Crash Psychology 101

A few weeks ago I was hanging out at McGuire Harley-Davidson (http://www.mcguire-hd.com/), which come to think of it is a more regular occurrence now that I find myself immersed in the role of powersports marketing pro without portfolio.......sounds soooo much more impressive than, well, let's just say the alternative.

Anyway, I was chatting away with one of the techs (just an aside, they have an awesome crew, everyone of their wrenches is a top notch guy........trust me on this) who's absence I had noticed in a couple of prior visits. Seemed he had taken a tumble commuting from work (being a real rider, his motorcycle is his only form of transport) and had been at home recovering from his up close and personal asphalt interface. Fortunately his recovery seemed to be moving along enough so he was back at the salt mines.

So what happened, I asked, wanting to zero in on the exact cause of the accident, like some obsessively demented NTSB investigator, if for no other reason than to prove to myself, beyond a reasonable doubt, that whatever misfortune had befallen my friend, the same fate, in no way, was going to befall your humble scribe. Call it denial, call it whatever you will..........but all motorcyclists do it. Whether it's a gnarly smash up at an intersection, or a single bike highside on a deserted mountain road, doesn't matter, we want all the details, no matter how grizzly, so we can piece together a plausible scenario wherein through our own superior skills and maybe a dash of luck we would come out of the exact same situation completely unscathed with nothing more than a "beer worthy" war story to tell.

So why this ghoulish obsession with accidents? Simple really. No matter how you slice it, riding a motorcycle is an inherently dangerous exercise, one that offers up some potentially grievous consequences for even the slightest incidence of brain-fade, "pilot error", or just plain bad luck, whether on the part of the rider, or the countless dim bulb cage pilots cluelessly hurtling to soccer practice only inches away from our nearly totally exposed bods . The fact is, in most any mishap, the odds aren't exactly on our side. So it's no wonder that if one were to give into the notion that our fates were in the hands of, well, the fates, it's doubtful we'd even stick a toe out of bed, let alone ride one of those damn death machines. It's only by creating the illusion of total situational control that we delude ourselves enough to convince our rational selves, and random loved ones, that we're gonna be OK. We've got it covered.

I'll call it the "ain't gonna happen to me" syndrome. I've read that it's common among test pilots (another less than totally safe and secure activity), who when after one of their own auger in, run countless scenarios in their minds about how they would have done it differently, and presumably better, thus surviving the incident that claimed their buddies life. This is true even when considering mechanical failure....."not gonna happen to me", and if it did, why I'd give it more throttle and bingo! Happy landings..........No need to worry. When it comes to the art of denial, it's kinda nice to know we have something in common with the "Right Stuff" crowd, huh!?

Now back to the crash. Seems our man was minding his own business cruising in the diamond lane (that's the fast lane for you good folks that are fortunate enough not to live in a large metro area, or The Peoples Republic of Kalifornia) during the evening commute when a woman, who was stuck in the "crawling at a snails jog" middle lane, decides she's had enough of the slow going, and without warning literally turns into bike and rider. With no time to react, and thoughtfully nudged by 3,500 lbs of steel, the Street Glide and its pilot are instantly separated, left tumbling along Highway 4. Upon coming to rest, after hitting everything but the lottery, we're happy to report that rider turned pedestrian made it safely to the side of the road with no further damage. His Harley would have to wait for the hook.

As we talked I could tell we were both engaged in the same mental exercise, although obviously he had had way more time to dissect the incident from every possible angle, still the "not gonna happen to me" (or in his case, "not gonna happen to me, again") game was on. How fast were you going, I asked? Where were you in the lane? Did you have any clue to the drivers intention prior to her fender smacked your saddle bag? On on it went. And you know what? We actually came to a useful conclusion.....

Remember that prior to the accident our man was motoring at a fairly decent clip on the inside of the fast lane (this would put him and his machine fairly close to the very cars he was passing) while traffic barley idled along to his right. The theory being, by hugging the right side of the lane, he would be more visible to the cars he was passing should they check their mirrors. It's an old school tactic that was taught for years in some circles, and has served my pal well for years (remember, this fellow rides everyday, rain or shine and has racked up more miles than you and I will ever see). Unfortunately it has a couple of flaws. The first being that the average driver rarely, if ever, uses their mirrors, can't be visible if they ain't lookin'. You're lucky if they even signal, let alone check their mirrors before barging into your slice of the roadway. We all know the skill set of today's driver ain't what it was twenty years ago. Not even close.

The second problem in this case is proximity to other vehicles in the lane to the right, which has the disadvantage of significantly cutting into reaction time should said soccer mom decide she's had enough of the slow crawl home. Given enough room good things can happen; you can maneuver out of the way, the wayward git in the car may actually spot you and dive back into their lane. You never know, I say dare to dream.

This is why I've always tried to more or less "ride in a bubble" (I can hear you laughing, knock it off), because accident avoidance is all about time and distance. Simply put, you need time to react to a threat, the more time the better. As luck would have it, distance can provide the time necessary to carry out whatever disaster mitigation plan you've managed to concoct in that tenth of a second you have available to keep from being the guest of honor at the nearest ER. Trust me, the bubble is you friend, keep the cages safely on the outside, and you just might make it home in one piece.

Had our intrepid commuter and his Street Glide been on the far left of his lane chances are he would have had more time by virtue of the extra distance and could have responded to the idiot move that was about to befall him........certainly a better plan than depending on the kindness and road manners of strangers. And the cool thing is our little "not gonna happen to me" conversation led us both to the same conclusion.......we looked at the incident, thought it through and I'm certain we're both going to be much more aware when we find ourselves in similar situations in the future.........ain't gonna happen to us!