Chapter 13: Dark Horse
“I hate tracing out the wiring on these bikes” Erik says looking at his beast. “Whoever worked on this and rewired it must have been doing acid. The damn wires are all the same color! And look at all this electrical tape, what a mess.”
We both pull and tug at various wires. I have my multi meter to check for voltages at the horn, have already verified that there was power at the horn button, now we just have to trace it past there. He presses the horn button again, I see the voltage rise on my meter.
“You’ve got power to the horn. So we either have a bad horn or a bad ground to the horn, I am betting it’s the horn.” We quickly pull the horn apart and find a wasp has made a nest in there, preventing the horn from working. That fixed and cleaned up we take a further look at the wiring.
“I should just pull it all off and rewire it.” Erik tugs at a few more pieces of tape. As he lets go there is the sound of a spark jumping a gap and a little finger of smoke rises up from the tape he had been pulling on. I laugh as he checks the bike to make sure everything still works. We decide to put the rewiring off until this winter when it is too cold to ride and head out for Roberts.
My street bike is a Honda 750. I bought this bike shortly after the divorce. I had always wanted a motorcycle but after paying for everything my x wanted there never seemed to be any money left over. In the divorce I got all of her debt and the house, which seemed like a fair enough deal. Within a year the debt was gone and I started shopping for a bike. Erik, who grew up riding cycles and has had several, test rode this one for me. He said it was heavy and fast. Now that I have been riding it for a year I understand what he means. The majority of the engines weight sits up high, making it top heavy in corners.
Erik is proving his V twin’s design is better in corners, he is really throwing it into them. Since he is by far the more experienced rider, I am following him trying to see how fast I can hold a corner on my Honda. It is a strange chase, I can see him briefly on straights then see the tail light come on and he leans and goes into a corner. I ride as fast as I can to the corner and get there as he is exiting.
The first time I scrape a foot peg I realize I am leaning the bike too hard. The foot pegs are hinged so that it doesn’t dig in and throw the bike into a slide. It is scary though, my foot is on that peg it is the only thing blocking my foot from meeting the concrete in a bad way.
I am slowly catching up with him, I gun the bike harder drag the pegs longer and get where I want to be, about twenty feet behind him. I make a mental note to tell him when we stop that he wins, I am scared at these speeds and would rather take it easier. Hard to tell this to someone on another motorcycle who is constantly shifting, turning, leaning, speeding up and slowing down. I hate the feelings of those pegs grinding on each turn, the sound of steel on concrete, but I am determined to keep up.
He down shifts and enters an S turn to the right. The bike goes over way too far, the pegs and engine guard grinding away at the pavement. Erik comes up from the corner early out of the corner way to fast to enter the next corner and takes the bike off the road onto the right shoulder, down through the ditch and goes hi on the embankment.
I think he has the bike recovered, but it shakes out from under him as he comes back on the road. Down it goes and he hangs on for dear life as the bike skids across the pavement in a shower of sparks. I thought briefly that he would be okay, would slide off the other side of the road and down the embankment, we would laugh at his road rash later over a pitcher of beer. A small ford truck comes around the corner and hits the bottom of the bike as he slid through their lane, launching him and the bike into the air. He hits and flies off like a rag doll, arms and legs going everywhere. The truck turns to miss him and goes down the embankment.
It seems like forever before my bike comes to a stop, I fumble with the kickstand and finally am off running to his aid. I can see him try and move.
“HOLD STILL” I yell as I draw nearer. He lays back down and squirms a bit more, then is still. His bike is laying so that the tank is facing downhill. Gas is pouring out of the bike, spreading out into the rough asphalt and encircling him. I look at the bike and then him, which is safer to move? I need to get him out of this circle of gas. Obviously move the bike, I don’t want to risk moving him in case he has a broken neck.
The bike is heavy, my first attempt I get it up a few inches and it slips out of my hands. The second attempt I have it and stand it up. Woof! The unmistakable sound of gas igniting. I drop the bike run to Erik and get my hand in his arm pits and use my forearms to support his head. Pulling him out of the fire I notice he seems limp.
People show up. I don’t know where they came from, how they got there. First a couple walking one of them on a cell phone, then some cars, people running; an ambulance. The ambulance people are pumping on his chest, asking me questions.
Pump, pump, pump, the paramedic turns to look at me “What’s his name”
“Erik”
Pump, pump, pump. “How old is he?”
“42 I think”
Pump, pump, pump. “Do you know if he has any health problems?”
“I dunno”
Up on a stretcher, then in to the back of the ambulance and they are gone.
I turn to see that a fire truck had come in the other way and put the fire out. Cops are everywhere, marking things, putting up tape, taking pictures.
“Were you with him?” A state patrol man asks me.
“Yeah, was following him, watched it all happen” I go on to recount the wreck. He takes it all down and asks for my license, takes down some more information and turns to leave.
“Where did they take him?” I ask as he turns to leave.
“St. Anthony’s” he says over his shoulder as he walks away.