11 months ago...
The porch doors slam wide open as I staggered back into the apartment demanding with gritted teeth muffling a strained shout,
"WHISKEY. NOW."
Just moments ago my bike and I lost traction mid-turn and was crashing helplessly on our side into the raw earth like a meteor whose life was about to be extinguished. The road literally disappeared into a jagged bed of rocks akin to the harsh surface of Mars, further obscured by curiously unlit lamp posts. Because of this, the street-turned-unannounced construction project couldn't even be seen in time but I sure as hell felt it. The impact was definitely dramatic with all the debris rocketing into the air however the most poignantly memorable segment of the catastrophe... was the bitterly long and unceasing slide through the bulky sediment.
Instinctly, I strained my neck towards the black sky as consistently as I could to avoid taking any damage to my head. My left hand could no longer hang onto the handlebar as the torrent of rocks got under my grip, sending my entire arm trailing behind. Simultaneously, I witnessed briefly before wincing, the immediate disappearing act of my remaining mirror and lights. When the rumbling finally came to a stop, Chance was partially buried, practically one foot already in the grave - at least mine seemed to be. Before the dust could settle after a due sigh of relief a sharp pain suddenly erupted from my pinned left leg.
I frothed at the mouth to restrain an undignified interjection. Instead of screaming, a personal reflex normally only seen from me in sparring bouts kicked in. I channeled the excruciating sensation into self-flagellating motivation like some Norse berserker to endure the feaverish effort of tearing myself out from underneath the wreck. Once freed, I tried to scramble to my feet but faltered. That's when I looked down.
Right over where my knee would be was a large, gaping tear in the jeans - no a hole, for the tough fabric was shaved clean off with nothing but a few stray threads fluttering about. My heart had already sank at the sight of my steed in pieces but the ominous warmth streaming down my leg threatened to drop my resilience straight to the ninth circle of hell. I dared not investigate further in order to keep my wits about me and shock at bay.
No time was wasted in pitifully struggling to erect my faithful companion. She had never felt heavier. We both collapsed back into the rubble and my pain intensified. My self-directed anger then shifted towards my circumstance, causing me to furiously throw my glasses into the darkness. Scornfully looking around, I watched the traffic crawl to a stop as rolled-down windows begged to know if I was in one piece. Their concerns fell on deaf ears for at this point I was preoccupied with inventorying what the hell had just happened. One, the rock-lined road had no illumination. Two, there was no signage of warning. Three--
Before I could curse the city's shoddy infrastructure aloud, a hand from the very friend who was complaining about the subject just minutes ago helped me up. Michael didn't even know where begin with words alone so he simply set to purpose by helping me get Chance back on both wheels. Even with an extra pair of hands I still writhed in secret anguish to lift with my shaky legs. An attempt at humor made that couldn't believe how I managed to pick her up on my own twice before was only met unamused. I was too disturbed by the extent of the damages my ride had just revealed to have suffered.
Besides the readily-apparent loss of many of the front components, there were concerning gouges and dents in the tank, engine block and exhaust pipes, and the industrial-strength steel bolt improvised as her shifting peg broke clean off. That wasn't the worst of it, though. The shifting lever itself was locked up and behind a prominent barrier on the engine casing normally acting as the hard ceiling when shifting up. I shuddered trying to reimagine the sheer force required to break past it and dreaded the internal wreck the gearbox itself had to be in. Then, just below it, a liquid made itself apparent. The bleeding oil cued me to what was likely just the tip of the iceberg but also reminded me of my own affliction which was going to need attention as soon as possible.
"I'm going to walk her back," was the first thing that I could articulate through my seething speech, still fighting the impulse to wail out in agony.
Now it was clear to the both of us that my thought processes were compromised and mental shock was winning me over.
"Not gonna happen," he stoically contended. "We're at least five miles out and, no offense, you don't look up to it."
I did take offense since my rationalization shifted the blame back onto myself while the impulsive idea of pushing 450lbs for miles would serve as penance for my mistakes like some cross to bear. Stubborn as an ox, I shrugged off his comment and limped down the wake carved out of the ground towards the point of impact dozens of feet away. As if salvaging my shattered dignity, I fervently gathered as many pieces of the bike as possible. Near the miniature crater at the street corner did I notice my keys poking out from the ground. Unbelievable.
Once he realized where the keys had gone just as I returned, Michael pounced on the necessary next step which was to test to see if Chance could even start. I was growing increasingly irate at the entire fiasco, thus rashly dismissing his suggestion and insisting that the machine can't start unless the gear is set to neutral. Thankfully one of us still kept a cool head, for my saint of a buddy reminded me to try holding the clutch in while hitting the ignition...
Chance sparked back to life!
A shred of sensibility returned to me at the roar of her pipes despite sounding alarmingly ill. I suspected she must be stuck in third gear at the least so carefully using the steel horse as a crutch, we tested if she could still drive forward. To my brief relief, she managed to pull forward a bit. It wasn't an impossible task but it would require some tricky clutch and throttle work, especially underspeed in traffic.
"All right," I said in a tone that conveyed a glimpse of humility, "I'll ride her home."
With that, I waited for Michael to run on back to his cycle before saddling up myself. I took a couple stressed breaths to psych up for the now daunting task of simply getting a leg over the bike. I'm at a loss for words to describe the guttural sounds I made during that brutal process. This was going to be a rough ride.
Keeping her balanced while power walking back onto pavement was no more demanding of self control than once up to speed. Starts were slow since the gears weren't going anywhere but once the wind started beating on the forefront of my exposed flesh, I lost all composure and didn't care who heard or saw me shouting like a mad man. It was hard enough just trying to stay on task with coordinating my hands on top of trying to remember the way home. Michael was behind with the good intention of keeping an eye on me but my escalating distress caused me to bark back a bitter order to take the goddamn lead.
I could tell my breakdown of character frazzled him because we got lost in no time. Never had I raised my voice in such a menacing way towards him, intended or not. So much for making amends with our friendship, I thought. Riding around aimlessly for a while with that guilt seemed to take my mind away from the wound. The dwindling sounds of my hollers and growls were being overtaken by the clattering and grinding of Chance's insides. My pointman eventually seemed to shrug off my misdirected anger, found our bearings and got us home.
I hobbled my way straight for the washroom while trying not to track blood on the floor. As I manically picked stones out of my fleshy knee under the shower, my demands for what remained of my liquid courage to pour on my wound as well as down a swig to numb the pain were denied.
"The alcohol will thin out your blood and the wound will be hard to coagulate," chimed in Kyle who was scurrying around with Michael, gathering makeshift medical supplies.
"Great", I laughed to myself, "No insurance and the best I can get away with is two Boy Scouts."
It was the first genuine guffaw out of me since we had left earlier in such high spirits. I directed the two to my first aid kit but they abruptly took the reigns not a second later. I'll skip the gorey details and keep the graphic photos to myself but I'll say that the jeans weren't salvageable, I should've gotten stitches at an emergency room and my self-induced chuckling throughout the patch up process was partially out of emasculated anxiety. Regardless, the mood in the room lightened up once the first bandage was secure and the pain killers set in.
The first sighs of relief came shortly after having a laugh about the bang up job with the duct tape. The bleeding was controlled for now and if I had any say, Michael and Kyle earned an upgrade to their medic badges. Laying there on the couch with my leg propped up seemed to send the blood back to my brain - at least that's what my pride would tell me. Still, once passions had settled, I managed to drop an understated appreciation for their help and an apology for how I handled the eventful night. The guys spared any continued mushiness but I could tell they knew something else was going on - that my anger didn't stem solely from the recent bad case of road rash and a banged up bike.
It must've became apparent in a curiously cathartic look that came over me just before insisting on resting my eyes for the night. I vividly remember the sensation but it was different than when I had an epiphany. There was no excitement, no urgency to articulate it in this written word, no vows to be made... Just peace. The long-enduring adrenaline had left me now, passing the baton of repression over to the deep sleep that I willingly surrendered to, keeping my woes, particularly those beyond the physical, at bay...
Despite being bed-ridden for a couple days, I came off more at peace than I ever did before. Changing my bandages and recleaning the wound several times a day was never anything to look forward to. Limping around was a chore. Getting reports from Michael about Chance's condition was never good news. Nevertheless, my unusual disposition of content never seemed to leave my face. Once I was able, we went to the movies to catch the latest Batman, ate gyros every day, discovered my new favorite drink of Somalian tea, enjoyed a couple barbeques, made new friends with the neighbors, attended a block party, played the role of Michael's wingman, philosophized love with Chris, bore witness to the possibility of Kyle getting laid, had a serendipitous reunion and subsequent party with friends I had only known online as a kid, spent more time catching up with my girl back home... Boy, for a moment there the road seemed like the last thing on my mind.
Then one day out of the blue, I turned to each of my friends and calmly suggested,
"...It's time I go home."
Bewildered at the statement, each one expressed in their own way my obvious need for both Chance and I to get fixed up before heading anywhere. With each conversation I had to clarify sanguinely,
"No... Not with Chance... by myself."
No one really knew how to respond to this sudden change of heart. The reluctance was unanimous with Michael being the most disheartened of all. Seeing as how long my recovery would take and the now-multiplied resources required to get my motorcycle up to speed, on paper, he knew he couldn't hold me back. Although I could tell he was fighting a once-shared sense of duty to hold me to my dreams, in the face of allowing me to forsake my journey, it would end up being him to give me the green light with an airplane ticket home.
It was settled. My faithful companion to the very end was to stay behind and await my return... whenever that might be. The uncertainty forced my guilt close to the surface from then on, causing my final days away from home to be more bitter than sweet. In a strange reaction to the silent shame of declaring retreat, I avoided approaching the crippled hunk of metal across the street ever since the accident. From time to time I would glance just to make sure the leaking oil wouldn't land my tenant a fine, but never more than a sorry glance. In retrospect, I suppose it was another way to repress the devil on my back not yet introduced in this story seemingly coming to a premature end. Out of sight and out of mind, as they say, but no matter what you do, I find such never leaves your heart.
Finally, on the day before I would fly home, I got up earlier than usual. The apartment was refreshingly cool and the subdued light pouring in through the windows put me in an irrational state of nostalgia. It looked like rain clouds outside - a first for the new month of August. Tomorrow would be the 99th day since I hopped the train.
Hobbling out onto the porch, I finally took a good long look at my motorcycle with the quiet road between us. The long silence was broken by the first pitter patter of rain. I felt compelled to reach out and feel the water bounce on my hand. Then, once a fair puddle collected, I wiped my face and ran my hand through my hair to shake off the lingering lethargy. The cool sensation was particularly more than refreshing. Perhaps a dormant reserve of endorphins were tickled or I was appreciating what it felt like to be baptized again but in an inexplicable way, I felt that I had Chance's blessing - though not just then. I seemed reminded - reassured - that this was always the case from the very first mile.
By Chance, I was inspired with the confidence to jump the tracks of a life in resignation.
By Chance, I was bestowed the resolve to chase down my demons instead of outrun them.
By Chance, I was granted the freedom to seek and survive character-defining adventures and misadventures, alike.
By Chance, I was provided the opportunities to establish new, life-long friendships as well as reconnect with the old, tried and true.
And it was, without a doubt in my mind, by Chance that I was entrusted with an unforgettable story to tell, learn from, and carry on with for the rest of my days.
In the end, it was never sheer luck that brought me to this unforseen crossroads in my life, but rather... two wheels with a heart of gold. A rough and tumble guardian angel of inspiration and locomotion that has carried me beyond as far as it physically could. Though the trip up until now traversed within the borders of the red, white and blue, the mileage was enough for a trip halfway around the world. The odometer seemed to better portray the substance of the journey that took place within me. I don't believe I'd be here had it not been for your tugging at my sleeve, shouldering my whims, entertaining my "why nots," catapulting me beyond perceived comforts and safely spiriting me away from all that would snuff out my flame. We're friends, you and I, and you owed me nothing but gave me everything in the 20,000 miles we've shared all these years. Gratitude is all I should ever convey to you.
So, there I stood, confident in whatever I needed to do next needn't be prefaced with an apology.
My melancholic disposition took a step back and granted me a moment to do my friend one last gesture.
"Thanks for taking the fall," I said under my breath, acknowledging a secret that we'd keep just between us for the time being. There was a stifled "adios" then the dusty, weathered blanket was draped over the honored old horse one last time, heralding a well-earned epoch of slumber.
