Weaponized Windshield Fluid
I rolled into the driveway earlier today after one hell of a ride, and I was pissed.
Not because of the miles. Not because my back hurt from wearing a heavy backpack on my Breakout. Not because my ass still hasn't forgiven me for riding halfway across Colorado on a stock seat while waiting for Corbin to get its shit together and deliver the one I actually ordered.
No.
I was pissed because somewhere outside of Denver, some asshole decided to weaponize his windshield washer fluid.
I'm not joking.
I came up behind a guy camped out in the left lane on I-70. It was a beautiful morning. Sunny. Dry. Visibility for miles. I settled in behind him at what every rider understands is a perfectly normal following distance.
Apparently he didn't.
Instead of moving over like every driver's education class in America teaches, this prick hit a switch that had clearly been modified to spray straight backwards.
Right at me.
I ride with an open-face helmet and goggles. I love feeling connected to the world around me. The smells. The temperature changes. The wind. It's part of why I ride.
But goggles aren't sealed scuba masks. Fluid gets around them.
And suddenly I had windshield washer fluid splattering across my face and into my eyes while riding through heavy traffic.
That isn't fucking funny. That isn't teaching somebody a lesson. That's dangerous as hell.
People who don't ride often don't appreciate how little it takes to create a catastrophic situation on a motorcycle. You don't have four tires keeping you upright. You don't have airbags surrounding you. You don't have a steel cage protecting you while you figure things out.
You have balance, vision, and a couple square inches of rubber touching the pavement.
Take away a rider's ability to see, even for a second, and you've created a situation where someone can die.
Fortunately, I didn't. But that's because I got lucky.
If someone intentionally sprayed chemicals into the face of a person walking down the sidewalk, we'd call it assault. Why should this be any different?
The Motorcycle Safety Foundation recommends a following distance of roughly one to three seconds under normal riding conditions. That's because motorcycles stop differently than cars. They accelerate differently. They position themselves differently.
It isn't tailgating. It's fucking riding.
So if you're one of these people who've rigged your washer nozzles to spray backward because you think it's funny or because you believe you're "teaching tailgaters a lesson," knock it the fuck off. One day you're going to blind someone at exactly the wrong moment, and somebody's family is going to get a phone call they never should have received.
The irony is that the ride was already miserable enough.
Nyx is still down waiting on repairs, so I was riding Aurora, my Breakout. No saddlebags. Heavy backpack. Stock rider seat. The tiny passenger seat had finally broken off because I occasionally slide back onto it to stretch my legs during long rides.
So there I was, hanging onto handlebars with a backpack trying to drag me off the rear fender, knowing full well that the only thing keeping me from becoming a sail was refusing to let off the throttle.
By the time I got home, I'd reached one conclusion: I need another touring bike.
Not because I don't love Aurora. I do. She's everything a Breakout should be.
But there comes a point where practicality wins. If Nyx is in the shop, I need something capable of eating a thousand-mile weekend without requiring a backpack and a chiropractor afterward.
That's an expensive lesson.
Getting sprayed in the face at highway speeds shouldn't have been one of them.
Here's the thing: We riders already accept the risks that come with motorcycles. Gravel. Rain. Deer. Distracted drivers staring at their phones.
We accept those because they're part of riding.
What we shouldn't have to accept is people intentionally making the road more dangerous because they think it's funny.
Grow the fuck up. Someone's life is worth more than your childish revenge fantasy.
