my back and elbows from cracking and shattering during the rolls and the boots kept my ankles from separating. With all the gear I had on, not only did I not break anything but I was able to walk. THANK YOU, MOTORCYCLE GODS.
I was sore for a few days and had time to think about things. Granted I was fucking pissed at the guy for not paying attention but on the whole, I just wanted him to do the right thing. And that right thing cost him almost 9 grand.
At the time I was furious but looking back now, I know it was just an accident. Just the universe playing silly buggers by sitting in an office chair and spinning until it felt sick and throwing up at whoever it looked at. In this case, it was me.
It took almost 4 months to get parts and to have my bike back on the road. I was a miserable cunt. There’s no other way to describe it. I was bored, depressed, constantly frustrated and jumpy. It was strange how badly it affected me.
At the time of my accident I was riding to work every day and going out for trips on weekends, if I could have slept on my bike I would have. It’s not like I spent every waking minute on the thing but I really enjoyed the rides, even with traffic, Faggots, Cock Suckers and Wankers, I honestly enjoyed it.
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