False Urgency

I am, if nothing else, predictable.

Lately I write about Dawna, motorcycles, work... or some combination of the three. If you're getting tired of that rotation, today's not your day. This one has all three.

The ride to work was actually beautiful. Cool enough that I almost wished I'd grabbed another layer before leaving the house. That's my favorite riding weather. Most people are looking for sunshine and eighty degrees. Give me fifty-five and the promise of a warm afternoon, and I'm a happy biker.

Getting into work on a motorcycle, though, is a process.

At the laboratory, everyone has to stop at a security checkpoint and present their credentials. In a car, it's easy. Roll down the window. Flash the badge. Drive away.

On a motorcycle... Not so much.

I've developed a routine over the years. Pull over. Neutral. Kickstand down. Kill the engine. Gloves off. Get off the bike. Open the cubby. Grab the badge. Show the guard. Put everything back together. Climb back on. Fire the bike up. Ride away.

It's not elegant. But it's safe.

This morning I decided I could improve it.

I left part of the lanyard sticking out of the cubby so I could pull the badge out without getting off the motorcycle. I swung right up next to the guard shack, balanced the bike between my thighs, killed the engine, pulled the badge out, twisted awkwardly to my left to hand it to the guard...

And I was feeling pretty damned clever. I'd probably shaved two minutes off my morning routine.

Then physics entered the chat.

While I was twisted sideways trying to hand over my badge, my nine-hundred-pound Road Glide decided it no longer believed in vertical.

She started tipping to the right.

I tried to save her.

I failed.

Down she went.

Thankfully, I'd already spent a ridiculous amount of money making the bike mine, including the installation of engine guards and saddlebag guards. One of the few times ten grand in upgrades actually paid for itself. The bike was fine.

My ego wasn't.

Yeah. That one hit the pavement pretty hard.

To make matters worse, I couldn't get the bike back up by myself from the awkward position I'd left it in. I had to ask the young security guard for help.

Nothing says "good morning" quite like dropping your motorcycle in front of a line of coworkers.

The funny thing is, once I got over being embarrassed, I realized I'd just been handed a pretty good safety lesson. I shared it with my team later that morning: False urgency is dangerous.

Nothing about my normal routine was unsafe.

Nothing.

The only thing that changed was the pressure I felt because a line of cars was stacking up behind me. Nobody was honking. Nobody was yelling. Nobody was angry.

That urgency existed entirely inside my own head.

I changed a routine that had worked hundreds of times because I didn't want to inconvenience strangers for another minute or two.

That tiny decision created an unnecessary hazard.

I knew better.

I just ignored what I already knew.

From now on, the people behind me can wait.

I'm going to take my gloves off. I'm going to get off the bike. I'm going to do it the way I've always done it. If they don't like it... Well... Gen X has a universal hand signal for that.

That lesson stayed with me all day.

By quitting time I was mentally tired more than anything else, and apparently traffic had decided to contribute to the educational experience.

If you've read this blog for any length of time, you already know my least favorite place to be on a motorcycle is trapped inside a pack of cars. I want space. I want visibility. I want options.

Traffic had other ideas.

People camped in the left lane below the speed limit. Cars drifted into my lane like the painted lines were merely suggestions. Every few minutes somebody reminded me they hadn't looked in their mirrors since the Obama administration.

It was one of those rides where you spend more time planning escape routes than enjoying the motorcycle.

Eventually I saw daylight.

Just a handful of cars left before I'd have open road.

I rolled on the throttle.

Nyx has some attitude these days. The new cam woke her up in all the right ways, and I knew I had plenty of room to clear the next car before the merging traffic became an issue.

At least... I thought I did.

The driver beside me decided to move left without looking.

No signal. No glance. Just drift.

I laid on the throttle hoping he'd hear the pipes.

Nothing.

Then I hit the brakes while trying not to brake hard enough to get rear-ended myself.

For a moment I had about six inches between my knee and the Jersey barrier.

Six inches.

He finally saw me.

Or maybe he heard me.

Honestly, I don't know.

What I do know is that I made it home.

That one shook me.

Not because it happened. But because it reminded me how little control we actually have over the decisions other people make.

I spend a lot of time trying to find meaning in things.

Sometimes there isn't any.

Sometimes a dropped motorcycle is just a dropped motorcycle.

Sometimes a distracted driver is just another distracted driver.

Sometimes the lesson isn't cosmic.

Sometimes it's simple.

Don't invent urgency where none exists.

Don't let someone else's impatience become your emergency.

And never assume the person next to you is paying attention.

Because they probably aren't.