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Riding with a Jackass* |
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The day started out innocent enough. April 12th,2003 the weather was good for the monthly "New Member Ride". Rich Dunham was the Road captain leading 9 members and 1 guest on a 50+ mile ride through Harford and Cecil Counties.
Little did they know, they were about to acquire a new member in the middle of the ride! A Jackass, of the animal kingdom, had broken free from its pasture and galloped into formation. Surprisingly it was able to keep up with the group and did an excellent job of staying in proper formation. That jackass must have been a reincarnated biker because it did NOT want to leave the road. The group had to pull over and wait for the Sheriff's department, which in turn called Animal Control to re-incarcerate the beast.
Don't think that's anywhere in the safety manual!
*Paraphrased from a story as relayed by Pete Sakell and Rich Dunham from the Chapter news letter.
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30 MPH and 30 Feet to STOP! |
Great weather year-round, wide-open highways, and beautiful scenery; perfect conditions for riding motorcycles and you'll find it all in California. A couple squadron mates and I decided to explore more of this area one gorgeous autumn weekend.
I was the lead of three motorcycles. We had been riding for about two hours when we stopped for dinner. Afterward, we climbed back on our bikes, made a right turn out of the restaurant and rapidly accelerated. This exhilarating experience would be short-lived, however, thanks to a red light ahead.
Because we were traveling a state route, the street was wide enough for a car to make a right turn at the light, so we started passing stopped cars on the right side. This movement put us in a position to make our right turn. At the intersection was a restaurant and we noticed a gap between the stopped vehicles on our left and the restaurant's parking lot on our right.
I looked at the cars to the left to see if anyone was coming. An elderly gentleman and his wife were making a left turn into the parking lot. I was going about 30 mph and felt sure the gentleman could see me. However, I noticed he was accelerating to pass through my lane. He never even looked my way. He took it for granted everyone was stopped for him.
I locked up my brakes with about 30 feet to stop. There was no way I could keep the motorcycle upright, so I started laying it down on the left side, putting it between me and the car. The motorcycle stopped abruptly as the bike came out of the skid, traction returned and the bike flipped over. I was now between the bike and the car. The bike sent me sliding headfirst into the rear quarter of the car toward the road.
My squadron mates pulled over to see if I was OK. I quickly got to my feet and watched the gentleman drive toward the parking lot, oblivious to what had happened. People who witnessed the incident let the driver know he had just hit me. He then came over and checked on my condition. Then the police and ambulance arrived.
A deputy from the sheriff's department first interviewed the driver, while the ambulance crew came to see how I was doing. Since I could recall everything that had happened, they felt I hadn't suffered any head injuries, but they wanted to take me to the hospital anyway to have me checked. I told my squadron mates what to do with my bike and called my wife. After the deputy interviewed me, I went to the hospital.
Following this accident, my buddies told me they thought I was going under the car. They said it looked like the car's tire would run over my helmet. I walked away with only a bruised right hand and hip and a scrape on one knee. My neck felt a little stiff for a couple of days, but I flew the following day. My leather jacket, jeans, gloves and helmet didn't fare as well. The jacket and gloves had a bad case of road rash. My jeans tore at the knee and my helmet still has the rubber on it from where the car's right rear tire hit it. My motorcycle was totaled.
Applying Operation Risk Management (ORM) in our daily work routines is something the Navy drills into us all the time. Although many often don't use ORM in their recreational activities, I applied it to mine and escaped to enjoy my dangerous pastime another day. All of the safety gear helped minimize my injuries. However, the most helpful was my helmet which prevented my face from being crushed.
Motorcycle riding is inherently dangerous. Drivers often just don't see bikes. I'm thankful I wasn't injured worse and I urge all fellow riders to wear protective gear and apply ORM to reduce the risks involved.
Submitted to the Chapter Newsletter by
Lt. Gerald Burghardt
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Close Call at a School Zone |
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The sun had been up for an hour, before I headed off to work. As usual, I took the long way to work to get some riding time in. On this morning, I found myself behind a train of five cars heading into Bel Air. Being that school was still in session, I was extra cautious on this particular stretch of Route 924. It's Bel Air town law that pedestrians have the right of way at cross walks and students walking to Bel Air High School were everywhere. As we approached a familiar crosswalk, I scanned the side streets for students ready to cross the street and did not immediately see any. I was traveling in on the left side of the north bound lane. The lead car was followed by two pickup trucks, a sedan and then me. I didn't see any students so I kept my speed up. But just as the second pickup truck passed the crosswalk, I spotted 4 students huddling curbside ready to cross. The sedan in front of me saw them at the same time and hit the brakes. Being that it was early in the morning, dew was still on the street and as I hit the brakes I began to skid. I controlled the skid in a straight line, but soon realized I was running out of real estate. The bumper of the car in front was fast approaching. That's when the training I'd received in the Experienced Rider Course kicked in. I released the brakes and performed a swerve maneuver, narrowly missing the rear bumper of the car in front of me. Again I applied the brakes and was able to stop my bike with my front tire even with the front bumper of the car I'd just missed. The students who witnessed the near miss were slack jawed as they crossed. I apologized to the driver of the sedan for surprising them on their left and continued on my way. I highly recommend the Rider Safety Courses, the training you receive may not only save your bike, but could save your life.
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The Wayward Wallet
(Family Is Just a Phone Call Away)
Finding out that we were unable to use our tickets for the 100th
Anniversary celebration in Milwaukee, we sold them to Ed and Cindy from
Colorado. We exchanged phone numbers in case there would be a time
when we could get together and I put their cell phone number in my wallet.
Saturday came and as we were heading back from Milwaukee my wallet fell
onto I-94. The wallet apparently got hit by a car or truck and ended up on
the side of the road where Cheri and her
husband, a couple from Michigan, found it. Cheri found only one phone number in the wallet,
Ed and Cindy's. She called them saying she found a wallet with this phone
number inside. Realizing what may have happened, Ed and Cindy give her our
cell number.
We got the call before I even realized I had lost the wallet. Cheri and
her husband left the wallet at a hotel in Milwaukee and we went to pick it
up. EVERYTHING was there, H.O.G national and local cards, credit card,
money, license...everything.
I left them beer money as a thank you.
Who would have thought, never in a million years.......
What an unique group of people they (we) are!!
They were my HEROES that weekend!
Story Submitted by Debbi Welch
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HONOR GUARD
EVER VIGILANT
The Third Infantry Regiment at Fort Meyer, VA has the responsibility
for
providing ceremonial units and honor guards for state occasions, White
House social functions, public celebrations and interments at Arlington
National Cemetery....and standing a very formal sentry watch at the
Tombs of the Unknowns. The public is familiar with the precision of what
is called. "walking post" at the Tombs. There are roped off
galleries
where visitors can form to observe the troopers and their measured step
and almost mechanical silent rifle shoulder changes. They are relieved
every hour in a very formal drill that has to be seen to believe. Some
people think that when the Cemetery is closed to the public in the
evening ! in the evening that this show stops. First, to the men who,
who are dedicated to this work...it is no show...it is a "charge of
honor". The formality and precision continues uninterrupted all
night.
During the nighttime, the drill of relief and the measured step of the
on duty sentry remain unchanged from the daylight hours. To these
men...these special men, the continuity of this post is the key to the
honor and respect shown to these honored dead, symbolic of all American
unaccounted for American combat dead. The steady rhythmic step in rain,
sleet, snow, hail, hot, cold...bitter cold...uninterrupted...uninterrupted
is the important part of the honor shown.
Last night, while you were
sleeping, the teeth of hurricane Isabel came through this area and tore
hell out of everything... We have thousands of trees down...power
outages...traffic signals out...roads filled with down limbs and
"gear adrift" debris...We have flooding...and the place looks
like it has been the impact area of an off shore bombardment. The
Regimental Commander of the U.S. Third Infantry sent word to the nighttime
Sentry Detail to secure the post and seek shelter from the high winds, to
ensure their personal safety. THEY DISOBEYED THE ORDER...During winds that
turned over vehicles and turned debris into projectiles...the measured
step continued. One fellow said "I've got buddies getting shot at in
Iraq who would kick my butt if word
got to them that we let them down...I'm sure as hell have no intention
of spending my Army career being known as the idiot who couldn't stand a
little light breeze and shirked his duty." ....Then he said something
in
response to a female reporters question regarding silly purposeless
personal risk...."I wouldn't expect you to understand. it's an
enlisted
man's thing." ! God Bless the rascal...
In a time in our nation's history when
spin and total bullshit seems to have become the accepted
coin-of-the-realm, there beat hearts...the enlisted hearts we all knew and
were so damn proud to be a part of...that fully understand that devotion
to duty is not a part time occupation. While we slept, we were represented
by some damn fine men who fully understood their post orders and proudly
went about their assigned responsibilities unseen, unrecognized and in the
finest tradition of the American Enlisted Man.
Folks, there's
hope....The gene that George S. Patton...Arliegh Burke
and Jimmy Doolittle left us...survives. Now, go have another cup to pop
rivet your eyelids I've got to go to work. DN
From a subvet friend in our nation's capital~ ..
More.... Nina Swink adds..... On
the ABC evening news, it was reported tonight that, because of the dangers
from Hurricane Isabel approaching Washington DC, the military members
assigned the duty of guarding the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier were given
permission to suspend the assignment. They refused. "No way,
Sir!" Soaked to the skin, marching in the pelting rain of a tropical
storm, they said that guarding the Tomb was not just an assignment, it was
the highest honor that can be afforded to a service
person.
The tomb has been patrolled
continuously, 24/7, since 1930.
Addition to this: I saw an interview on Fox News Channel with the
Commander of the soldiers who guard the Tomb of the unknown. He took the
shift when Isabel was unleashing her fury, because he did not want to ask
any of his men to do this - he felt it was his highest honor to be on
duty during that time.
Very, very proud of our persons in uniform!!!!!!
The
blood of a soldier
A
soldier went off to fight in their war,
But a stranger came home that was unknown before.
Where such youth and innocence was once on his face,
The rigors of combat now stand in their place.
The eyes of that child held such tenderness there,
Now the eyes of the soldier with that thousand yard stare.
The training he received was state of the art,
Rewarding his efforts with a cold, purple heart.
They never mentioned the psychological cost,
As the man tries to bury the boy that he lost.
There's the moral dilemma of the combat he fought,
As he battles himself with all he's been taught.
The childhood teachings from the Good book,
Consumed by the guilt for the lives that he took.
Where the visions of death are burned into his brain,
Accompanied by memories that drive him insane.
Recalling those moments of gut wrenching fear,
Losing a comrade and never shedding a tear.
Each day is a sentence as he's forced to relive,
The war that his heart and his mind can't forgive.
The blood of a soldier now flows through his veins,
As a shell of a man is all that remains.
Each
new day's a threat as he waits to attack,
Because a boy went to war, but he never came back.
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Legend
of the Bell
Many
years ago, on a cold December night, a crusty old biker was returning from
a trip to Mexico. His
saddlebags were filled with toys and other assorted trinkets to give to
the kids at a group home near where he worked. As he rode along that
night, thinking how lucky he had been in life, having a loving riding
partner that understood his need to roam the highways, and to his trusty
old panhead that hadn't let him down in the many years they shared the
road together. About 40 miles north of the border, in the high desert
lurked a small group of those notorious little critters known as road
gremlins. You know the ones
that always leave little obstacles; one shoe, boards, pieces of old tires,
or digging the dreaded pot holes for bikers to run over and crash, giving
the road gremlins a chance to rejoice over their acts of evil. Well
as the lone wolf of a biker rounded a curve that moonlit night, the
gremlins ambushed him causing him to crash to the asphalt and skid for a
while before coming to a stop next to one of his saddlebags that had
broken free. As he lay there,
unable to move, the road gremlins made their move towards him.
This biker not being one to give up started throwing things at the
gremlins as they approached him. With
nothing else to throw but a bell he started ringing it, in hopes to scare
off the dirty little gremlins.
About a half a mile away camped in the desert, were two bikers sitting around the campfire talking about their day’s ride, and the freedom of the wind blowing in their faces as they rode across this vast country. In the stillness of the night air they heard what sounded to them like church bells ringing and upon investigating, found the old biker lying along the roadside with the gremlins about to get him. Needless to say, being part of the biker brotherhood, they pr
oceeded to ward off the gremlins until the last of gremlins ran off into the night.
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