Friday, March 25, 2005
Big Island Hibiscus
I wasn't always this way. I spent a little while talking about motorcycles with my old buddy Randy R. from San Antonio, and it reminded me what a nutty bastard I used to be. It never really occurred to me that you could get killed on a Japanese hotrod bike like the Suzuki GSXR 1100 I bought and we both rode for a while. Then one day day it did occur to me, by which time I had a Honda CBR 600, and I sold it within two weeks and haven't ridden a rice rocket since. Randy reminded me of a story which is probably a lot more funny to me than him.
It was in the process of trying a stoppie, which is a nose wheelie you make happen by applying the front brake just short of locking it up to bring the rear wheel off the ground (there are entire videos of this kind of thing nowadays, but in the late '80s, it was purely racetrack behavior). Unfortunately Randall didn't notice the speed bump just ahead, which threw them both ass over teakettle, thrashing him and the bike pretty good, more him than it unfortunately. It was late and he decided he didn't need professional medical care.
After a while I convinced him that at the very least he should clean his road rash up a little to avoid infection. We went to his apartment and realized we didn't have much to work with, some Hydrogen Peroxide, a little Listerine and some cotton balls. I said we might be able to get it done with what we had, and Randy agreed to try it.
The treatment consisted of me sloshing the two liquids on his massive bloody scrapes alternately, which cause poor Randy to turn a number of odd colors while I tried to pick the gravel and dirt out of his ruined flesh. He was quite the trooper, putting up with a level of pain and medical malpractice that would have killed lesser men, or at least caused them to turn around and belt the incompetent helper a few times. Good times.
Those were the days, baby: motorcycles, jumping off high things into water, driving like a maniac, all the things you do when you never joined the military and got to risk your life for a reason. Now I like flowers and going to bed early. That's life, baby . . .