Riding with Strangers

Friday, May 28, 2010

Funny thing about riding a motorcycle, you don't always ride alone, ride with a group, and sometimes you end riding with people that you don't ever meet. Sure, when you part ways, you do it with a wave or a nod, but you never know a name, personality, nothing, complete strangers.

Today, I took off on Washington Street heading west, then took the clover leaf exit to Shadeland Avenue to head south. Shadeland runs out when it blends into I-465, the beltway around Indianapolis.

It was the morning, and I was heading to Columbus, Indiana to work for Cummins. I used to make this trip a couple times a month, but the economy put a dent in that, but I have been making runs this way again. Besides making good money, it is a great company to work.

After making a quarter turn around the city, I take the ramp to I-65 South. This is not a pleasure cruise, as I need to be there at 8am, ready to work.

Since the northbound lanes are heading into the capital city, the southbound lanes are not as traveled. Traffic was certainly not light, but it was passable.

After pass the exit for Franklin, Indiana, I rolled up behind another bike. South of town is Camp Atterbury, a military installation. The guy propped on the bike ahead of me was wearing fatigues. We made our way together for a few miles until I saw his turn signal flash, and he peeled off on the ramp. As I passed, I extended my arm to make gentle wave. I wanted to say thank him for his service. I wanted to salute, but felt that could be disrespectful. Instead, just like others, a stretch of asphalt and wave would be all we shared.

I continued on south on the interstate, and made my exit at US-31. Another few miles, and I veered off on SR 11, and then arrived at the Cummins TV Studios.

A ten hour day later, and it was time to hit the road once again. I pulled out of the CTN Studios, and onto Indianapolis Road, also known as SR 11. I was in no hurry to make my way home, so instead of hoping on the highway, I stayed on US 31. Still a state highway, but since it runs so close along the other, it is not very busy.

At Franklin, Indiana, I made my way through town, and then left going north on a back road. It is known as Franklin Road, but saying that is the name of the road when you are leaving the city just sounds funny.

While out in the sticks, and just before I passed over I-65, a guy on sport bike came from up behind me. He hung back there while we went through the twisties, a section I had been through many times before.

Along a straight stretch, I was not surprised when he went racing past me. The brake light came on as we both had to slow for the next set of turns. The curves were frequent again, and he didn't get away from me.

Just south of Greenwood Road is two ninety degree turns, first to the right, then to the left. There was a small spot of gravel in both corners. The second one, the gravel bit back. The guy on the sport bike slid high, uprighted, and then went down. I knew that all that plastic on the side just scraped along the gravel piled on the edge of the road.

I pulled The Pearl to a stop. Turned on my four way flashers, and slipped off my helmet. The guy was moving about, on his knees, using his left hand to support himself. I told him to just stay still, catch your breath, and make sure everything is alright.

As I placed the bike on the kickstand, I lifted my leg off leaving me helmet on. He was slowly loosening his helmet. I asked if there was anyone I need to call for him. He said no, but couldn't find his cell phone. I scanned the edge of the road, and spotted pouch with a phone in it. I handed it to him, and then went over to check the bike. Remembering the lesson I had seen about facing away from the bike, grabbing one handlebar, and near the back wheel, I uprighted the bike. I put down the side stand, and leaned it over.

Sure enough, the plastic side cover looked as though Freddie Krueger had drug his nails along it. The light was still on, as well as the ignition. Before I could switch it off, the rider arrived, and was looking to see if the bike would start.

It fired up, and we chatted for a moment, mostly about his status. He said he thought he had dislocated his shoulder. He began to slide on his helmet. I asked one more time if he was going to be alright, and he said yes. I asked how far he needed to go, and he said Wannamaker, not too far off.

I suggested he stay in the grass, and make his way to driveway about fifty feet away. He rolled slowly to the location and stopped. I figured he wanted me to call someone, as he was not going to make it.

After donning my helmet and gloves, I rolled up to his location. He was waiting to say thank you.

I followed him most of the way to Wannamaker. I am pretty sure he made his way home. Once again, an encounter with a stranger ended with just a wave. Never got a name or anything, but he seemed like nice guy.

I made my home continuing on Franklin Road until Washington, turned west, and then arrived at my street.

Comments

Pepper said…
Ohh I always get sports bikes tearing straight past me as if they're in some kind of hurry, yet they never save much time by doing that since we are always alongside each other again by the time we reach the next set of traffic lights!

Great blog post anyway, I enjoyed reading it :)

http://bedfordbiker.blogspot.com

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