Do you Taunt Death?

Oh no. I am here again. It sucks being here. Well actually it feels amazing but through my experience I know that it never, ever, ends well. The world looks so different from this angle. The trees look like green stalactites dripping creatively from the black tarmac roof. Yes, I am in mid-air. Head over heels as so to speak with my motorbike doing cartwheels behind me. This is going to suck.

I have only dropped my old boney three times. Well, apologies, four times including this morning. The first time it wasn’t me driving, I was the pillion. My old man loves this bike and it was quite a tussle when I turned 25 for him to actually hand it over to me officially. I think he secretly wanted me to grow out of it so he could keep her in the garage in Witbank for decades. I can picture him after a bender at the pub at 0200am stumbling through the kitchen, snatching up a first full of palony and heading out into the freezing winters night towards the wendy house in our back yard.

I can see him struggling for 20 minutes, spitting out bits of palony for the dogs to frantically scoop up while trying to figure out the dead bolt lock. Inside lay his secret mistress. My XL500S. He would pull the tarp off her slowly, gently, as if it were a red lace brazier off a set of double D’s. One cyclic-type kick on the starer and then followed by a mighty heave on the second kick and that thumper motor would erupt into life. I can picture it. My Pops sitting there with a silly grin on his face feeling the rumble of that single cylinder bumping up and down. It really is a beautify sound.

Riding a bike, a proper raw bike like a thumper, is something unexplainable. I actually believe that it is the reason bikers go for Harley’s in their older age. I’m not talking about the recently divorced midlife crisis more-money-than-sense guy who only brought the VTwin in an attempt to regain pride. I’m talking about guys that have ridden most of their lives. They usually have pieces missing out of their boots and a toolkit instead of a vanity purse under the saddle. Those guys buy Harleys because they sound and feel like bikes of the past. Raw and unrefined.

Anyways, off the topic there. I was 14 and my Pops wanted to take me for a long journey on my XL. We headed out towards Klienkoppie on dirt roads that he was familiar with from his old days on the mines. We came up to a railroad crossing when the back tyre sunk into the fluffy soft sand and sent us over. 1^st bail. Soft, gentle little fall at 20km/h.

My ex-girlfriend’s little brother was about 8 years old and I was hammering the bike up and down these construction platforms at the Saveways Crescent center just before it was built. On the way down one of the embankments I lost her sideways and over corrected the steering which snapped the front wheel out of my hands and threw us over down the slope. I begged him not to tell his Mom. He did. 2^nd ever bail.

My 3^rd bail and last for the better part of decade, I have already blogged about on the old Presspasser website. I will dig it up and republish it. It hurt. A lot.

So, here we are. Bail number 4. I am flying through the air just outside of the Sasol garage in Pietermaritzburg next to the MOTH club. In that moment I came to realise the reality of riding a motorbike. You will often hear people say stupid kak like “Have you got a death wish?” and “My uncle so and so died on a bike and you are going to die”. If I had a death wish I would find something far more extreme and far more finite to sort that out. Like bungee jumping without a rope – maybe just hanging onto a few balloons or a Marry Poppins umbrella while singing the Bear Necessities or something just for the hell of it. However, I must admit, as my right hand caught contact with the ground I was reconsidering the whole “death wish” thing.

They could be right? BANG! My head hits the deck as I am rolling out with my hand trying to make sure I go into a slide and not break my collar bone. Maybe it’s not a death wish but a death taunter? I do not wish upon death but perhaps by riding a motorbike, especially in South Africa, I am prodding fun at Deaths plans for me? Almost the opposite of those Final Destination movies you know? Instead of Death catching up with me because I escaped it, I have Death sitting in the corner with his head in his hands saying “This freaking oke will cause me grey hairs”.

SMACK! My left knee takes impact on the tarmac as I enter into a slide with my XL charging on towards me. Yes, yes that’s it. I taunt death. People should say “You ride a bike? Do you enjoy taunting death?”

You will be glad to hear that I didn’t just take a bail because I was bored. Some silly lady pulled out, right across both lanes and took me out. Well, I swerved and the curb under my front wheel did the physical work.

I’m fine by the way. My right hand has a few small pieces missing and my knee looks like an advert for gout medication but overall I’m okay. My love, my XL, she took a few bumps as well. Suppose I do have something to do this weekend then.